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but daddy i love him | 𝐬𝐣𝐲

୨୧ pairing: sim (jake) jaeyun x fem!reader ୨୧ word count: 10.2k ୨୧ genre: fluff, angst, smut ୨୧ tags: badboy!au, innocent!reader, opposites attract, sexual tension, corruption kink, dirty talk, fingering, oral (m + f receiving), 69, pet names (baby, angel, etc.), face sitting, protected sex. ୨୧ synopsis: Just because there's a new and seemingly bad influence in your small town, it doesn't mean you have to fall privy to his charms, no matter how beautiful he is. But when he takes notice of you, none of the gossiping wine moms can stop him from getting what he wants. ➸ shoutout to @kwanisms and @mini-mews for helping this fic come to fruition, ily guys sm and this is genuinely one of my favorite pieces ive ever written aaa.

“Have you heard about the new family who moved into town? The son is a real piece of work!”

“He’s twenty-one but acts like he’s still sixteen on that damn motorcycle. No class or consideration whatsoever!”

“Maybe they’ll keep him in check if they decide to come to church this weekend. You know Reverend Park has no time for miscreants and delinquents.”

The familiar crowd on your mother’s front porch greets you as you’re attempting to exit the house. They cool themselves off with their makeshift fans and drink your mother’s homemade lemonade in the Saturday sun, continuing to harp on the locals in town that they’ve known for years.

Somewhere in their conversation, they drifted to the topic of the new family that moved in across the street. Three days was all it took for them to begin spouting their judgemental observations, every act from the new middle-aged couple and their son fodder for their discussion.

You smile politely with every fiber of your being, despite your instincts to snap at them and be on your merry way. If only they knew how ironic they are, pointing fingers at others from their high horses when the town kept enough space for their dirty little secrets. “Nice to see you this morning, ladies.”

They say your name with grace, their tones all air with little substance. “On your way to bible study?” Mrs. Choi asks, gazing at you from the rim of her glass.

You shake your head. “Just tutoring.”

“With the Nishimura boy? What a sweet kid.” When Riki’s name leaves Mrs. Lee’s lips, all the women hum in agreement. “Such a bright future ahead of him.”

“Of course, as long as he passes English,” you joke. The women’s faces don’t change, not taking your teasing with an ounce of anything but seriousness. The bags under their eyes, lipstick smudged in the tiny corners of their teeth, and piercing attitudes begin to damper your excitement for the day. You bid them goodbye quickly with another smile, walking down the stairs and onto the path down the street.

As you turn down the sidewalk, still hearing the resounding chatter from the women, your thoughts run wild. Is this what life would be like when you were older, doing nothing but kicking your feet up on a neighbor’s porch with only other people’s business to fill your time? Spending endless days and nights at church, listening to the same sermons leave Reverend Park’s lips until you become as overly critical as they all are?

The screech of tires halts your thoughts in their place. “Watch it!” A young man’s voice pierces the morning air, making you step back even further. You hadn’t realized how far you had walked into the road until you were back on the safety of the sidewalk. You trip on a crack between the two slabs of concrete, falling backwards and meeting the ground hard.

“Shit, are you okay?” He takes his helmet off, immediately hooking it to his handlebars to check on you.

Sim Jaeyun.

You had not met him formally until this moment, but the motorcycle and undeniable looks gave away his status as your new neighbor. Your parents had decided to let the new family settle in before trying to visit and introduce themselves. If they could see you now, your maxi skirt hitched up to your knees and the boy barely a foot away from you, they would have had a field day.

Sure, you both are of age. Butlike Mrs. Choi, Mrs. Lee, and other local townsfolk always do, people will talk about such a compromising position if you aren’t careful.

All those thoughts fade away though when Jake kneels beside you, his face flooded with concern. His eyes linger on the broken skin on your legs and then across your flushed face. “Does it hurt?”

You shake your head. “It’s barely a scratch. Sorry I almost ran into you.”

“More like almost ran into my bike.” He laughs, his expression one of relief as well as humor. “I’m just glad you’re in one piece.”

“Thank the lord.” You brush your hands on your skirt and begin to stand up, but Jake grabs you by the hand to help, taking all your weight with him.

“Thank you,” you say, brushing the free hair from your braid out of your face.

“You’re welcome.” He unclips his helmet from the bar and gestures back to his bike. “I can drive you to wherever you’re going if you want. I don’t have a second helmet, but–”

You can’t help the laugh that escapes your lips, the thought of riding on the back of a motorcycle too ridiculous to envision given your status as the deacon’s daughter. What would people say?

Jake just furrows his brows, his lips turning up at the corners. “Is my offer that funny?”

“No,” you say, “I would love to, it’s just–”

“Sim Jaeyun!” The shrill sound of Mrs. Choi’s voice makes you take another step away from Jake, unaware you were as close as you were to him. His presence seems to be magnetic, just like his smile. “Stay away from her or so help me God!”

Jake turns to the old woman down the road and nods his head, trying to be respectful but clearly irritated from her meddling. “Yes ma’am,” he yells, stepping back and getting closer to his bike.

“Maybe another time,” Jake says, “when you’re not flocked by the whining wine moms.”

You laugh and nod. “Maybe.”

Jake rides away on his bike, the wispy ends of his hair your last picture of him before he makes a sharp turn at the end of your street.

“Why do I need to learn this?” Riki groans, laying his head flat against his desk. The church bells ring as he knocks his head in the same rhythm against the polished wood.

“Because you need to be able to interpret text if you want to go off to college, Nishi. Otherwise you’ll be illiterate and an embarrassment to the entire town!” You put on your best harping, disapproving voice. It makes Riki laugh as he lifts his head. You’re glad at least the younger kids appreciate your sense of humor, unlike the older brood flooding your hometown.

“Alright, fine.” He opens his copy of Heart of Darkness, beginning to read the page in front of him. “I avoided a vast artificial hole somebody had been digging on the slope…”

A knock on the classroom door makes you and Riki turn. Yeri opens it with a shy grin, saying your name with the same nature. “Someone’s here to see you!”

“Who?”

“Some cute guy on a motorcycle? But don’t tell Jungwon I said that!” She runs back out the door and leaves you puzzled. Surely it’s not Jake. You just met him; he wouldn’t make the effort to try and follow you to your tutoring session, especially at the church of all places.

You head to the window to see Jake sitting against his bike, looking around at his surroundings. He’s wearing the same leather jacket and gray jeans, his white shirt marked with several spots of sweat. Riki comes up behind you, making a sound of acknowledgement. “Oh, that’s Jake!”

“Jake?” You look closer. “I thought his name was Jaeyun.”

“Yeah, but I call him Jake.” He laughs. “He’s my cousin.”

You nod your head, taking in his words. Jake’s sudden move made a lot more sense, seeing as Riki’s mother was getting sicker every day. She must have needed some help from her family to not only manage her household, but make sure Riki stayed on track.

“He probably wants to see you. Yeri must’ve gotten it all mixed up.”

Riki grabs his phone, scrolling through texts with his thumb. “Actually, he did mention almost running over a cute girl on his way to work.” The young boy smirks. “I’m gonna assume that’s you?”

You blush, the flush on your cheeks making you feel hot. “Whatever. He’s probably just picking you up!”

“I brought my own bicycle, dude. And as cool as Jake is, his driving makes me nauseous.” Riki begins packing up his belongings on the desk as you wonder what Jake would want to say that hadn’t already been said earlier. Surely he had no interest in talking to you beyond another apology for almost killing you earlier, not that you would have noticed.

As your thoughts continue on, you barely hear Riki’s parting words. “Have fun making out with my cousin!”

You venture outside and are greeted to Jake’s soft smile as he looks you over. “Didn’t expect you to be teaching my cousin how to read.”

You laugh. “When would that have come up? Before or after I fell face-first on the sidewalk?”

“Technically, you fell on your ass.” He looks over the cuts on your leg again. “Still doesn’t hurt?”

“Barely remember it.”

“Damn. Didn’t realize I was so forgettable,” he teases. You shuck your backpack over your shoulder, pretending his joke didn’t land. But you can’t help how your mouth curves into a grin. “Wanna take me up on that ride now? I don’t see any wine moms in sight.”

Being clear headed and not in the midst of a compromising position, you take a better look at Jake. He may look rugged from the neck down, muscles standing out through his jacket, but his face is incredibly youthful and vulnerable without a touch of hardness. Maybe the wine moms had gotten it wrong; maybe Jake’s actually a stand-up guy bundled up in a lot of leather.

Before you can answer, your father seems to appear from thin air. He wraps his arm around your shoulder. “Mr. Sim, pleasure to meet you officially.”

Your father holds out his hand for Jake, and Jake takes it with a steadfast grip. “Nice to meet you too sir. My mother was telling me how much you’ve been helping my aunt since she can’t attend services anymore.”

“Akemi is a pillar of our church. It’s only right to take care of one of our own as the deacon.” Your father squeezes you tighter to his side. “Glad to see you and my daughter have met. I hope she’s made a good impression upon you.”

“Yes sir. Very much so.” He smiles in your direction. The dimple in his cheek makes your heart flutter in your chest, the butterflies undeniable.

“Well, please tell your parents to come to ours soon for dinner. It would be a pleasure.” Your father begins the quick walk to his car, the silent request for you to follow him clear in his stern posture. You give Jake an apologetic smile before you leave, hoping your eyes hold the promise of taking him up on that ride someday.

When you’re both out of earshot and in the confines of your father’s car, he turns to you with a frown. “Do not get yourself involved with that boy. He doesn’t strike me as very forthcoming.”

You stutter out an excuse. Surely the first day of knowing Jake wouldn’t be the last. “F-Father–”

“Listen to me, sweetie. I know what I’m talking about.” He starts the car and begins the drive home, tightening his fists on the steering wheel. “I mean it. Do not see that boy again.”

The next morning, you’re sitting in one of the front pews with your mother, Yeri, and her mother. You see your fellow townsfolk in attendance in the other pews, Jungwon being one of them, Yeri’s longtime boyfriend. Mrs. Choi and Mrs. Lee look like they are partially focused on the attendees, but also on their own gossip.

All of you are dressed in your best outfits, your hair wrapped in a bun to maintain the peak of modesty. It doesn’t seem particularly realistic for a higher power to be judging you for your hairdo, but you gave in to your mother’s ridiculous requests as always. “We are important people in this community, darling,” your mother said as she stuck the umpteenth bobby pin in your hair. “If they can’t trust us, who can they trust?”

Riki sits behind you, his pew empty save for him. When you offer the empty spot next to you before the procession starts, he shakes his head. “Jake and his folks will be here any second.”

Your gut tightens, the words of your father playing over in your head. You know you have to heed his orders at all times, but the excitement you feel at the prospect of seeing Jake is unavoidable.

A minute before your childhood friend Heeseung sits at the piano to play the beginning of How Great Is Our God, Jake and his family walk inside. Jake’s impeccably dressed, clad in a red dress-shirt and suit pants. His sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, revealing a handful of tattoos you didn’t notice the day prior. He has his mother’s arm in one hand and a bible in the other, looking completely out of place but incredibly mesmerizing.

He winks at you when he sits down, making you turn your head back to your friend at the piano. You follow in your mother’s and Yeri’s lead, singing alongside them and forgetting the new buzz in your veins. You can feel his eyes on you throughout the songs and sermons, and you should say that you don’t enjoy it, but you don't kid yourself. His attention makes your body tingle in all the right and wrong ways.

You excuse yourself in the intermission, walking outside until you’re a good ten paces away from the church. You take several pins out of your hair, grunting. The incessant tools had been scratching your scalp uncomfortably for the past three hours, and it feels like freedom taking them out one at a time.

It isn’t that you don’t believe in a higher power or the teachings your father and Reverend Park have supplied you with your entire life. The town is just too suffocating on days like these, setting you up to feel like you aren’t good enough no matter how hard you try every day to perfect yourself.

The fashion show of your humble, presentable outfit, the whispered chatter from your community, the watchful eyes of holy men. They all make your skin crawl, that itch only intensifying with every day that passes. How could you stay in such a small room for years and feel misunderstood by everyone? 

Jake saunters up to you, making you gasp in surprise. “Jesus Christ!”

He smirks, hands stuffed in his pockets. “I thought you weren’t supposed to say his name in vain.”

You shrug, smiling in relief to find it’s just him and nobody else. No-one to meddle, judge, or question your absence. “I’ll just say a few words of penance. I’m sure he’ll forgive me.”

“I knew there was a reason I liked you.” Jake chuckles and steps closer to you, his eyes lingering on your dress. It’s incredibly modest, the only skin showing high above your cleavage. but the look in his eyes still makes your nerves tremble.

 You wonder what thoughts are swimming in his head and if a majority of them are impure. Would it be so wrong to confess that you feel the same? That whatever he’s imagining mirrors your own fantasies ten times over?

“The updo doesn’t suit you,” he says finally.

You giggle and cross your arms. “It doesn’t, huh?”

He steps closer, so close you can feel his breath on your skin. It lingers across your neck and shoulder blades. You shudder, hoping he doesn’t notice how his presence affects you. He reaches behind you and takes hold of the hair tie keeping your bun together. He expertly undoes it, your hair falling in waves around your shoulders.

Before he walks away, the church bells signaling the recommencement of the procession, he whispers in your ear, “Much more breathtaking with your hair down, angel.”

The next time you see Jake, he’s across from you at your family’s dinner table, all laughs with Jungwon and Yeri as your father passes out the rest of the side dishes. Riki is also there, discussing his mother’s treatment with your mother and Jake’s parents.

You can’t help the way your eyes attach to Jake across from you. It’s almost a form of punishment that you were made to sit in such close proximity, the weight of his stare on you swallowing you whole.

The feeling of his hand in your hair, his mouth against your ear–it was all so incredibly inappropriate. You shouldn’t have thought about that day last week with such excruciating frequency, but you did. You thought about it when you heard the wine moms whispering about Jake on your porch, when Yeri and Jungwon talked about him as you studied, and when you were alone at night. 

In your dreams, it was even more painful. In a perfect world, he would take his hand from your hair and keep it on your neck, holding you close. He would move his lips from the shell of your ear to the side of your neck, kissing and tasting what skin was available to him in that moment to make you come undone.

Yes, sitting across from him is torment. But the alternative is worse, not seeing him at all and having to conjure images of him alone in the quiet of your bedroom.

“Deacon, sir,” Jungwon pipes up from his spot next to Jake, addressing your father directly. “I was going to study with Jaeyun and Yeri at my house if you wouldn’t mind your daughter tagging along.”

The muscle in your father’s jaw clenches. He’s clearly unhappy with one of the attendees being Jake, but he hides it behind a smile. “It’s up to her. What do you think, sweetie?”

On one hand, you should absolutely say no. Jake may take you into a random spot of Jungwon’s house and make any resolve you still have disappear with the flick of his wrist. Even in the company of your friends, you know no place is safe when he’s around and close to you. And were you willing to crumble so easily?

At the same time, the distance is eating away at you. You can’t take another charged glance in your direction, words unspoken but begging to be released. If you have to catch his bedroom eyes on your body one more time, you may just snap in front of everyone, and care little when you do.

“Sure. I’d love to, Wonie,” you say with a grin. “Nishi, you want to come too?”

Riki shakes his head, enjoying the fruitcake your mom set out. “I’ll stay. Someone has to help clean up.” Jake’s mom squeezes one of his cheeks. Riki’s face suddenly turns pink from his aunt’s affection, making everyone laugh.

On your way out the door, your father catches you by the arm. He whispers, “No later than midnight. Understood?”

On the cusp of 10 PM, you want to protest that time with your friends is already so limited, but you obey with a nod and walk out the door. 

When you get in the backseat of Jungwon’s car, Jake too comfortable beside you, you feel your body flicker to life. “So,” you say, “your house then, Won?”

Yeri and Jungwon laugh, a conspiratory look in both of their eyes. “We’re just gonna make a quick stop first.”

Kiss ‘Em Creek was the unofficial name of the lake that ran through your town, a spot for teenagers to spend a few hours alone with their friends or partners. It wasn’t scientifically-correct, but it stuck nonetheless, many of the locals taking advantage of the not-so-secret hideaway. What went on there you only heard about through Yeri and the wine moms’ conversations, their voices littered with disappointment and condemnation.

Jungwon parks his car and turns his eyes to meet yours in the rearview mirror, that scheming smile still playing on his lips. “Ready to take a dip?”

Your eyes widen. You shake your head at a rapid pace, making your friends and Jake chuckle. “No way,” you say.

“C’mon babe, live a little!” Yeri winks and exits the car, Jungwon hot on her heels. The two of them begin to strip to their underwear, eager to jump in the water together. Jungwon picks her up in a bridal carry, Yeri laughing the entire way as he takes the first step into the awaiting lake.

As the two lovebirds continue heading towards the water, you and Jake sit in comfortable silence, your heartbeat slowly rising at the prospect of being alone in the car together. No distractions, no disappointed parents, no judgemental hags. Just the two of you under a cloud of stars and beautiful moonlight.

“I didn’t know if you would come tonight,” Jake says, filling the silence with a quiet chuckle. “Thought you were avoiding me at all costs, like I’m some kind of plague.”

“No!” You turn in your seat to face him. His expression is teasing but holds undercurrents of disappointment, clearly confused where your feelings lie. And he has every right to feel that way. One minute you’re wishing he would pull you closer, and the next you feel it’s better he keeps his distance. “I just don’t know what your intentions are.”

His eyes darken and his lips curve into a beautiful but intimidating smile. “Is it not obvious?”

You squeeze your thighs together, a wave of heat spreading through your bones. “Maybe I just want you to say it out loud.”

He scoots closer to you, his chest a heartbeat away from yours. “Well, to start,” he says, “I would really like to kiss you.”

You smile. A breathless laugh leaves your lips, eager to know what it would feel like to touch his mouth to yours. “I’d like that too.”

Jake runs a hand through your hair and rests it on your cheek. His touch is as fragile as the tension between you. “Then what are you so afraid of?”

You shut your eyes, trying to come up with the right words and falling short. “It’s just everyone–”

“Fuck everyone else.” He forces you to look into his eyes, the words leaving his mouth being some of the truest ones you’ve ever heard in your life. “You’re not a bad person or a sinner for wanting what you want.”

“I know that.”

“You may know it but you don’t believe it.” Jake’s lips ghost over yours, his breath tickling your cheeks. “Stop thinking about what everyone else thinks of you. Think of yourself for once.”

Maybe Jake’s right. All of your choices in life have been dictated by what your parents, friends, and total strangers have felt. If you listened to your own heart, you would have left all of them in the dust by now, chasing what you really wanted far away from this place.

At the same time, you’re glad to be in this car with Jake. He’s so close to you, telling you to take the leap and choose yourself for the first time in a long time.

When you press your lips to his, the feeling of his mouth on yours soft and tentative, you know you can’t wake up tomorrow the same person. This choice will ripple into all the choices you make from this moment on, but you don’t seem to care.

All that matters is his mouth, taking more control and setting a fire deep in your belly. He presses his tongue to the juncture of your lips, diving inside without protest.

You moan into his mouth, feeling one hand firmly pressed on your neck as the other runs down your shirt to squeeze at your breast through your clothes.

“Fuck, tell me to stop,” Jake says with a heady whisper, still kneading your breast with his palm. “Tell me to stop if you don’t want this.”

You shake your head, moving closer to him to the point you’re halfway on his lap, legs intertwined with his. “So help me God, don’t stop now.”

He snickers, pecking your lips again. “You said his name in vain again.”

You roll your eyes as he chuckles into your neck. “That wasn’t the first thing on my mind.” You move your lips to his cheek. “Or the second.” They trail down to his neck, taking your fantasies and etching them into his skin. “Or third.”

“Fuck,” Jake curses, holding you tight against him. “You’re too good at this.”

You smirk. “Contrary to popular belief, you’re not the first person I’ve ever kissed.”

He laughs, the rumble of it vibrating against your mouth. “I don’t care as long as you keep kissing me.”

“Wasn’t planning on stopping.” By the time you reattach your mouth to his, you’re straddling his lap. His hands are nestled on the small of your back, wanting to inch down further but unsure where or what your boundaries are.

You take the initiative, suddenly bold, and put both of his palms on your backside. “If you wanted to touch my ass, you could’ve just said so.”

Jake licks his lips, his accent coming out in a husky whisper. “I want to touch you in a lot of places. Your ass just happens to be easily accessible right now.”

“Oh really?” You giggle. “Care to enlighten me?”

Jake sharply switches positions, your back against the expanse of the backseat as he towers over you. He rubs his hands across the outside of your thighs, eager but patient. “Gladly.”

He kisses your neck, suckling and licking with perfect pressure, making you whimper. “Jaeyun,” you say out loud, his name coming out like a question more than a statement.

“Use your words, angel. Tell me what you want.” His eyes pass over your face, your kissable lips and lust-blown irises. You’re too entrenched in him now to walk away from this car the same girl, and you wouldn’t want it any other way.

It may end badly, crash and burn completely like everyone expects it to, but that’s the last thing you care about right now.

“I want you to touch me.” You take one of his hands on your thighs and place it over your underwear, its center damp.

“Jesus,” he says in wonder, rubbing his fingers against the cotton.

“You just said–oh,” you stop short when you feel Jake’s fingers against your clit. The sensation makes you buck your hips up into him, him discovering the bundle of nerves without trying hard. He’s clearly happy at the wetness he finds. He rubs your folds in the same fashion, biting down on his bottom lip hard.

“You feel so good already. So perfect,” he whispers, taking hold of your lips again with his own while he swirls his fingers in and around your essence. He switches between teasing your clit and rubbing along your pussy, his movements lewd yet graceful. Only when he puts a finger inside of you do you gasp and look at him directly, your eyes clearly giving away your fear.

“What’s wrong, angel? Did I do something?” Concern floods his face, but he doesn’t take his hand away.

“I’ve never gone this far,” you confess, looking to your side to hide your embarrassment.

“Hey, look at me.” He turns your head to face him again, fingers laying under your chin softly. “We can stop now if you want. I don’t want you to feel pressured into doing anything you don’t want to do.”

His response makes your heart clench. Most guys, you’d imagine, would be pissed off or pleading with you to continue on, to do what they wanted and enjoy the moment. That was how Jongseong was, pouting the entire time after you told him to pump the brakes on your makeout sessions.

Somehow, with Jake, it feels right to continue. You suddenly have no anxiety clouding your thoughts or expectations weighing on your heart. You kiss his lips tenderly and shake your head. “No, I want this. I want you.”

A cheshire-cat grin spreads across his face before he goes in for another kiss. He runs his tongue along the inside of your mouth as his finger slides across your folds once again. He plunges it deep inside of your heat, your body adjusting to the new sensation with surprising ease.

You thrash lightly underneath him, matching the tempo of his finger with abandon. He slips another digit in, groaning at the feeling of your soft, gummy walls becoming accustomed to him. “You’re taking my fingers so well, angel. ‘S fucking incredible.”

You gasp and feel the fire from earlier heightening in intensity, spreading from your belly into the other seams of your body. It makes your toes curl and your hand press against one of the doors of Jungwon’s car, needing something to clutch onto while feeling yourself losing what’s left of your control.

“Jaeyun, I think I–”

“I know baby,” he says, pressing his lips to your forehead. “You’re going to feel so good in a second, I promise. Don’t be afraid.”

His thumb makes contact with your neglected clit, rubbing in rapid motions as he pumps his fingers faster in and out of you. You suddenly become overloaded with pleasure; its immensity is something you’ve never felt before. You feel it coat the back of your mouth and take what’s left of your rational senses, your body moving on its own accord as you ride out what’s remaining of your orgasm.

You blush furiously when you come back down to earth, giggling like a schoolgirl as Jake kisses your sweat-drenched cheek. “That was…amazing.”

Jake chuckles, a smirk painting his features. “You’re amazing.”

You tuck your face in your hands, embarrassed but still enraptured by what you just experienced. He pulls one hand away, taking it in his own, his expression suddenly shy. “So, I guess this is the part where I ask you on a proper date.”

You laugh and sit up, placing your panties back around your hips and adjusting your skirt. “I would hope so!”

Jungwon and Yeri choose that moment to run back into the car, their hair drenched but their bodies properly dressed once again. Jungwoon looks at the two of you in the backseat and grimaces. “Not in my car, man!”

Despite the warnings from your parents and the wine moms, you and Jake had become inseparable within a month’s time. It took many late-night impromptu meetings and secret rendezvous to keep your relationship private, but you had succeeded thus far. And it only made the moments you both shared that much more special.

Riki had kept your secret, keeping his eyes out for any prying townsfolk and covering for his cousin and you if need be. Yeri and Jungwon also cheered you on from the shadows, hoping one day you could be public like they were without criticism.

Sitting in the field near the lake, a picnic blanket set across the grass, you have your head in Jake’s lap while he absentmindedly turns strands of your hair into miniature braids. It’s a beautiful Wednesday afternoon, the two of you occupying the resounding forest with no outside influences.

“Have I told you lately how beautiful your hair is?” Jake asks, kissing your forehead before he takes another batch of strands in his hand. If he has to pick one of your best attributes, in his words, he’d say it was a tie between your lips and your hair, the two of them constantly making his heart race. You called him a liar, but as time revealed, he was nothing but honest with you every day, and not just about what turns him on. 

Over time, you discovered his fears, his ticks, his aspirations past the small town you both found yourselves in. You admire his vulnerability, how open he is when sharing the thoughts that occupy his mind.

“At least three times already,” you tease, running your hand across his leg.

“It’s not bad to hear it a fourth time, right?” He plants another kiss to the crown of your head. He drops the braid he’s just made across your face, making you laugh.

“I’d rather hear how work went today,” you say, getting up to press your back to his chest, snuggling into him.

He shrugs, wrapping his arms around you tighter. “Not much to talk about. Working with roofs all day isn’t exactly exciting, angel.” 

You know Jake doesn’t want to work at his dad’s construction company for the rest of his life. However, it provides stability, and that matters a lot to him. He knows what it did to his aunt when Riki’s father walked out early on in his cousin’s life, and he wouldn’t wish that lack of support on anyone.

“At least you’re not running a tutoring center and a daycare in the same church,” you joke, your tone anything but humorous. The brood you dealt with every day was completely unlike Riki. They were kids that were carbon copies of their parents, children that would one day become exactly like their absentminded fathers and speculatory mothers. It put a taste in your mouth you couldn’t stomach.

You fall into steady silence, the uptick in both of your nerves ebbing away the longer you hold each other. Sure, Jake hates roofing as much as you hate disciplining whining toddlers and helping apathetic tweens with mathematics, but it doesn’t matter at this moment.

All that does is each other, enjoying the midweek sunset and the sounds of the birds flying overhead.

“What would you do if you were somewhere else?” Jake asks into the crook of your neck.

You grin, imagining a world of possibilities. The question never came up before, not from him or anyone else. It opens up a plethora of choices in your mind, but you narrow them down quickly, knowing what your heart truly desires.

“I’d like to teach,” you answer. “Really teach, maybe at a university. Something like poetry.” You turn to look at him, a newfound fire in your eyes. “Yeah.”

Jake smiles back at you, moving stray strands of hair from your shoulder to rest his head there. “I think you’d be great at that.”

“What would you do?”

Jake ponders the question, going over it in the same way you were moments before. You see realization wash over his features, and it makes you smile. “I think I’d write. Not literature or anything, but songs maybe? Teach music in the meantime. Still have to make money somehow, y’know.”

You giggle and push him down on the picnic blanket, running your fingers through his hair. “Sounds like a plan.”

He nods, sharing your happiness. “Maybe a kid and a dog can fit somewhere in that plan.”

Chuckling, you raise one eyebrow. “As long as I’m not having a baby out of wedlock, that sounds perfect to me.”

He turns you both over, covering your body with his and kissing you intensely. The passion runs from his body to yours, your heartbeats matching in their strong beats against your chests. “Perfect,” he whispers, his lips meeting yours once again.

It may be too soon to call it love, but you know you’re tiptoeing that line, and you wouldn’t mind falling headfirst on the other side of it as long as Jake’s there waiting for you.

“Are you sure they don’t know I’m here?” Jake asks, hesitant to walk up the stairs to your bedroom.

“It’s fine! They’re at a seminar all weekend with Reverend Park and his son, I promise.” You kiss his lips before running up to your room. Still on the fence, you hear his tentative footsteps trudging behind you.

Another few months rolled by, and your parents had softened to the idea of Jake being around more often. He showed up with his parents to church every Sunday, even if you both snuck off to make out in the backwoods when nobody was paying attention.

He’d stick around for the deacon’s sessions with Akemi, brightening her spirits with his guitar and a couple of songs to replace the ones she missed during normal processions. It helped that she seemed to be getting better, slowly but surely, with treatment and daily prayer.

When you heard your father call Jake a “nice kid,” you knew they were turning a corner in their relationship that you wished for since the night Jake kissed you in Jungwon’s car.

Now, that doesn’t mean they would be happy with finding him in your bed on a Friday night, but you’ve broken enough rules at this point. What’s one more?

“You’re trying to get me killed,” Jake jokes as you rip his shirt from his body, discarding the article of clothing on your bedroom floor. You sit on your bed and marvel at the muscles on his chest and stomach, all of it yours to caress and kiss at any time.

“Don’t worry, babe. I’ll follow you to heaven,” you tease, pulling him closer to kiss his body. Each press of your lips to his skin makes him tremble, cursing quietly to himself at the feeling.

“With the way you’re touching me, I doubt either of us will make it there.”

You giggle and link his mouth to yours. You moan when his tongue hits the roof of your mouth.

The intentions you had for tonight definitely involved numerous bouts of kissing, but the way Jake’s making you feel will certainly end up with his face or fingers between your legs. And as good as that sounds, you don’t want him derailing you from completing your mission.

There had been so many moments of him giving you pleasure up to this point, you wondered how he had stayed so composed and content after without expecting anything in return.

So, tonight, you decided to give him a bit of satisfaction, even if you’re walking into such activities without any kind of road map. Yeri gave you a handful of tips, but doing it for real is another beast entirely.

“Jaeyun, wait,” you say, taking his face in between your hands.

He looks up at you with eager eyes, wondering why you pulled him away from your neck. “What is it?”

“I want to take care of you this time.” You say, hoping your expression gives off the confidence you’re trying to portray. “I’ve never done it before, but—“

“And you don’t have to, angel,” Jake says with a dopey, relaxed smile. What on Earth and heaven did you do to find a guy like him?

“Please,” you beg, scooting closer to the edge of the bed. “I want to try.”

Jake’s conflicting feelings are evident in his eyes. Surely any man wants his girlfriend to go down on him with the same eagerness that you're giving him right now, but he doesn’t want you to feel obligated. 

In his mind, pleasure isn’t about some sort of trade-off. He makes you feel good because he wants to, not because it’s some duty he has to fulfill and expects to be paid back for later.

But, you asked so nicely and your eyes shine up at him so beautifully. He feels his resolve crumble enough to concede and do what you want.

You begin to unbutton his pants, your fingers twitching not from fear but excitement. When you pull down his jeans fully and see the outline of his bulge in his briefs, your mouth falls open slightly at the size.

Could it fit in your mouth if it was that big?

Jake chuckles and takes your hand to press to the gaping material covering him. “It won’t bite.”

You look up at him and begin to stutter, unsure how to continue once you take off his underwear. “D-Do you want me to use my hands first?”

“Whatever feels right to you, angel. I trust you.” He rubs his thumb across your cheek, and it calms all the nerves that came to the surface.

It’s in those three words that you find the courage to pull the remaining article of clothing off of him, taking in the sight of his cock in all its glory.

You gulp hard, trailing your eyes from the tip to where it adjoins to the rest of him. You’ve never seen one up close before, and you feel like you’re invading his privacy as you stare at it for another long minute. But who can blame you?

“It’s all for you, baby,” Jake whispers. “Do whatever you want.”

You feel a sharp pang of heat at the center of your thighs, his words spurring you on. You spit into your hand, as Yeri instructed, and wrap your hand firmly around Jake’s cock. With an easy but deliberate pace, you look at Jake directly to see if you’re starting off on the right foot.

And boy were you.

Jake hisses at the feeling of your hand encasing him, loving the tightness of your fingers as they continue sliding up and down his dick. He had envisioned this many times in the solitude of his bedroom, images of you and your beautiful body writhing underneath him enough to get him off. But those nights were nothing compared to this.

“Are you ready for my mouth now?” You ask timidly. Jake wants to laugh at how innocent you sound, the words coming so naturally off of your tongue.

“Yes, angel, please,” he answers, wanting to caress you by the hair and guide you down to his awaiting, leaking cock.

You move closer until you're an inch away from his tip. Flattening your tongue to take it into your mouth, you keep watching Jake’s face for the right signals.

His mouth opens, a satisfied whine leaving his lips. You feel a wave of pride at the fact he’s enjoying it so much, egging you on further.

“Your mouth feels so perfect wrapped around me,” he confesses. He soaks in the sensation of your lips and teeth softly running over the veins of his cock, your head bobbing across his length skillfully. How can an innocent and dutiful daughter like you give such mind-blowing head?

He can’t ruminate on the answer long, releasing a guttural moan as he feels his tip hit the back of your throat, the gag that rumbles from you making his cock even more sensitive.

“Angel, I’m gonna come soon,” Jake warns. “If you don’t want me to come in your mouth, let me know now.”

You look up through your lashes at him as you continue sucking on him with fierce passion, swirling your tongue across his tip. 

His hand is wrapped firmly in your hair now, fucking your face as softly as he can without forcing anymore of himself down your throat. When you take a hand to cup his balls, softly kneading them between your fingers, he’s done for.

He whines pathetically as his seed shoots inside your mouth. The taste isn’t particularly pleasing, but you milk it for what it’s worth to watch him fall apart so perfectly under your attention.

The orgasm rocks through him with an unshakeable amount of pleasure, his body completely helpless as he continues to spurt into your mouth. He can only hiss and whine as you continue to touch him, letting him come down fully and taking all of him without complaint.

Jake breathes in deeply when he gains clarity again, taking you in his arms and shoving his tongue deep in your mouth. “That was probably the best blowjob I’ve ever gotten,” he states, running his fingers over your face with adoration.

You scoff and roll your eyes, his words making you shy. “I doubt it, seeing as that was my first one.”

“It was!” Jake puts a hand on his heart. “Swear to the savior himself.” Before you can rebut, Jake takes your legs in his hands and moves you to the edge of the bed.

You wake up to the hard knocks at your bedroom door, the morning sun peeking out of your window to prove the previous night has long gone.

“Honey? What did we say about locked doors in this house?”

Your father’s booming voice makes you jump up from bed, smacking Jake hard on the shoulder and chest to wake him up.

“We had an odd feeling at the hotel, so we came home early,” your mother says as you shake Jake from his sleep.

“Ow, what the fuck,” Jake grunts, his voice not quiet enough to go unnoticed. You curse yourself and the reality in front of what’s about to happen, knowing full well your parents heard him on the other side of the door.

“Sweetie, who’s in there with you?” Your mother’s shrill but concerned tone makes you cringe. Jake’s eyes bulge in response, quickly leaping from the mattress to pull on his clothes in haste.

Just when you throw your dress from last night over your head and Jake buttons up his pants, your father slams open the door with his shoulder. Your parents gasp and yell at the sight before them, the man they began to grow comfortable with in a compromising position with their only daughter and precious child.

“What in God’s name is he doing here?” Your father asks no-one in particular, stomping towards Jake’s shirtless figure and yanking him by the neck.

“Daddy, stop!” You plead, scratching and clawing at his frame to pull him off of your lover.

Your mother begins blubbering, teary-eyed before you. “Oh honey, what did he do to you?”

“Nothing,” you scream. “Please leave him alone and let us be.”

“I told you to stay away from him.” Your father stares you down, eyes blazing with fury. “Not only did you betray me, but you betrayed the sanctity of your purity. It’s a disgrace.”

Jake coughs, your father’s hands tightening around his neck. “The only disgrace is the two of you holding her back, like she’s some weak bird in a cage,” he croaks. “She can make her own decisions.”

“You stay silent, you insolent pest,” your father growls, yanking Jake out of your room and down the stairs. By the time you and your mother make it out to the bottom step, your father has thrown Jake out and onto the porch.

“Stay away from my daughter, or you’ll have another reason to pray you don’t end up burning in hell.”

“Stop it!” You step in between your father and Jake, the latter putting on what’s left of his clothes. People begin to hover too close to your family home, suddenly entrenched in the scene playing out before them.

Jake kisses your forehead and walks away in the direction of his parked bike, unsure what else he can do unless he wants to truly end up six feet under. 

 Your father grabs you by the upper arm and pulls you in the direction of your porch, but you resist with all your might. “You can’t make me go back in there.”

“I am your father and you will listen to me,” he grunts, holding on tight.

“Daddy, I love him!” You scream as you yank your arm away from your father, your inner strength giving way. “If you can’t accept that, I guess I’ll just have to burn hell with him. Better than wasting another second here.”

You run toward Jake’s bike and sit behind him, cinching your arms around his waist. He smiles to himself, feeling the press of your chest to his back as he puts his helmet over his head. “Are you sure about this, angel?”

You nod furiously, not bothering to look back at your red-faced family. “More than I’ve ever been.”

All you focus on is his motorcycle rumbling to life before you speed away. Your hair blows in the wind as you both escape the horrified stares of the local vipers.

You end up at a motel on the other side of town, far away from the scandal that’s surely rocking your small community by now. The deacon’s daughter running away with the bad boy next door? What a tragedy!

You run inside to miss the upcoming rain, both of you shivering from the barrage of pellets that did land on your skin. You settle onto the mattress as Jake drops the small amount of belongings he had in his possession on the dresser.

He turns to you with quiet concern, arms splayed out on the furniture as he looks at you, searching your face for any lingering doubt. “No regrets?”

You shake your head, exhausted but glad to be out of that house. “None at all.”

He breathes out a sigh of relief and sits down beside you on the bed, rubbing your thigh with his fingers. “I’m sorry.”

Your brows knit together, confusion pouring over you. You take his hand in yours, intertwining your fingers. “You have nothing to apologize for. If anything, I should be apologizing to you.”

 You feel tears build at your eye ducts, your voice suddenly growing thick when you recall the scene from an hour ago. “I’m sorry my father was so horrible to you.”

“Hush, it’s okay,” he puts his other hand on your face. He kisses your lips tenderly and gracefully. How did nobody else but you see he possessed the most kind nature of anyone you’ve ever known?

Jake moves his head, his lips curving into the smile that always takes your common sense away. “I love you too, by the way.”

Your confession from earlier hits you like a heavy rock, your eyes going wide and your face turning pale. “That wasn’t the way I wanted to say it.”

“Then say it now,” Jake urges, your face resting gently between his fingers.

There’s no fear or pressure when the three words leave your lips, only the feeling of a weight lifting off of your chest. “I love you, Sim Jaeyun. I love you with my whole heart.”

His face lights up, the words seeming to set aglow something deep within him. The only right reaction seems to be in the form of his lips attaching to yours in a passionate kiss, your shared love creating a beautiful path forward for the both of you.

He whispers his next words so lightly, you almost assume the statement is a figment of your imagination. “Marry me.”

You feel your face contort into a mixture of disbelief and elation, needing to hear him say it again for it to truly resonate. “What?”

“Marry me,” he repeats, his smile stretching across his face. “Marry me now, or in three months from now, or whenever you want. Just say you will.”

You exhale a breath of astonishment, unsure if he knows how much you want to say yes, to make this as real as it sounds on his lips. He leaves your side with a kiss to your temple to grab something from his jacket. 

He comes back in record time, standing in front of you and twiddling the black box in both of his hands with anxious fingers. “I brought it with me to your house last night, I just didn’t know how to ask then. But I do now.”

Like in all the stories you’ve read and movies you’ve seen in your lifetime, he sinks down onto one knee before you. You place a hand over your mouth as he opens the box, a ring with an opal-shaped diamond cushioned in the center.

“Would you please do me the honor of being my wife?” Those words on his lips, visibly shaken from his own question, make a thousand butterflies flutter inside your chest.

Months ago, if you knew then you would end up here, from the edge of the sidewalk to now, you would not change a single moment. The world had been so gray before, you didn’t know what it was like to step in the sun until he came into your life. What other answer is there?

“Yes, yes, yes,” you respond, tears flooding your eyes as he shakily places the ring on your finger. It fits just right, the stone at the center sparkling in the darkness of the motel room.

You kiss Jake’s lips with all the force your body possesses, certain there’s no better future than right beside him.

The feeling of the gold band around your finger makes Jake shudder as it touches his cock. Your body is nestled perfectly on top of his as you take what you can’t put in your mouth between your fingers.

He laps up your essence with his tongue, ecstatic to have his face covered in your juices and smothered if need be by your wet cunt. If people think wedding nights are magical, engagement nights have to be a step up.

“Fuck, Jaeyun, yes,” you roll your hips into his awaiting mouth, his tongue available for you to lay your slit onto. The expletive leaves your mouth like honey, the feeling fitting for such a dirty word.

He knows exactly how to make you fall apart and be put back together, and the thought of doing this for the rest of your life makes you want to cry again from the pure happiness inside your core.

Jake takes his lips off of your pussy and sits up. Before you can ask what he’s doing, he takes you into his lap on the bed and kisses you fiercely. You taste yourself on his tongue as he skillfully takes your breath away with his lips. When you part, he says, “Angel, I know we said we’d wait, but I don’t know how much longer I can handle not being inside of you.”

You whimper at his words and suddenly rock your center into the tip of his cock, making him groan in the process. “I mean—we’re just starting early, right?” 

Jake releases a joyous laugh and kisses you hungrily, his face in a constant state of ecstasy since you said “yes” hours ago. “Right.”

 The anticipation makes you even wetter, crawling to the head of the bed as Jake grabs a condom from the bedside table. If there was one thing he had promised, he swore he wouldn’t get you pregnant. Not yet, anyway.

He rolls the rubber over his cock before joining you on the bed, lining up perfectly with your center. He rubs his tip against your folds, biting his lip at how easily it gets coated in your essence. “Ready?”

You nod eagerly, a smirk filling the entire bottom half of your face.

He pushes the tip in, the pressure a foreign feeling you had never experienced before. It took time and practice to get used to the size of his fingers, but this is another level of fullness that takes your breath away.

Once Jake’s partially inside and gives you a moment to adjust, he asks, “Can I move?”

You nod your head, holding onto his shoulders for support as he begins to thrust inside of you. He loves to see his cock disappearing between your legs, your body eagerly taking him in and stretching itself out to accommodate him. He loves the way you whimper at the movement of his hips and the pleasure you’re receiving.

Better yet, he loves you. He loves all of you, from the nonsensical words you speak in your sleep to the wrinkle between your eyebrows when you get mad. You’re all his, and he’s grateful to be the only one you call yours.

“We may never leave this motel,” Jake says, his words breathy as he continues moving his hips. “I could stay inside of you for the rest of my life, angel.”

“I love you so much,” you say, inching your hand between your bodies to roll your clit between your fingers.

“I love you,” Jake says. He takes your face in his hands and kisses you like he wants to pour all of his emotions from his being into your soul, just so you know how deep his love for you goes.

It’s all so overwhelmingly beautiful, you feel the swell of your release cresting over you like a tidal wave. “Baby, I’m gonna come,” you whisper, your mouth open wide from the moans and cries you cannot suppress.

Jake groans and slams his hips into you harder, filling you to the hilt repeatedly. “Come, angel. Come for me.”

You cry out as the orgasm takes hold of your body, your fingers working on their own accord on your clit as you fall off the edge.

Jake stills not a second later, releasing into the condom and taking the last remnants of his energy to thrust inside of you a few more times.

He pulls out and throws the rubber in a nearby trash can. His sweaty body clings to yours, hands rubbing up and down your arm tenderly as he kisses the curve of your shoulder.

You see the flash of your ring in the glow of the motel’s neon sign, and you think about how the night could not have gone any better.

Jake may be a bit reckless and not what you initially imagined for your future, but now that you have him, you wouldn’t give him up for anything. All the parts of you that stayed buried for so long have resurfaced because of him, and you could not be more grateful.

With your left hand a touch heavier than it was some hours ago, you fall asleep to the sound of the rain hitting the window and Jake’s rising and falling chest.

You walk out of your mother’s house, happy to have made a visit with her before she ran off to do her morning errands.

What you’re not pleased to encounter is the same crowd of women huddled with their homemade fans and cups of lemonade. They weren’t there when you arrived a few hours ago.  Of course they show up when you have no chance of escaping them, like the vultures they are.

“Mrs. Sim,” Mrs. Choi says, her tone entirely made of stone with little warmth. “Pleasure to see you.”

Your new surname gives you indescribable amounts of happiness. It took your parents some time to get used to, but eventually, they realized you put your heart in the right place. Your father took his sweet time getting there, begrudgingly admitting a short time ago Jake is a very acceptable son-in-law, the turnaround of his perception of your husband complete.

You give the crotchety ringleader a fake smile and attempt to walk away, but Mrs. Lee interjects. “How’s your mister doing working at the church now?”

“Great,” you say, genuinely happy to talk about a topic you care for. “Jaeyun loves the kids. Little Yuna might actually be a guitar prodigy from what he’s told me.”

They all coo, practically synchronized in their sips of lemonade and fan flurries.

“Soon enough you’ll have one of your own, I’m sure,” Mrs. Choi remarks with sarcasm, her red-lipstick-stained front teeth on full display.

“Not too soon now,” Jake suddenly says, walking up the pathway to your mother’s house and taking you in by the waist. “My wife has to finish her Masters first. How else is she gonna start teaching at the community college?”

My wife. No matter how long it’s been since you officially got married in your church, that day a year ago forever ingrained in your memory, it still warms you to the bones hearing those words leave Jake’s lips.

The women all express signs of agreement, some nodding while others hum.

“We better get back home now, but you ladies have a nice day!” Jake bids them goodbye and walks you both down the stairs with his hand on the small of your back. Even if he were to be more than the perfect gentleman in front of them, they would still linger around with pesky eyes and constantly moving lips.

“They’re still betting we’re gonna crash and burn, aren’t they?” Jake whispers, teasing you with a wiggle of his eyebrows.

You shake your head. You fall more in love with him every day that passes, no matter what the people around you do or don’t see. They may have their opinions, but it won’t shake the foundation you’ve built. “Well, they’re sure to be disappointed if I have anything to say about it.”

Jake’s eyes widen, his expression humorous yet surprised. “Easy, angel. Don’t want to have to tear my wife off of a nosy wine mom.”

Your heart aches at his words, him fully aware of what two of them in particular do to you. “I love you.”

Jake grins, inching his face closer to yours. “I’d love nothing more than to kiss you right now, but what would everyone say?” He asks with a mock face of horror.

You shrug without much care, grinning. “Someone once told me ‘fuck everyone else.’ And right now I couldn’t agree more.”

Jake laughs before he places a gentle kiss to your lips, the sun radiating off of him in waves as he pulls you closer.

No matter what anyone in your small town has to say, your choices are yours; you’re perfectly happy with how your life has turned out whether they think so too or not. And you will always choose Sim Jaeyun, now and forever.

@yvnempire @sjylouvre @mini-mews @jayparked @heesuncore @yoursjaeyun @sungbeams @jenoslutie @loserlvrss

𝐧𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐬 ౨ৎ˚₊

@kvanity-main @sweetvenomnet @onedoornet @sayxonet @violetanet @svthub @whipped-kpop-creators

[iamnotdeadyet]

Falling to Temptation |Pt.1

Priest! Gojo x Succubus! Reader

|°•°°•°•°|

After a long day of administering the sacrament, teaching and overall assisting in missionary work as the Father of his holy church, Gojo had taken a seat in his rectory, reading a book in his hands about the many kinds of religion.

You, however, were watching him from Hell, it wasn’t sure what your intentions or thoughts were of Gojo. But all you know for sure: You enjoy stoic men, and he was exactly that.

You were fascinated by how he can keep his head high with his expression unchangingly neutral. He was one cold man that isn’t easily swayed by others nor his own emotion. You wanted to drive his gears, to absolutely gain the objectory of pissing this man off. It exhilarated you.

So you decide to summon to where he is, of course.

A low chuckle could be heard in the room as all candles and lights were turned off. Then a clawed hand presses on his thigh.

He feels the sudden presence, his eyes flickering up from the book, his gaze piercing through you with an icy stare. He doesn't react, not moving a muscle, his hand continues to hold the book, his finger marking the page before setting it down on a table. He wasn't going to give you the satisfaction of a reaction.

He arches a brow, not breaking eye contact with you, his hypnotizing blue eyes not giving nothing away.

"Oh, you're spoiling me with your silence, Priest.~" a sultry voice whispers in his ear. His Adams apple bobs as he gulps, feeling hot everywhere.

Gojo's expression hardens slightly, his jaw clenching, but he maintains his composure. He speaks in a low, calm voice, "I am a man of God, not a plaything. I suggest you remove your hand."

"Oh no, whatever shall I do?~" your tone is mocking as you trace a finger down to his crotch before resting your palm on it.

Gojo's breath hitches slightly as your hand makes contact with his crotch, his muscles tensing. He tries to maintain his composure, but his voice cracks slightly as he speaks, "I-I warned you once, now I'm telling you again. Remove. Your. Hand."

A low sinister chuckle vibrates through the room before he finds his limbs locked to where they were resting. A spell, a hex of some sort.

"You should've made your move first."

Gojo's body goes rigid with the threat, his face contorted in a mix of frustration and anger. His eyes bore into yours, filled with unspoken words and unsaid threats.

His eyes flash with anger, but he's powerless to do anything as you slowly unbuckle his belt, unbutton his pants, and lower his zipper. His breathing grows heavier, his chest rising and falling rapidly. "Don't." You only grin at his poor attempt at making you back down.

His body trembles as you reach into his pants and pull out his cock your touch sending a jolt of electricity through him. He tries to resist, but he's completely under your control. His eyes are filled with shame and humiliation, but also a spark of desire.

"Such a pretty sight, aren't ya, Priest?" You exclaim after ruining his hair and cutting his cheek with one of your sharp claws. As Gojo watched the small amount of blood that oozed out he almost missed how your thumb went to press on his tip, circling the slit. Almost.

He grits his teeth, his face turning red. He struggles against the spell, but it's no use. Gojo can only watch as you admire his helpless state, his cock standing at attention-the tip red and leaking precum-despite his efforts to resist. "Shut up...you...wicked demon..."

You laugh and pout, faking offense. "Awe~ Come on, dont act like that... You're hurting my feelings!~" Still pouting, you wrap your hand around his shaft, giving it a good squeeze and enjoying the whimper that falls from Gojo's lips.

His head falls back, a low groan escaping his lips as you start moving your hand up and down, finding all the sensitive veins. He tries to speak, but the words catch in his throat, replaced by a sharp gasp. His body shudders, and he can feel himself slipping further and further under your spell. "Stop..." he mutters weakly, not knowing if he meant it or not himself.

"Feelin' a lil doubtful aren't we, Priest?~" you find yourself speeding your hand and easing the spell just to hear the sinful but oh so beautiful whimpers fall from his lips.

His breathing grows ragged, his face contorted in a mask of shame and pleasure. He tries to hold back, to resist the sensation, but it's no use. His body betrays him, his hips bucking forward to meet your touch. "Please...stop..." "I can't...ngh!"

"What's wrong, Priest? Begging already?" You weren't complaining though, that much was clear.

He lets out a strangled cry, his eyes rolling back in his head as you suck his balls. "Haah...hnnngh!!~" Your tongue was doing an expert job, licking and swirling around them. His voice is hoarse, barely above a whisper as he struggles to remember verses from the Bible he once vowed not to break. "I...am...the...priest...of...the...holy...church...I will not...bend...to... Ah!~ Fuuckkk!!"

The chuckle that leaves you was almost breathless as you drink in the view before you. The once stoic priest turned to putty in your hands. Snow white hair disheveled, marvelous blue eyes pricked with tears, lips parted open with moans and whines coming out as if he were singing them to you.

You lean your head down, pulling his foreskin down to reveal the swollen, burning red tip of his aching cock, and then taking it into your mouth. His self control ebbed away with each touch your tongue left on him and Gojo could feel his cock throb. A whimper escaped his lips as he glanced down and he swore he could cum right then and there.

You were playing with your clit, slick dripping down on the floor as your tail thrusted in and out you. As you take him into your mouth, his hands ball into fists and all words of protest he had earlier faded away, leaving him a blabbering mess.

"Pleasepleasepleasepleaseeeee!!~ 'm so close! Fuuuuckkk...ooh, right thERe!!"

He was big, veiny and the girth made your jaw ache. You struggled to put him whole in your mouth but when his tip hit the back of your throat and your nose was being tickled by his pubic hair, you felt satisfied with your work. Your head was a blur, moving in an inhumane speed and only then did Gojo's facade break completely.

Broken moans and loud, pitiful whimpers left his mouth everytime your throat constricted around him while you gagged. His eyes rolled back into his head, lips pursued then opened again in a silent scream as he shut his eyes tight. Embarrassingly soon, you felt warm spurts of cum in your throat and you pulled back, letting them fall on your tongue and breasts. The holy man was reduced to a panting, whimpering mess at only your mouth.

His gaze follows the movement of your hand as it wraps around his softening cock, his eyes wide as he watches you swallow his cum. A shudder runs through him, and he buries his face in one of his hands, his voice muffled as he speaks. "Fuck...fuck, fuck, fuck...what have you done to me?"

✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

I wanted to do this a two-part bc its too long so...enjoy!!♥︎

iamnotdeadyet owns this

[small-sinclair]

Snow and Rose

An idea by @violettelune

Reformed!Johnny Slaughter x fem!reader

Welcomed readers: @sup-im-blue

Tw: mention of blood and death, him being a dad, mainly his pov, just something fluffy, not prof-read

He woke up to another nightmare. Johnny dreamt that he found you dead in the sunflower field, your blood stained on his hands, lifeless eyes looking up. Then he heard his daughter crying in the distance. No matter how fast he ran towards her cries, he was never close enough. He was never there in time. It always ended with Nancy standing over the crib and a wicked smile on her face.

“Freed ya, Johnny. Now you can come home,” she would say. “Now you come back home. Come home.”

At his feet, barbed wire and chains wrapped around his legs and arms, pulling him to the ground. He felt roots sewing him to the wooden floor into front of his mother as he looked upon her and her smile. He felt chainsaw blades strangling him as he tried to scream your name, but sunflowers and daisies poured from his lips. His world filled with his victims, his deaths, and they all look at him with empty, lost eyes. He knew their names; how could he forget them? Then his eyes focus to the center and sees you and his child in a broken marble block, red tears falling from your eyes as you look on your child. He tastes your blood, your flesh between gasps and teeth. He hates this. He loves you. Stop. Stop it!

Wake up.

He would wake up in sweat, sometimes shutting, sometimes falling out of bed and pushing away from the bed and from you.

Tonight, however, he woke up with a start, breathing heavily, his dark eyes looking around like a scared wild animal. He looked down at your sleeping form then up at the cracked door leading into the hallway. He needed to check. Johnny just needed time check.

He got out of bed, put the blanket over your shoulder, and crept out of the room but something in his chest didn’t sit. He came back and kisses your head. “Be back, y/n,” he promised. “Keep my side warm.”

He may not be a hunter, but he still kept his talents. He can walk without noise, he can move without sound, and he can be hidden without being seen. Johnny uses that talent whenever his daughter is asleep when he comes home from a long day from the butchers. That’s why he got the job in Wisconsin; the butcher need another slaughter, and he’s good at it. Why waste a talent? He’s used to the blood, to the kill, but these are animals, not man. But he got the job to leave Texas. He swore to the stars he’ll never go back.

Johnny made that promise in a burned down church two years ago, and he stuck to it still.

He snuck out the room and down the hall to the open white door to the cotton candy pink room. He lets out a deep sigh as he came over the little white crib he built and looked down. Ophelia Rosemary Sawyer, his 5 week-year-old daughter, slept like a rock in a pink onesie with a bear in the center. Whatever fear he had, the nightmares, the shadows and ghosts— it all faded when he saw her sleeping in peace. Shes his rock, his world, his reason.

Ever so slowly, he lowered his hand and touched her head, and his heart fluttered when she moved into his hand. She’s not scared of him. As if she’s glass, he picks her up slowly and cradles her. He sneaks to the wooden rocking chair in the corner and rocks back and forth. The moonlight lit the room as the snow fell gently over the evergreens.

“Hey there, little sunshine,” he whispers. “Don’ worry. Daddy’s just needed ya.” He looks down at his world and rests his forehead against hers, kisses it, and holds her close. “I swear you’ll never be alone, ever. I love you… I’ll never not love ya.” Then he looks outside, stands up, and takes her to the window. “Look at ‘at, Ophelia,” he whispers in her small spot of brown hair, “it’s your first snow. So pretty an’ bright.” He looks out at the fields and forests, the farmlands and homes, and he thinks about the fireflies and waving weeds he left behind. “Daddy ain’t goin’ away, sunshine. I promise.”

He closes his eyes breathed out slowly. “Texas can keep the fireflies,” he looked down at his child, his blood and flesh, and his heart swelled, “I got my snow and rose.”

“Johnny?” Your voice was enough to make him jolt but he relaxed. “Why are you up? Is Ophelia okay?” You joined his side and looked down at your child. “I didn’t hear her.”

“Naw,” he answers, rocking on his heel, his eyes not leaving his child. “Sleepin’ like a lamb.”

You rested your head on his arm as he looked outside. “It’s beautiful.”

“Yeah,” he said as he laid his head on top of yours.

“Is this your first snow?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Is it everything you’d imagined?”

He thought for a moment as he took in the land before him. He could imagine Ophelia and her friends running wild outside with sleds, building snowmen, having a snowball fight out back. He could see himself with you during a star filled night while the children sleep, slow dancing with you in the snow, kissing you sweetly while whispering praises. He thought about Texas and the heat, but he thought about you smiling while it snowed, his kids playing, and him giving you a cup of cocoa.

“Everything and more, moonbeam,” he whispers, meeting your eyes. He leans down and kisses you tenderly. “I love you, y/n.”

“And I love you, Johnny,” you said back. You looked back at the snow, and you both watched it fall over the moon lit snow.

[swordluck]

⚘ @flash-sweat // cont.

Shyness cracked like a shell under the greedy press of her hips.  Anri clenched – deliberate, distracting – banishing all concern for the unblinking, bead-eye of the phone’s lens. 

Laurentius was so good to indulge her, so good to play pornstars, so good to send his hand skirting along her spine, so good to tangle his fingers in her hair.  It was a show of strength that had gooseflesh rising along her flanks, her back arching, her nipples pebbling.  Eyelids heavy, the smoky scent of the man behind her filling her lungs, Anri obediently lifted her head, facing him in the pool of glass – and then he told her she was a good girl.

“Ohmygod, yes, yes I am,” the words shot from her, though he had spoken a statement rather than a question.  “I want to be so good for you.”

Laurentius looked beautiful – he always did – but now he was behind her, over her.  Any remaining uncertainty had bled from the edges of his face, his focus narrowing onto her like a spotlight.  Yes, let him look, let him see.  No need for stolen glimpses over her shoulder this time, no frantic, fractured seconds of craved eye contact.  Now he could watch, see that every time his pelvis connected with her rear, it sent a ripple running through her, jiggling her backside, jostling her breasts.  Now she could watch, see that each impact reverberated through him too, over his abdomen, all the way to pectorals.

Anri stared, lust-eyed, her pink lips parting as a moan hollowed out her throat, watching as Laurentius pistoned into the place where her body split open like overripe fruit.  Just as sweet, just as juicy.  It almost shamed her how wet she was, how quickly their joining had become a sticky mess, her slick shining on her thighs – on him, beading in his dark curls, dampening his balls as they slapped her folds, striking head into her hooded peak.  It was loud in the quiet of her bedroom, and it was captured on camera – on camera.  Wicked thoughts took hold, and she imagined him alone, watching their movie back, his fist a blur over his length.  Better yet, her mouth wrapped around him while his phone hovered inches from his face, blue light burning in his hazel eyes.

No need for idle daydreams, not now, not in a present that blistered her with its intensity.

“I’m so wet,” she whined then, as if he couldn’t hear and feel it for himself.  Anri watched in the mirror as her flush deepened, sweeping over her cheeks and chest and thighs in a rosy tide.  Her next cry was an unintelligible slurry of sounds that poured from her as Laurentius picked up the pace.  Pale hands gripped the bedsheets in earnest, and she pushed back into every roll of his hips.  Every so often, the angle of his thrusts would plant bruising kisses to some soft, sensitive spot inside of her, the sensation hanging stars in the backs of her eyes.  Close, closer still.  The sound of Laurentius’ skin slapping against hers drowned out the phone, the room, fading them from existence, until all she could focus on was the push and pull of him inside her.  

“I’m yours,” she bleated, a happy whimper bubbling in her throat.  “Your girl – yours.”  

Ever a fanciful creature, she imagined that Laurentius had carved a place in her, that she was moulded to his contours, made to fit him and him alone.  Whatever sins the church branded her with were washed away by him, unseen wounds healed by his hands.  He was all that was holy and good, and he was going to make her come.  The edge snuck up on her like the tide, a violent rush that had her locking up in his grip, startled – crushed under a sudden wave of shyness, an animal urge to hide.  

Closing her eyes, Anri wilted, sinking towards the bed, meaning to bury her face in the crumpled sheets.  Laurentius did not allow it.  Still holding her hair, his hand tightened into a tender fist.  He kept her from falling, his meaning ringing clear even without the feverish no, don’t that slipped through his gritted teeth.  At that, her desire boiled over, and she never lowered her eyes from his, not even when she squealed and bucked and trembled.  

Messy tendrils of hair fell into her face, but Laurentius quickly swept them away, inviting her to stare at their shared reflection – to watch as his stomach tensed, as he rode out the greedy squeeze and pulse of her climax.  Evidently resisting his own release, his hands staggered to grip her hips, holding them so tightly that Anri prayed she would be left with fingertip-sized bruises.

Still shuddering, her throat burning with ragged breaths, she pushed herself up and onto her knees, leaning back to sink herself fully onto him.  Taking one of his twitching hands, she guided it to her belly, so he could feel what she felt, whimpering as his palm pressed against the intrusion.  In the mirror, their reflections were wrecked, blissed out, both shining with sweat, their cheeks stained with blush. 

“God, look at you, you’re perfect...” Anri whispered hoarsely.  Laurentius’ bearded chin came to rest on her shoulder, his broad body haloing hers.  Cheek to cheek, their necks and collarbones kiss-bitten from their foreplay, they watched as his pace slowed to deep, lazy rolls.  Still she took and took everything he gave her, she showed him how good she could be.  She could not have looked away even if she tried, his eyes boring into hers through the mirror. 

Laurentius rutted into her again and again, never breaking eye contact.  His mouth hung open, his gaze glazed over, while Anri’s body sang with the loss of control.  The hand that had pressed into the soft of her belly skirted upward – briefly pausing to palm her breasts – before coming to rest lightly, possessively, on her throat.  Such sweet sounds thrummed beneath the touch.  All she could do was take the pleasure he gave her and be grateful.  Anri licked the bowl clean, pleaded wordlessly for more. 

No circling fingers were needed – another release struck like lightning from the blue, while her body still hummed in the aftermath of the first, and she collapsed under its weight.  Laurentius went with her, still bucking, still driving her on, her breathless and boneless body sandwiched between his and the mattress.  At last his rhythm stuttered, his hips pressing flush against her backside as he poured himself inside her. 

Beneath him, Anri lay like a ragdoll, looking up in exhausted awe.  Kisses rained down on her red face, falling on her hot cheeks, her damp temple, as Laurentius murmured about how good she was:  good and perfect and pretty and his.  Anri listened from the far end of a tunnel, every nerve alight, her heart swollen and raw with adoration, still so full of him.  When she spoke at last, it was through a hazy smile, her voice strangled and thick and adoring:

“Are you happy, honey?”

[direwombat]

Its that time of the week! Tagged by @socially-awkward-skeleton (thank you~)

Tagging: @adelaidedrubman, @strangefable, @inafieldofdaisies, @detectivelokis, @baldurrs, @purplehairsecretlair , @confidentandgood , @kittiofdoom, @fourlittleseedlings, @poetikat, @gaeadene, @aceghosts anyone else who has something they want to share today! (But no pressure, as always)

been wrestling with ch 1 of kneeling at the crossroads so here's the rewritten intro~

In the dark cold of the Stranger's bunker, Deputy Sybille La Roux can finally breathe. Her teeth still chatter from the bone-deep chill she feels after spending who knows how long in her wet uniform, but it’s nowhere near as violent now that she’s in dry clothes. The old purple flannel is soft and well worn; the cargo pants are so loose and baggy that they’re nearly falling off her hips. But beggars can’t be choosers, and after everything that’s happened, she’s just grateful the man didn’t hand her over to the cult like he said he should.

The faucet drips at a steady tempo and the fluorescent lights buzz at a similar frequency to the ringing in her ears. She claws at the sink basin, leaning heavily over it and sucking in heaving breaths as she resists the urge to vomit into it. Lifting her head, the world spins just enough to get her stomach to lurch. There’s no way in Hell she isn’t concussed, but without a doctor, there’s not much she can do about that at the moment. 

She stares at her reflection in the cracked and grimy mirror. Not like she’s in much of a better state, herself. A deep gash, freshly stitched cuts across her forehead just beneath her hairline; less deep lacerations are scattered all over her face, including one slashing vertically over her lips; and throbbing in time with her pulse are the freshly bandaged second-degree burns that spread across her shoulder.

Heat. Fire. The smell of cooking flesh and agonizing pain of having to flay oneself to escape the burning chassis.

She winces and grits her teeth. Her head throbs at the memory -- or at least she thinks it’s a memory. It’s too vivid not to be. How and why she ended up ripping off a patch of her shoulder in a burning machine she can’t quite recall, and as she tries to dig deeper for context, all she draws is a blank. She remembers slogging through the mud. 

She remembers the haunting chorus of Amazing Grace echoing out into the night. 

She remembers Earl opening the doors to Joseph Seed’s church. 

And then nothing. Everything after that is just…gone. She tries to dig deeper, but the harder she does, the more it feels like she’s grasping at smoke; reaching out to grab the shadow lurking in the fog only to come back empty handed.

A dull pain settles in her temples and she takes that as her sign to give up. For now. Things will come back to her. She just needs to give it some time. Besides, all things considered, it could be worse. None of her injuries are debilitating. Sure, some are more painful than others, but all should heal in due time. Her maman always said to count her blessings where she could.

But she still looks like Hell.

“…and Hell followed with him.”

Pain stabs just behind her eyes and she physically recoils from the image of Joseph Seed pointing at her. Her heart pounds in her chest, panic forcing a shot of adrenaline through her veins. She needs to move. She needs to run. Her grip on the sink tightens. Every muscle in her body tenses, but she has nowhere to go.

Bile rises in her throat and she chokes it out into the basin. Her gums burn. Her eyes are bloodshot and watering. The thick, yellow, wad of spit and acid is tinged red with blood.

She hastily twists the knob, cupping her hands under the stream of lukewarm water and drinking deeply. It sloshes uncomfortably in her empty, cramping stomach, but it’s worth the soothing balm it provides. 

Everything hurts, but she endures nonetheless. 

She drinks her fill and wipes her mouth with the back of her hand when she’s done. The water stopper squeaks as she closes it, and the roar of rushing water returns to the rhythmic plip plip plip of the faucet’s steady leak. 

She can’t say she feels much better. But she also can’t say she feels any worse. She’s functional, and she’ll take equilibrium over deterioration any day of the week. 

Combing her hair with her fingers, she makes a feeble attempt to tame the mess of her short, dark, locks. Then, after drying her hands on her jeans, she ambles out into the rest of the bunker, looking for the man who pulled her from the river.

[lrdvyke]

❝  do not haunt my soul; i have done well forgetting you.  ❞ [ ok ok hear me out . D for invader or escaped vyke .. he's lying btw he hasn't forgotten ]

His sight blurs. A wavering, in and out, forcing his eye to blink. Once. Twice. The blur remains still, telling Vyke that what he has left is deteriorating. Just like before. It rots, festers, burns ... to save it, he must dig his fingers inside, find the string and cut. It will give way. Just like before. It had hurt less than he expected, almost as if it wanted to be pulled from his socket to release the flame nestled in the abyss. But Vyke has hesitated with his remaining eye despite the blurring. Despite the burning. Despite the pain that crawls deep within his skull like a wriggling worm.

If he had pulled it forth, he would not have seen D ... Darian ... the Hunter of the Dead. He would not have seen him stand there, sword poised, warding him off as if ... as if ... Hunter of the Dead, that is why he is here, is he not? I am dead, Vyke thinks to say, a cloying horror deep within his overused throat.

But the words that come forth behind a frozen mask of gold are filled with horror. Is it? No ... disgust, perhaps. Outrage, more so, or is that heavy sadness he hears most of all punctuating each word said as if in a rush to get them free? Vyke sways on his feet, the snow underfoot crunches softly, as the grip on his spear is not so tense as it has been times before. With each new Tarnished that came upon the distant church, falling to the madness that grips him despite the waning of the Three Fingers, of the silence of Shabriri.

Not D ... Darian ... the Hunter of the Dead.

❛ Have you? ❜ The voice that asks is unfamiliar. It scrapes up from his throat, and tumbles forth over a dry tongue, spilling out from between cracked lips. ❛ Have you? No. Nononono ... ❜

His right hand tenses finally. It drags the spearhead through the snow, drawing a curved line before he swings it up and points it at D. Darian. The Hunter of the Dead. All he knows is to fight. To protect. Like the flame in his marrow that urges him to act as it sparks within his left hand. But his breathing stutters. Another rasp in his throat. A burn to his eye, but it is one without any fire attached to it. Instead, tears spill hot over his damaged flesh and gather behind his melted helm.

❛ No. ❜ It ekes out through gritted teeth, pain renews. ❛ What soul have I left if I am forbidden? ❜

To D ... Darian ... The Hunter of the Dead ... my friend—

@luredeep !

[heavenly-vincentine]

The First Frost and The Second Hand, a short story by Jamie Mykaela.

I awoke into the velvet middle distance, gasping and grasping at my neck again, feeling the ice cold eyes boring into me and straight through to the pillow beneath. It’s been over a year and every evening is the same - a sick and twisted routine that I have yet to grow used to. The moment 2.45am hits, as if on cue, the frozen hand wraps ever gently around my larynx and pushes down with diamond pressure. Pulling me from whatever joyous dream filled slumber I may be immersed in and back to the immediate dread and acute horrors only the dead of night has to offer.

I have tried everything. Sage smudging, exorcisms, fortune telling carnies, shamans, priests, rabbis, cult members, psychologists, psychoanalysts, psychiatrists, witches, warlocks, self professed experts of the supernatural - all of them cowards, once they witness the nightly assault, flee back to whatever office, chapel or church they pedal their flimsy faith from, abandoning the ever haunted girl - leaving her and whatever apparition from hell that accompanied her to the warmth on the canals.

I haven’t figured out whose hand it is around my throat. The fingers are too decomposed to make out prints, the forensics powder sits on top of the peach fuzz on my neck, clinging to thin air and thinner hope. The scientists send me on my way with a polite pat on the ass and a sorry smile. The wall of newspaper cut outs and red string glares at me, mocking my many efforts; telling me what I already know - accept your nightly fate or fall prey to the abyss.

The hand came to me the next evening. Quiet. Deliberate. Simply summoned by the clock. Inching its way beneath the duvet, the weighted blanket and the sheet, finding pillowy flesh betwixt my nightgown - dragging its nails between the cotton and collagen, up through the valley of my breasts - returning to its home, my neck like memory foam - perfectly dented after two years of rehearsal for this new normality.

But this time it was different.

Tonight it was not alone.

A second hand followed. An equally rancid and familiar caress that gripped my chin tightly, forcing my lips into a hard unnatural pout against my front teeth, my plump cheeks bulging hard into my eyelids, restricting what little sight I had in the dark of the morning. The second hand tilts my head to the side, almost tenderly, like a lover. Its fifth finger and thumb digging into the joints of my jaw, my eyes rolling back into my head - CRACK - my jaw slackens in the unhinging, dangling by the threads of gristle and tendons. All I can taste is coins - the convulsions leaving me unable to swallow. All I can smell is rank, rotted, and unrelenting. I collapse off the axis and fall into oblivion.

The sun plays amidst the lace and mesh of the curtains, painting pretty patterns across my contorted body sprawled out on the bed. My eyes ever dry, peel my lids off of them in fluttering adjustment. My jaw is heavy, aching and intact - much to my confusion. How? I bring my hands to my face and cup my chin softly. Was I not cracked open like a saltwater crustacean, my bottom jaw swinging amongst the elastic flesh? I look down my front - no marks left on my sternum or decolletage, not a bruised breast or marked rib in sight. No signs of attack, no residue of where putrid hands had roamed.

The children keep playing, the cars keep driving, the stores continue to open and close amidst doom and dread. I had been safe within the sun’s rays, lulled into this strange sense of security that the hands would not appear in the daylight hours, but I couldn’t have been more wrong. Every moment of solitude, they creep into my peripheral vision - the corner table at Zedel, I feel the pustulous fingers on my knee - disappearing as soon as I look to it. In a dressing room, I feel the same sensation on the nape of my neck - the small of my back, and yet - I see nothing in the mirrors. The boundaries of night and day becoming a sensational blur - the hands getting bolder, every face and set of eyes that makes contact with mine; a mask - hiding the hideous corpse-like body that insists on invading my autonomy in the midwinter sun. Every stranger’s hands vex me as I search to the point of obsession. Every twitch, flex and curve a potential sign of that familiar decomposition and hidden decay that visits me every evening. The daylight offering so little reprieve - only ghosts in human form.

It could be any of them. The older man, hacking near blood into the cold, dragging his bicycle past the realtors like some sort of suburban Sisyphus with paper lungs. The middle-aged man with dark features and a high-vis vest, his eyes following my form up and down as I lock the doors of my workplace. Or the boy at the bus stop, svelte and wasted, with the stench of weed clinging to him - his sharp gestures slashing the air, daring strangers to challenge his stare too long.

Good God, I look away.

I focus on their hands with an interest that veers into compulsion. The fleshy buds, intact and human, their delicate padding untouched by decay. I watch for the giveaway, the foggiest suggestion of rotting beneath the skin, but the muscles beneath their warm, bloody dermis move with the ease of the living. None of these men, none of these ghosts in daylight, bear the identifiers of my assailant.

I have taken to walking along the stone and mud paths every evening until my legs cannot hold my body up anymore. It is January and the air is heavy and thick. I struggle to breathe in the rank vixen smell that permeates the browning canals of my residence. How can there be so much rain, and yet no freshness of the flowing water. The Thames perpetually tainted by dreck and death. Human? Animal? It matters not when the rotting hands have begun to infiltrate the daylight. My city feels… off kilter and nauseating; its beating heart filling me with dread and claustrophobia. The bare, wintered anorexic trees recall arachnid limbs ready to reach down and feast on fresh flesh if it merely stumbles in passing. I do not feel well, nor do I feel safe. My head aches in the dense heady atmosphere and the fog is creeping in once again. I will have to sleep at some point, the hands will have to arrive once again. It has been three weeks by this point and I too have joined the slew of living ghosts.

My eyes have sunken into my head and the imminent impending exoskeleton reveals itself at an alarming rate - I drag my body in and out of the apartment complex day after day, feeling my entrails dragging behind me. I cannot eat, I cannot sleep, all I do is walk until I collapse - and yet no reprieve from the nightly and now daily terrors. The yellowed jagged fingernails live in the corners of my eyes, and I pray that one day they reach a little further and just… pierce my vitreous humor like a cocktail olive, and take at least one sense away from me. I would crave death if I was less of a coward, but my mortality sadly clings onto the absolute sliver of hope for the desist of this perverted routine. I am beyond weary and beyond help.

It is February and I no longer resemble the woman I once did before the second hand took shape upon my jaw. My hair is dry and thin, my cheeks sunken, my sternum presenting itself proudly alongside my ribs, my lips an anaemic pale pink, and my hands pale, rigid, and ungiving - a body once warm, soft and made for physical contact and love now lies in the frosted soil of the moors; bare and wet, grasping into the dirt like an animal - whether hunting for answers or digging a grave for myself; I do not know. I sink my wrists further into the fertile depths and grip for something, anything to hold onto - something stable and substantial enough to pull me from the cruelty of the spectre’s foul hands. I cannot handle it any longer, my body is emaciated and slight - running hotter than it ever has before. My nails tear from the ground and rip at the wool, cotton and viscose covering the monstrous feminine I have become.

Straddling the damp dirt, sinking my knees into the earth - wailing to a waxing crescent moon. The chill eating at my edges. The moist soil and freshly dead skin buried itself under my nails further and further. Shadows cast by the fragile outline of the trees, framing my woman-creature visage. Does such a grotesque beast deserve mercy or the small grace of a force playing a malevolent god? The hands return and I gnash my teeth - a two year long hunger comes to an inevitable and ongoing climax in which five minutes feels like an increasing eternity. I’ll drink the sap that pours from the hands and onto pulped browning leaves that crush beneath my body. There is a mess of filth, flesh, blood, and noise. I can no longer discern where I begin and the hands end amidst the cacophony amongst the trees. Once a functional, even happy, young woman once stood; now devolved into a small pale monster chasing its own tail and spiraling into deep, disturbing desecration.

I came to in the fog. A fox, cold and hungry, sniffing at my naked hypothermic body, shivering involuntarily. My mouth, once again, tastes of coins. My eyes, forever dry, peel my lids off of them in fluttering adjustment. My body has a deep, dull ache and I cannot feel my extremities. The fox sniffs at my wrist and it takes all my energy to lift my arm. The fog is so thick, I can barely make myself out. I close my eyes. I bring my hand to my face. My face must be numb as well. I rub my eyes.

Nothing.

I go to rub my eyes again.

Nothing.

I go to cup my jaw.

Nothing.

I lay my arms back onto the soil and turn my head to the fox making its way up to my torso. He leans his little face up to me, proudly displaying a dismembered hand - yellowed, dirty fingernails and dead, welted skin. I smile softly in recognition and relief. Perhaps my nights will have some peace now. However, I do not remember the hand wearing my great grandmother’s engagement ring she left me. The earth is hot and bloody beneath me, and finally, I can rest.

[livio-doublefang]

That. Elicits a strangled hiss from the elder of the two. Livio did not just fucking spank him.  Wolfwood grits his teeth against the sting that's now radiating out from his ass as well as the sharp tug on his scalp. "Ffff.. ghh.. Tonto del culo―" eyes rolling to the back of his head, he lets the words out in the crispiest way in the language that he knows. "I'll fuckin show you who's gunna be the good boy here you little shit-" It's like a switch being turned on and now his hermano's gone feral, and they haven't even had breakfast yet. They don't call him The Punisher for nothing. Wolfwood takes a fist full of those tousled beautiful silver locks and yanks, maneuvering Livio to face cheek first into the pillows, ass up back towards him. He lets his hand crack against the pale skin of his ass he lets the hot and heavy weight of his member rub against the cleft, teasing possibilities, while his mouth attaches itself in earnest on the juncture of his brother's shoulder, teeth sinking into the flesh. "Let me hear you beg or I won't give it to ya, crybaby."

Got'em.

Oh how he loved watching him BREAK. Watching that persona Wolfwood strode about with fall. That cool mans swagger all laid about them in tatters like the sheets of their bed. To his growl to the husky drawl of Spanish against his flesh, he shuddered and quaked like a sinner in church. Yes. This was exactly where he wanted his big brother to be, right before he took his fill of him~

"Si, Nicolás, asi es amor~"

He purred the words in a husky growl right back, rubbing Nico's ass where he slapped him. Ah, the good thing about his brother way, his bruises and prints stayed. Which meant he had a nice Livio sized hand print adorning his ass cheek now~

His lover was quick to retaliate then, shoving him to turn around by the leash of his on hair and with a lustful whimper would he obey, pressing his front into the bed sheets with his backside presented like a trophy. Liv groaned, the sound muffled against the pillow he laid on, watching his big brother through half lidded amber eyes over his shoulder. The spank in turn caused the younger to yelp and jump, gasping weakly and shuddering at the bliss that jolted up his spine with the crack. Damn him....he wiggled his ass defiantly, his pale flesh now blossoming a rose pink with an imprint of Nicholas hand which was healing smoothly already.

Livio had to catch his breath, feeling the priest's hard on rub right between his cheeks was doing all kinds of things to him. He whimpered and mewled, moving a hand in between his legs to subtly rub at his aching length while he waited.

"Ngh...hah...m'god N-Nico....please! Please d-dont make me wait....need you, b-big brother~" The silver haired assassin choked out in a plead, rocking himself eagerly back into his brother.

[bloodsalted]

"don't you come lookin'----" another crack and his opposite wrist twists in the WRONG direction. bent in an impossible direction as he bows forward and uses his free hand with it's broken fingers to cradle it to his chest. every word seems to cost a price. and that price is a grimace, lips parted and a string of spit rolling past his lip. he bites the flesh between his teeth. shaking his head not giving this thing the satisfaction of hearing what it DID. even if his entire frame shudders.

he feels the angel drawing near before he gets there. please.. castiel's arms wrapping around him, taking the pressure off his knees but shifting them in the process has dean's head bowing forward in a muted whimper he seems to try and hold back. there's pieces of him here. fractured and broken. but he's fighting to WAKE UP. around them, the scenery starts to shift. in their shadowy maze and the room that it spills into--a darkness creeps in along the walls. veins that spiderweb their way through the blank hues around them much like the ones littering dean's eyes.

his fingers twitch wildly when touched. the two broken ones hang limp. purple and blue filling their knuckles and along the insides. and then the hand goes still once the warmth of castiel's grace seeps between the touch. dean's weight falls into the angel's lap earning a pained cry that's bit back into a grunt that wobbles it's way out. head lulled back, those eyes open and stare directly up into castiel's. "he already told you," the taunting tone mimics dean's voice the best it can. a twisted up, tainted version of hollow noise and sound echoing kept low until it can't be. why did it give him a hint? what does it want? who is going to come looking?

but it's with that touch to his forehead that dean's eyes roll white and veined. shadow shifts until there is no green left to see as it disappears back. dean's gaze aims itself into the sky overhead. fixed on something unseen. damn near deathly empty and void. but he's limp and unmoving. his eyes close and he seems to drift off. pr pass out. and that counts for something? or does it? all at once. the dream rolls back. dissipating and taking the man in his arms with it. castiel is left alone sitting back on the bed in their motel room. no dean in sight. the church the biggest clue castiel might have..

a rumor. of a church in the woods. one that was burnt down a century ago. supposedly because the priest sold his soul and practiced black magic. they hung him out front as it burned. when they found his wife and daughter buried near the crossroads leaving the town. there's monsters all over these parts, is what they were told. ghostly things that don't seem like demons. not the ones they know. THERE'S SOMETHING DIFFERENT HERE. from what the townsfolk says. they whisper what they are. and supposedly. that's what the preacher became. dean checked the area twice already. didn't find a thing. least that's what he reported back..

                              DEAN SEEMS TO BE TRAPPED IN HIS DREAM ENTIRELY. Castiel gets closer carefully, trying to make out what it is he's staring at, but to his own eyes, there's only empty air. Maybe it's all in Dean's head. Weirder things have happened in dreams. "Dean," he says again and then recoils when the hunter finally lifts his head and looks at him. His eyes. They're not normal, the forest green tinged with something ugly, something evil. And his voice? It almost sounds like in that awfully boring movie Dean made him watch, the one with the possessed girl that puked pea soup and was rather dramatic. 

                              "Dean, what —" But he's cut off by the horrible crack of breaking bones followed by Dean's anguished scream. The thing is: This is a dream, and Dean can't really get hurt in here. It doesn't matter, though, because the human brain can release a cocktail of chemicals that will make you believe you're suffering awfully without any real injury, and that's almost worse than a broken bone in the outside world. 

                               He rushes forward, circling his arms around Dean's waist to keep the weight off his broken knees. Something is terribly wrong here. This isn't a normal dream. What is influencing him? What has him in its ugly grip? A demon? But Dean has the anti-possession tattoo. "I'm here, I'm here, Dean, it's okay," he mutters, feeling something akin to panic bubble up in his chest. He gingerly wraps his hand around Dean's broken fingers, trying to heal them with his grace — in a normal dream, this would be pointless, but nothing about this is ordinary. "Who are you?" he demands then, fury in his eyes as his finger touches Dean's forehead, trying to dispel whatever is taking hold of him, burn this evil out of existence by sheer angelic wrath. "Leave him be!"

[teacupcollector]

Rebel - Chapter 2

Main Masterlist

Series Masterlist

Summary-  (Y/N) Is a Matt Murdocks 14 year old daughter who is just entering high school and is really struggling. She doesn't have a regular life having a blind father. He can't help with homework, Can't give her a have a ride to school, He can't see how often her face falls when she lies to him. Of course she has her Uncle Foggy and Aunt Karen but (Y/N) feels like to much of a burden until the one and only Frank Castle comes into her life and seems to be more of a father figure  then Matt ever was.

Your (E/C) eyes slowly open to the sun peeking through the curtains. The sound of cars and people going about their day is heard. You look over at your alarm clock to it reading 8:20 AM. 'Oh no... I slept in!' You suddenly sit straight up throwing the comforter off of you and dash to the open living and kitchen area, your eyes darting around. 

Your father Matt Murdock is no where to be seen and you let out a sigh. "Of course he is gone..." You grumble as you go into the bathroom and look in the mirror. Your (H/L) dark brown hair is sticking in all different directions, your eyes have bags under them, and you feel like death. You were never a morning person but you dealt with it for the slight chance you could get a few seconds to spend with your old man but of course he always seems to escape you. You pick up your tooth brush and run water on it then put tooth paste on it and run water over that. (There is no other way of brushing your teeth if you don't do exactly that you are a monster.) You had this routine. You would make breakfast, Then you would brush your teeth, take a shower, hang around in your room with the towel wrapped around you until you felt like getting dressed, then you would brush your hair and get ready for school. Since it is the weekend however you didn't feel the need to make breakfast. 'If dad stayed true to his word we might actually have donuts for breakfast.' The lazy train has just pulled into the station  as you threw on your favorite pair of clean pjs and walked out to the living room and sat on the couch. You sit there for a good few minutes until you feel to antsy to stay still and stand up again. You glance over at the small round table seeing the empty plate from last nights food your dad ate. You decide to pick it up and begin washing dishes... Which lead to sweeping... And then organizing... Which lead to cleaning the whole place.

             You were wiping down the coffee table when you hear the front door open. "(Y/N) I'm home!" Matt calls out from the front door. The smell of the beloved baked goods in his hand wafting through the air. "Hey daddio! Whatcha got there?" You say peeking your head around the corner to see your dad placing his cane against the wall with this left hand and holding the donuts in his right as he guides himself into the main living space. "Oh nothing really... Just the best breakfast ever!" He says holding up the box of donuts which you snatch out of his hand and make a mad dash over to the couch and set the delectable donuts down on the newly cleaned coffee table. "Thank you Thank you Thank you!" You say in excitement. "Oh come on (Y/N)... You dare steal from a blind man leave some for me." He says making his way over to the couch sitting next to you. "Fine, fine you can have some but the glazed and Strawberry filled ones are mine!" You says picking one up and taking a bite out of it savoring every bite. Matt chuckles. "Alright fine." He says as he starts eating his own.

           There is a small silence as you both finish your first donut. "So how is school going?" Your dad asks. "Its okay nothing to special going on... How is work?" You ask. "Work is work... you know how it is." He says taking a bite out of another donut. You scoff "Yeah totally."  You grumble glaring down at the donuts as you take another one and shove it in your mouth. Matt tips his head to the side slightly looking in your general direction. "Everything okay sweetpea?" He asks sounding very concerned at your tone. "Yeah everything is fine." You say as some crumbs fall from your mouth. "Just didn't get much sleep last night..." What you said wasn't a full lie, you didn't get to much sleep last night. "How is Uncle Foggy?" You asks changing the subject. "Did you guys crack any cases?" There is a smirk on your lips. "Foggy is fine (Y/N). And no we don't "Crack" cases." He says with a laugh. "Oh you know what I mean did you win any? Do you have any new ones? Give me the dets man!" You says scooting closer to him out of excitement. " (Y/N) you know I can't give you that type of information. Its classified. Client privacy." She sighs "Well you must have won something because you were out so late. You were probably with Aunt Karen and Uncle Foggy at Josie's partying it up." You say shutting the box of donuts seeming to have had your fill. " (Y/N) we don't party. That isn't our style you know that." Your dad seems to be getting antsy at all of the remarks you have been making. "No actually I wouldn't know because I'm not exactly allowed to be out of the apartment at night and I'm not allowed at Josie's either. You get to have all the fun." You say with a slightly annoyed  tone. "What is that suppose to mean (Y/N)? What I do for work isn't fun." He says sternly. "Uh huh yeah okay..." You stand up. 

                "What's up with this attitude all of the sudden?" Matt asks. "Nothing is up... I'm on my period!" You say maybe if you say something like that it will change the subject. "Okay okay okay I didn't need to know that... Look I'm sorry. I know you're stressed and so am I. How about you ask one of your friends to hang out and blow off some steam and then maybe later we can go for a walk in the park and go to that deli shop that you like so much or maybe the diner that we use to go to on Sundays after church. Would you like that?" He asks. "Yeah... That would be nice... Thanks dad." You say turning to him and he stands up. "Any time sweetpea" He give a small smile and opens his arms for a hug. You hug him. "I love you dad... And thanks for the donuts" You say with a smile. "Is that an "I love you dad" because of the donuts? Or what?" He asks with a laugh which in turn causes you to laugh as well. " Well you being my sweet treat supplier is a plus maybe you can add that to the "Awesome Dad" resume." You say letting go of him and he ruffles your hair. " Alright I will keep that in mind. You go ahead and call your friends and then tell me where you will be hanging out and for how long. If you still want to go out to eat I want you back by 1:30. What time is it now?" He asks. You quickly run to your room and grab your phone. "Its 10:45!" You shout from your room. "That's plenty of time to hang out with your friends. I hope you have fun! Now go call your friends!" He calls out and he grabs the donuts from the table and sets them on the counter.

           You dial your best friend Jenifer's number and on the second ring she answers. "Hey (Y/N)! Whats up!" Your friend sounds excited. " Nothing much. I was wondering if you would like to hang out. Maybe we can bring Abigail and we can go hang out in that ice cream shop or maybe go and hang out at the bridge like we use to or we can just walk around!" You say excited. "yeah that would be awesome! Where do you want to meet?" You look up slightly thinking "How about my street corner." You ask. "Alrighty I will see you there!" Jenifer says. "Alright bye!" You hang up then start getting dressed.

[entities-of-posts]

Content warnings for gore, including hands, teeth, and burns.

[The Slaughter avatar sat, and she waited. And she waited. And she waited. The pews gradually filling around her. Inefficient, she thought. She could have had the kids out and everyone dead by now, she thought. But only thought. Didn't act. She trusted the team. Trusted the plan. Not trusted as in belief, but trusted as in action. And so. She waited.]

[Silence fell. Darkness fell. She couldn't see. The service was beginning...]

[And then the silence was broken by the deafening crackle of Flame, the light of actual fire shining in through the cracks around the steel door and the windows on either side. The light didn't illuminate much, mostly just casting exceptionally long shadows in the cathedral, but it was enough. And it was her signal, as a commotion began at the disturbance.]

Archivist, there's a specific emotion responsible for more bloodshed throughout human history than any other. It certainly isn't rage, not if you follow it to its source.

[Her voice was low, intended for an audience of one. She unfastened her cloak and stood, the shadowy fabric slipping off of her, doffing her gloves as well. Her face, in the light of the fire, was unlike any in the Archives had seen it. Her fury, her frustration, her mania was gone. Her eyebrows, rather than being furrowed, were upturned, her left eye innocent and doe-like. She looked meek. Demure. Hurt.]

It's love.

[Her scars were on clear display. The cuts around her right orbital socket, her eyeball missing, watching from afar. The vicious and very personal slash through her throat, so deep that it was clear that the very fact that it had scarred at all was supernatural in nature. And her hands. The shiny leather of burn scarring, hands so devoid of tissue that it was like her skin had been painted over a skeletal model, fingernails entirely gone. She began to sing.]

[Long, melodic, high-pitched notes reverberated in the high ceilings of the cathedral. Her voice was haunting, captivating. Heads turned away from the door being welded to watch, as if seeing this took priority, although none moved to stop it. She sang in a language unfamiliar, perhaps not even real, but its message carried despite. She sang with melancholy and despair, a song of loneliness, a song of hurt. Her voice trembled with a vibrato that sounded as though she were holding back tears. It was objectively beautiful, the melody perfectly capturing the emotion it was to portray, her voice seamlessly shifting between notes, crossing octaves.]

[And on the other hand. The emotion it evoked in its listeners.]

[Pulses pounded throughout the church, blood pressure skyrocketing. A blood vessel burst in more than one eye. A tooth splintered in a grinding jaw, the shards digging deep into the gum. The unholy fucking hatred that filled this church was so thick it stifled the breath.]

[She was hurt. Look at those scars. Look at her hands. Listen to her pain. They hurt her. They did this. You're certain. It was them. These people around her. The people she's looking at with such hurt, such fear. They did this. They did this. They did this. You know they did. You know it. You know it. You know it. YOU KNOW IT.]

[And you are going to make them pay.]

[Her song concluded. And the bloodbath all around her began as the congregation tore itself apart.]

*the Archivist is far too captivated to even notice it’s narrating anymore, the words falling out of its mouth independently of its will or focus, which is turned entirely to the woman with Hands Stained Forever Red and her haunting, entrancing song* *the blood rushes to its ears, even that far away, drumming, drumming on its eardrums* *it promised her all Eyes would be on her. And they certainly are. It couldn’t possibly tear them away now, even if it wanted to - but that’s the last thing it wants*

*she is so incredibly attractive*

[ask-the-achs]

BATTLE START!

REDACTED Utah. 1945 hours Random church.

*in an old church that had fallen to disrepair and nature reclaiming the very elements that made up the church one very odd sight was at the end of the room. It was a large marble statue of an angel with its head missing and cracked wings with a..nun? Mental patient? In front of it. She was a gaint woman towering over most men she wore a rather faded and torn nuns uniform with what seems to be a rather thick and sleek spandex latex goretex mixture bodysuit that was a dark grey with four letters on it. A C H S.*

*stepping into the church sighing at the sight of the area stepped a shirtless man wearing rather tight purple pants. He had a mask on along with a claw he had long blonde braided hair ponytail he tilted his head seeing the nuns figure.*

"I must say...you are quite the accretive figure. Hut lord bison wants to study you. I need to bring you to heel or to death. You choose."

*the nun stood up from her kneeling showing off her heels and turning further showing her impressive size she also had a mask with no eyes that had a heavy amount of make up on it. The mask was porcelain with leather straps locking to a thick but very rusted lock. She tilted her head staring at Vega and with a sound that was simply a muffled and strained yell of rage ripping off one of the chains off her arms connected to a pair of ankles cuffs that were on her swinging the chain like a whip Vega soon dodged to which he quiped.*

"Oh the lady is into that sort of thing. How interesting."

*the nun gave a confused grunt and snapped the other chain dual whipping the area around her trying and failing to hit the bull fighter who weaved and dodged swiping at her with his claws at her cutting her outfit to ribbons. Oddly this made her madder but she finally got a hit in by grabbing a weighted ball of pure steel sending him through a window shattering it into peices making him stumbling backwards making him dropping his aggressive acts making him focus on his ninjitsu training jumping into a tree as Midnight ran out looking around only to be attacked from above by Vega who actually managed to tear her suit enough while jumping back seeing grey skin confusing him only for to see a coffin fly at him making him panic and duck as the coffin tore trough the rather thin Willow trees nearby as Midnight got up and with one simple swipe of her palm around the same time Vega did as well making both their maskes fall off and break Vega soon flipped out and turned to rage at the other woman only to make him and fall over in genuine disgust and horror*

*Midnights face was soon shown. She had darkened grey skin no eyes her ears and nose seemed to be gone. But due to her lack of self care due to being a undead nun her gums were a pitch black with shaped yellow teeth her lips were full torn and shredded stitches with her gums held together by wires which were snapping open and filling her mouth with clooded blood.*

"WHAT THE DEVIL ARE YOU YOUR FURIOUSLY HORRIDED CRETIN"

*he got up and pulled his claw up and started in a fit of fury clawing at her repeatedly tearing her suit and when he was done he stabbed her through her non existent stomach and threw her down into the church smashing through the floor but he soon a horid tapping and clacking*

*the clacking was soon shown to be her lower half running at him being nearly being quick enough to dodge his swipes the tapping was midnight upper half showing her hands were nothing but bone held together with metal plates to which lunged at Vega clawing his face making him scream in rage and pain while trying to not vomit only to somehow Not notice he had lost his claw due to the swipes soon after midnight grabbed his claw and impaled him in the leg to get him to stop running afterwards she wrapped her chains around his neck and repeatedly stomping her heels into his back neck and face.*

*when she was done all that was left was a broken Vega with a split head and broken nneck. She soon drags him to the front of the church and slammed him into the front of the decorative fountain which had dried up.*

*with one last guttural roar she walks back to the church only to be twleported to the ACHS main base.*

*Shed some time with a book....or five....or 20.*

WINNER MOTHER MIDNIGHT

This is gonna be fun.

VEGA VS MOTHER MIDNIGHT

Ugliness is a matter of perspective.

Vega info

Hight:6 foot 1

Weight:185lbs

Weapons:Bare Hands, Claw.

Strengths:as one of Shadowloo's four heavily kings and number one assassin he's one of the strongest and deadliest street fighters. Superhuman strength (can kick full grown men into the air he can slice motorcycles apart and smash through walls. Can easily suplex the 302lb sumo wrestler E.Honda) Superhuman durability (can survive getting upercutted into a chandelier by Ken and can get kicked through walls by Chun li. Shook off getting punched by Balrog who can punch an elephant to death. [Elephants can take 10000lbs of force without succumbing to head injury induced death. That poor elephant.]) Superhuman speed (He's well known as one of if not the fastest street fighter. Can speed blitz half the street fighter roster) highly skilled in fighting (his whole fighting style is a somehow expertly mixed combination of Spanish bull fighting and Japanese ninjitsu)

Weaknesses:Despite the feats of the fighters and skills he's rather frail compared to most of the roster not helped by a lack of armour though he's very skilled at dodging. Will torture his foe instead of killing them when given the chance. Will lose his fucking marbles if his face gets damaged. Due to his past he views all things beautiful as good and ugly as evil and will carve up anything ugly. (This comes from him coming home to see his gorgeous mother getting murdered by his ugly stepfather.)

Mother Midnight info

Hight:6 foot 4

Weight:100lbs (due to...her body.)

Weapons:Bare Hands, chains, ball weight, her own coffin.

Strengths:as an anomaly held in the Achs main base she's one of the stronger anomalies and these guys deal with a lot. Superhuman strength (Despite her body being all manner of fucked up she's capable of flipping cars derailing trains with a kick and effortlessly smashing through bullet proof glass. Despite being a harmless anomaly she's held in a danger anomaly cell. Most harmless and danger anomalies can bend steel. The weakest danger anomaly has been known to level 2 story buildings and MM can be considered the strongest danger anomly.) Superhuman durability (can no sell being stabbed shot is immune to fire and the cold. Got ran over by a minivan and stood back up not feeling it. Anti tank weapons and chainsaws can slow her down but not enough to make her weaker.) Suprising speed (Despite being covered in chains wearing platform heels held together with tar and having a 50lb weighted steel ball she's Suprisingly fast enough to dodge swipes from Moontear who's a skilled kickboxer. Has thrown her coffin fast enough and hard enough to obliterate men before any can duck.) Due to essentially being a corpse with no organs she can tear herself in half to make herself faster. Somehow can reassemble herself when needed. Can manipulate tar to reattach her limbs through staples and threads. Highly skilled at stitching herself or other things together. Due to her faith in 'the Others' she can read minds and souls allowing her to sense intent.

Weaknesses:really naive and dense along with kinda dumb (due to her dieing from a chandler falling on her head so hard it slip her head open tearing her brain in two and mangling her frontal lobe) being a corpse without her organs she's not in good condition physically. If her head is damaged or removed from her body she will die and stay dead till her head is put back on her body. Due to her becoming a nun after her first death due to a group of religious followers of 'The Others' she's a pacifist by nature unless she 'Finds a horrendously rottenly ugly soul' Kaito claims spirit tags can trap her still meaning she can be excorsised like any yokai pr spirit though people don't know why she's still around.

[michimichim]

in-dee-ca | rosé

disclaimer: dom!fem!poc reader x sub!roseanne, substance use, semi exhibitionism, etc.

improved version

the church bells chime a brassy and insistent sound; an ear-splitting, melody you still struggle to get accustomed to as you leave the bustling building. your friends fall into step with you and together you trudge down the steps of assembly hall, hands in the pockets of your school blazer while they chortle with laughter.  

a shiver wracks over your body as the breeze drifts into your hair and frost your cheeks.

“honestly,” it’s one of your closest friends who speaks up, “what does ‘stricter regulations’ even mean? as if the school doesn’t already have a stick up its ass.”  

“it means open up your books for once, dipshit.” jennie, a senior and representative on the school board, snides as she brushes past you along some of her friends busy trailing after, hot on her heels.  

you bite back a laugh whilst a ruckus of guffaws resonate around your small crowd.  

“fuck off, kim.” your friend shouts after her, eyes rolling in nothing but annoyance, however their expression remain soft. they watch jennie’s retreating form before resting their eyes on something behind you. “here comes miss sunshine.” or rather, someone.

you spare a glance over your shoulder, an agitating feeling erupting in the pit of your stomach when your eyes fall on a familiar sight. she's surrounded by a total of three girls, all tittering as they saunter up the steps of the assembly hall. the dark red and blue of the school uniform brings out the peachy color of her skin, singling her out from the small crowd that’s assembled around. picture perfect she is with her plaid skirt hiked up. all pretty, pale thighs and slender legs. eyes naturally veer her way; she always seems to capture everyone’s attention, and it wasn’t solely due to her father being the headmaster, but rather the vivacious and nonpartisan aura she constantly carries around.  

roseanne is the epitome of natural beauty. some still whisper about her loose hair and ruddy cheeks, and stout red lips, and lithe slender body that never seems to walk but rather float through the walls. she's perfect in every sense, the type of perfect that draws in boys and girls alike, girls like yourself.  

as if sensing the heat of your gaze, her eyes flicker to yours and you stare back, eyes unwavering, challenging her to glance away first with a slight cock to your eyebrow. doe orbs scale down your body – syrupy and casual posture leaning against chilly stairs; it gives you an air of nonchalance – in such swift manner it might have never occurred, but attention from roseanne park could never be forgotten. dulce creamed, dreamy eyed with stars in her nebulas roseanne could never be forgotten. she averts her attention back to her friends.

“what’s it with you and the park girl?” it's someone else that speaks up near you, voice tinged with nothing but curiosity.  

you turn to face them; their eyes seem to trickle with a mix of wonder and apprehensiveness.

you shrug in a dismissal manner, “nothing.” you hate denying it, but you learned to be discreet even when the questioning comes from your friends. even when you despised their questioning. even when you despised them for attributing you a role – one that doesn’t include roseanne in it, the golden girl who knows everything, does everything right. you disdain it and so does she.

the conversation lapses into one of silence and your friends say nothing else, some assess you before emitting out a low hum and dropping the topic.  

you tune them out, distracted, as your attention returns to her, the latter’s laughing along to something – could be anything, really. it's not hard to get her laughing. you return your gaze to your friends and stand up. “i’ll text you.” you throw over your shoulder, willing an apologetic smile on your lips as you trade down the stoned stairs.

-

the sun’s seeping through the arched windows, a kaleidoscope of warm and golden light gushing out over your bodies, tangling with roseanne’s blonde locks. the room she pulled you in belongs to an abandoned and obsolete west wing of the school. no one actually comes here; it has been forgotten, gradually, by its founders until room 144 became nothing but a discarded memory. something close yet hidden.  

the furniture around you is covered with white silky material, gently flapping from the frigid breeze sipping through the cracked open window.  

your hand absently brushes up and down her smooth thigh, drawing arbitrary patterns; she's delicate under the pad of your fingers, a skin so silk angels would exchange for their wings. the hem of her blue plaid skirt is sitting higher than it ought to, her blouse unbuttoned lower than the hall surveillants would ever permit, and between her lithe fingers, something her father would pop a vein over – she’s at her best here with you. your rosie who plays the sweetest of melodies with your heartstrings.  

the sound of fluttering pages fills the cracks of the comfortable silence and she shifts, her legs twirling down over your lap, shoes swiftly thrown off and her gaze, unknown to you, flicks towards your face. she calls you by your nickname, head tilted, exposing the slim curve of her neck as she releases a blanket of smoke through the cherry glossed curve of her lips.  

“hm?” you hum in response and with one hand, the other effectively occupied with multitasking where they usually reside, turn the page of your book.  

a laugh escapes the sheen of her lips. “i'm sensing some sexual tension between you and that book, am i interrupting?”  

the side of your face ticks up into a half-grin, warmth infiltrating your ribcage and through your chest. you glance up from your novel, “kinda,” you tease, eyes softening into a warmer hue once they connect with pools of deep, hypnotizing browns. “mind giving us a moment?”    

“ha. ha." the corner of her lips curve upwards, sarcastic, as she removes the blunt from her parted lips. she sits up and slide over the wooden floor, much closer to you and the substantial, sweet floral aroma of her jasmine and basil fragrance mingles with the herbal scent of weed as she hands the joint over.  

“your mother was the one to assign this to me, you know.” you slump your weight against the soft beige wall, holding the blunt between your lips, before taking a drag out of it, inhaling, holding and releasing it through parted lips.  

“of course she did,” roseanne replies, vexation beneath the delicate pastel shade of her words. you abstain from calling attention to it because here, golden girls like roseanne shouldn't feel anything synonym to anguish. golden girls like roseanne have everything, so why would there ever be a fold between her brows? here, golden, beautiful girl roseanne never has anything but euphonious laughter.  

but the glint of sport in her eyes never wavers, so casting the book aside, you resort to laying a comforting hand on her thigh because you know the golden girl with saccharine smiles, the one who evoke tropical storms in your chest is solid bones and perfect imperfections in a sea of deceptive beings.    

“what’s it about?” she adds, her fingers stringing with yours as the syllables overflow on her smiling lips. her smile, all-too-familiar, whirs something up your spine and her touch seems to burn into your palm, through the cracks of your fingers.    

you take a drag, holding it until it burns, and pass it back to her, “charles duhigg,” your hands never part as you reply, a blanket of smoke slipping out. “the science behind habit, creation and reformation.”    

“so, tell me,” she quips, rustling, inching closer, all hot breath and intoxicating perfume, the tip of her ears crimsoning when you maintain eye contact, “would you rather kiss charles duhigg or, me?”    

"roseanne," you taunt good-naturedly, a laugh looming around to waver your lips. "are you jealous of a forty-something-year-old?"  

you follow her eyes fluttering down to your lips, sharp and wanton. she breathes in another hit then says, "can you blame me for wanting all the attention?"

she wraps her lips around the opaque blunt once more, the scene arbitrarily sinful but then, rather than inhaling it, she cradles your jaw and hovers your lips. exhaling her breath into your willing mouth; it's undoubtedly one of the hottest things you’ve ever witnessed, and if possible, it heightens the smoke wafting in your gut with a coiling warmth.  

“there’s no way i can blame you when you’re pulling shit like this.” you breathe out, slightly dazed from the smoke or her. you don’t really know. 

“i know,” she whispers, several beats too late, breath ghosting atop your lips until they’re meeting in a smooth plash of lips, fluttering lashes and warm breaths.  

the second roseanne’s tongue presses into your mouth, light and pliant and sweet-tasting of hot chocolate, imbued with the smoky aftertaste, you float through a state of euphoria. your hands linger down to the soft curve of her ass, squeezing. you can’t resist the urge, sticking a resounding slap on the round of her ass, loving the surprised moan that’s torn out of her.

she captures your bottom lip into her mouth, teeth toying with the flesh and something about that is thoroughly gratifying to you, as is her quiet pant against your mouth when you draw away – dizzy from lungs running out of air, she pecks your lips a final time before shifting back.  

she sinks herself comfortably between your legs again, perched on your lap while you continue passing the second joint back and forth. as it shortens in size, you grow more physical. your hand never leaves her ass, ghosting over the silken lace of her underwear. roseanne is not far off; she sighs under every single one of your touches, hands threading down through the collar of your shirt, nails roaming up and down your back, scratching lightly at the plains of your shoulder blades.  

you take two to four more hits, you think, you’re not too sure. you've lost count because now the haziness in your head is growing stronger, the sounds are softly intertwining with themselves that you have to haul her closer by the waist as to anchor yourself and think.  

“you think,” you clear your throat, trying to swallow down the dryness. “you think we could order something to eat?”  

roseanne turns her head languidly from the tiny spirals of smoke wafting in the air, her eyes fleeting to yours following a couple of seconds. she peeps at you, “mmhm," she utters. "i guess. well, yeah, it would make sense ... right?" and she titters.  

after holding a straight face and retaining the roach (that you still haven’t noticed has been extinguished) for a few moments, contemplating, “rosie,” you let out a stifled laugh suddenly, like a blend between a snort and a chortle. “you really think the delivery guy, like, the car … can get up here?”  

your bones feel weightless. like you’re soaring, there's nowhere else you'd rather be, and every bone in your body is at ease for the first time today. roseanne shakes with gentle laughter, cradling the scrap of the joint in her hands like religion and setting it aside, next to your knees. 

she clumsily knocks the ashtray over, cursing. it's too endearing, you can’t help but mirror her accent, giggling when she pouts and steady herself from falling as you dissolve into a weed-induced puddle of laughter, stomach shaking, fighting a new hurricane of giggles herself. you just have a way of imitating her accent that is almost uncanny.  

“asshole,” she leans her body into yours, pressing your chests together, feeling yours lift against hers. she then stretches her hand to descend the tip of her nail down your collar.    

“your one and only.” you drawl, drawing in a long, faint breath.  

the warmth hasn’t left your body still, it seems to be making its way from your chest to the rest of your being. you tip your head back so it’s resting on the back of the furniture, eyes lazily drifting over to the window. outside, the sky is clear, a stunning tone of cantaloupe, the sun about sitting so low in the sky it dazzles you through the clefts of the buildings and canopy of trees. this place has become your favorite; it’s all just so peaceful and beautiful here, away from the day-to-day activities.  

you're feeling the floor below you stir like you’re in one of those massage chairs at the mall, combating the inexpressible comfort of roseanne’s weight on you and the sudden mass of your eyes – it wouldn’t be the first time you fall asleep right after smoking. usually, you'd instantly pass out to the steadfast rise and fall of her heartbeat, and she’d follow suit, curling in on herself against your chest.  

“this weed is,” the sway of her voice brings you back from your daydream, “wow.”    

picking your head up and letting the blood rush back down your neck, your brow ridges and you shift, sitting upright and inching closer to gaze into her eyes – they’ve turned a reddish hue, heavy-lidded, but as breath-taking as ever with pools of deep, mesmerizing, mocha brown, and you say, “well, it’s definitely hitting.”

you're becoming increasingly conscious of her nail gliding lower between the top buttons of your white buttoned-up shirt – you don’t recollect exactly when they’ve been popped open, but you don’t have it in you to think long and hard about it. the finger’s tracing the dark bites that have been pressed against the soft mahogany flesh of your skin, progressive shivers creeping up your spine.  

“babe,” she whispers, and it’s the lilt of her voice that makes you glance up at her. when exactly did she pick the blunt back up? the shape her lips make to get those flawless smog rings remind you of the other instances when her mouth’s carved similarly – it’s when she first wraps her lips on your thumb and she teases, tongue swirling around the digit, just playing, taunting. she'd push it in and out of her mouth with suction and with her tongue, she’d bob her head, maintaining your eyes locked through the ordeal. knowing all too well that she's gorgeous with your fingers in her mouth.

“you’re okay to keep going?” she questions, moaning when you bunch her skirt up to press your hands back on the soft, small plump of her ass; they fill both of your hands, moulding back against your palms. you land a kiss on the sweet, red blossomed apple of her cheeks.  

“how can i refuse when i’ve been eyeing this ass all day long,” you murmur, running a hand up, snapping the waistband against her skin. 

that’s all she needs to press her lips against yours.  

you lose yourself completely in how thoroughly your lips effortlessly glide against each other, it turns sweeter, cotton candidly sweeter. then lustful and something entirely more celestial. it could just be the weed accentuating the brush of roseanne’s tongue against yours but you know it would feel almost as good when sober, or even better – you’re not quite sure, each time always feels different than the last.  

“rosie,” you ripple against her lips and she hums, moans mingling for a few moments, your hands gripping up the juts of her waist as she detaches from your lips to start mouthing at the junction of your neck and jaw, teeth scouring down your throat.  

she grips, getting a fistful of your shirt in one hand with the other curving within the heated skin at the base of your neck. your bodies are so close, warm, and she wants to look at you but she’s in some kind of stage where all she aches to do is let her lashes wave shut, so that’s what she does along driving her hips instinctively down against your thigh.  

even through all the layers of clothing between you, you can feel the wetness sliding through the flimsy fabric of her underwear on your bare thigh; the delicious friction of against each other. 

your hands part from her hips to shed your school blazer instead, and roseanne opens her eyes to unbutton her shirt as you grab at yours, unceremoniously yanking it out of your skirt and sliding your palm up the delicate valley of her stomach. hand sliding up further still, you’re cupping, kneading her breasts, bringing an exceptional churning in her gut when one of your thumbs stroke her nipple through the lace. it's off with a quick push of your fingers.  

she stretches out her stomach, feline-like, curves her back and chest out, granting you the sight of her petite breasts as she swivels back and forth back along the length of your thigh. “touch me,” she coos, “please, baby.”

“touch you,” you reiterate, finger tracing the outline of the damp spot lining up her labia. she pushes up her knees to raise herself only the slightest bit higher, “here?” she whines as your touch makes her nerves jump, stroking her lips slowly through the cloth, hoping to further drive her out of her mind.  

slipping your fingers into the hem of her panties, the cloth clings against her sex until you push back against it. you shuffle a little so that you could capture her nipples between your teeth, sucking on the bud. her entire body tenses above yours, arms wrapping around your neck, cradling your head closer to her chest.  

slick is smearing all over your panties, merely from relishing her like she’s a fucking gift from the gods, preening when her hands quaintly smooth over the back of your neck and your fingers play, lazily and easily through her lips.  

she gasps against your ear as your fingers run over her entrance, pressing and teasing, slow and calculated, sliding in the slightest so rose could feel the webbing of your fingers just barely inside of her.

a final tug on her reddened nipple, you withdraw your fingers.

without notice, roseanne’s vision tilts, and she finds herself yelping with her back on the polished, wooden floor with your body hovering hers and a dopey smile adorning your lips. her focus narrows into the manner your eyes dilate – lust and the effects of weed in them. “was that … indica?” you ask, a childlike nature to your voice while sliding her panties down her legs, then yours. you drop them near and kneel before her.  

“i don’t –” she cuts herself, contemplating the fleeting body-warming euphoria that expands through melting and blissful relaxation. “mhm.” she titters, letting the word draw itself out slowly.  

she gives you that look – peering up at you, heavy eyes open and telling as she spreads her legs, revealing parted, wet lips, swollen and pink from what feels like hours of teasing. you stare longingly, pupils blown, squirming and urging to get your mouth to taste her.  

you dip down. roseanne feels the warmth of your breath, and then the first hot touch of your tongue on sensitive skin. she breathes out, tilts her hips up against your mouth, so you move the muscle brusquely, forward at an angle that catches at every lap.  

you’re ridiculously skilled at this; seriously, no one, not even her fingers, knows her body as you do. no one else makes the pleasure overtake her mind as you do, as you flick your tongue and suck on her clit, thoroughly enjoying the way her sweet, even as a salty mix dribbles down your tongue. you're murmuring what sounds like appreciative, sugary words that roseanne can’t entirely make out, she succumbs in the soothing oscillations of it, punctuated by the intervals when you prob and poke with the tip of your tongue. she pushes back into it, chasing the feeling of that tongue gently opening her up, exploring for more.  

then, still feeling quite indolent and mellow, you're nonetheless agile to move, sliding roseanne’s long legs over your shoulders. and with a quick mewl and purr tumbling out of you, you grasp her skirt in the balls of your fist and shove it up her stomach, then gather yours to situate yourself over her glistening lips. the first thrust is everything. she had sealed her eyelids shut again, laid back down and gone docile, allowing you to rut freely against her like – contented with being handled however you like. but when her hips roll up to press back against yours, it startles a moan from you, the sensation of it making both of your bodies sigh.

there's a certain rush; like the one you get when you’re veering the wheels of your bike for the first time, or the one where you’re getting away with something you should not have. this rush is the one currently coursing through your veins, a rush of want that floods through you, feeling almost surreal, rendering you lightheaded. you're almost, almost worried something else was laced in the blunt, but roseanne’s pussy proves powerful for it gently coaxes you out of your anxiety-inducing thoughts.  

they're gone with each thrust sending her body forward. you can’t help speeding and hardening the rolls of your hips in quiet appreciation. each jolt makes her whine and thrill— you have to grit your teeth to not reach your high before hers, intent on coming at the same time. you grind harder onto her, make her feel each thrust— no area of her core left untouched.  

“you look so beautiful, rosie,” you lick your lips, the feeling jubilant. past rapturous you can hardly finish your sentence. "and warm, you’re so fucking warm.”  

chest heaving, her throat’s enticingly on display and you think of wrapping your hands around it to feel the pounding of her pulse – it beats against your fingers, singing in no particular rhythm. but it remains a sound you wouldn’t mind feeling and listening to, over and over again.  

you rub harder into the body lying beneath you, brutal and animalistic, carnal taking up your nature to feel more. the space between your bodies is so wet and she might be unbelievably tight, you regret not doing this at your place so you could fuck the living out of her with one of your straps.  

“—fuck,” you hear her gasping, her nails drilling into the hand wrapped around her neck, “keep going, don’t stop—”  

the wet sounds of your flesh meeting, the grip on her hipbone and your hand roaming all over her body every time you buck against her clit, hard and faster —the more you can’t take your eyes away from the jiggle of her breasts. you stroke your thumb up and down, feeling out the little lump of her thin nipple and her mouth opens in mid-gasp, grasping your ass when her hips give out, lazing prone on the cold wooden floor of the room as your body blankets over hers. your hips don't stop thrusting.  

you're rendered voiceless and utterly reckless, letting natural reactions taking over. the sparkle in your eyes burn for a split-second, then a gut-wrenching moan, cut from deep inside you. roseanne throws her head back, returns travelling on her series of heresies, combined with a bit of praise in the mix. “god, babe, right there … mmm—my fucking god,” she cuts herself off as you almost effortlessly pin her hips down, not enough to hurt, but more in a show of dominance.  

and the release that hits you just never fucking ends; it comes in waves. sober, you’d be surprised at how quick you’ve come, losing your thread altogether, but it only takes four long, premeditated but frantic rolls for you to send yourself in a complete state of a body awakening – it's almost too much to move any more than just the bare minimum – two more to enhance the sensations for both you and roseanne, the latter’s body reacting before her mind could race to a conclusion. her eyes flow open, hands scrambling to clutch your asscheeks tighter when she feels herself pulsing, thrumming and seeing white behind her lids.  

“holy -”  

“fuck.” you finish for her, elbows coming down on either side of her head, so close to collapsing if it wasn’t for the way roseanne’s staring up at you. it's the look of admiration she always gives you when you’ve fucked her just right.  

you kiss down her body – but not without a little slap on her ass. as you lay pecks on her thighs, kiss bruises and marks onto them, you bite and nibble on them, clit twitching at the familiar scent of her dripping heat. it just has that thing that makes you delirious, like alcohol. you give a tentative lick.  

she jerks from over-sensitivity, while her cunt throbs for what is to ensue. walls stretching to accommodate the length and thickness of your fingers slowly entering her, lewd sounds and heat licking deep through her chest. you dip the second digit in earnest, your burning touch only seems to make her core burn with greater need.  

then, in the spirit of simply breaking her, you find her g-spot easily, ramming your fingers into it repeatedly with faultless confidence before pulling away.  

roseanne clenches, whining at the emptiness. being filled just a few seconds ago to feeling friction, to her walls abruptly empty. the pressure inside of her gone, she squirms around trying to find your finger to sink back into her body. she moans, then tries again when all she receives is a giggle, hearing the teasing in your voice, but not possessing the patience to deal with it right now 

... “daddy, please.”  

it comes out breathy —imploring and wanton and you almost shake in rapture.  

“you know i love it when you call me that, rosie,” you come up to murmur against the shell of her ear, words dripping an avid rush of honey. it repels any form of weed-produced laziness that’s taken ahold of your limbs. 

roseanne guides your hand back towards her entrance, gripping down so you can’t move away from her – except, she knows it wouldn’t take much to overpower her, but she does it anyway. she feels the plush push against her walls, then you’re slowly filling her again, setting her nerves ablaze and she let herself cry your name, light curses, whatever comes through her mind out as you rub the spot that makes her toes curl.  

you're gradually lured into snapping your hand, just to wallow in the release of breathy sighs and cries of ‘daddy’ in the crook of your neck that leaves the blonde’s lips every time you force the sound out of her.  

you press your body flush against her form and writhe your fingers in a single-minded purpose inside her dripping entrance. you lick at her pounding pulse and plunge deeper in to make it soar higher and faster than weed ever could. she presses her hands into your shoulders, digging half-crescents into the fragile texture of your skin; clutching for more of your warmth against her.  

with the windows open, people could definitely hear the mundane debauchery taking place right up inside the building. but she simply can’t hold in her moans, despite her best attempts at deadening them. 

body unfurling, as your prodding fingers slides out at her entrance, pressing harder and harder until they slip back inside to hook deeper into her warmth — she sighs and throws her head back, body moving, torso arched, light nipples on opaque skin scrounging for your tongue. however, you’re pre-occupied with sliding in and out of her, kissing the pretty gasps out of her lips.  

your palm hits against her clit each time, her inner muscles beginning to contract and squeeze around your fingers. she's so fucking close, you know it, so before she can start thrashing, you get better leverage. you push one of her legs wider with your knee to get deeper and pump freely inside of her, and the increased volume of her moans send a wave of arousal through you.

the more stimulation to her body causes the buzz to alter in one way or another. her vision is fuzzy as lazy eyes squint up at yours, body like jello that could collapse into a puddle any second. for the briefest instant, it’s almost too much to wrap her head around. it's some sort of fucking extraterrestrial experience, her almost entirely useless brain offers, as it proceeds to liquefy completely, overwhelming orgasm burning down her abdomen like scalding lava, leaving her breathless.  

a while later, when the sun’s stopped blossoming in the sky and a blanket of stars have taken the grace of a breeze over your heads, you’re back in your original position – roseanne straddling your waist, buttermilk hair brushing over her breasts, lissome and comely body draped back in her bra and skimpy panties.  

she leans down and inches her chin forward so she can seal her lips and mouth over yours. she drags her tongue, asking for permission. the taste of your skin, your perfume and scent of your body is intoxicating. the high’s worn off, now she could get drunk from just having her thighs wrapped and caging around you, kissing you for hours on end.  

“hol’ up” then she’s pulling away, before leaning over the side to reach for your bag, procuring a small plastic bag.

you eye her with amusement, “while i don’t mind lighting up another one,” you start, the sweet, nonetheless imposing, concern in your voice is palpable, “grab my sweater first in there.” you nod towards the bag. you've closed the window but the weather is known to seep through bones once blankets of dark clouds had already rolled in.

roseanne smiles and rolls her eyes, dropping to kiss your cheek, then neck, then cheek once more. she has to tear herself away with a fit of laughter when you reach up and get a hand in her milky curls, directing her mouth to yours in a show of biting and toying with the sheen of her lips.

the wool blend of your sweater looks the best on her, it draws down to expose one finely boned shoulder and you wish to paint constellations on the exposed neckline, to dart hot kisses against the silky skin.

you watch, admirably as roseanne uses your abdomen as a workplace to pack the bits of weed into the blunt wrap she had also pulled from your bag. her nimble fingers work everything expertly into a rather attractive roll before bringing the blunt to her lips to lick down the length.  

“the joy of roleplay,” she mentions, quite pleased from the attention. “we should do it more often.” 

cocoa eyes peek at you from under long lashes before swiftly looking bavk down at her work. “daddy~” she adds.

“christ, rosie, don’t make me take you here again.” you deadpan, embarrassed, looking at her as though she’s meant to understand the gravity of your statement.

roseanne just laughs, conspicuously displaying how perfectly aware she was on the effect of her recurrent use of your ‘nickname’ in the most inappropriate choice of settings and moments.

you slide one hand up, rubbing and massaging the curve of her waist while she soothes down the edges with her fingertips, and grabs the discarded lighter from the floor to light the end up.  

“professional,” you chuckle, and wrap your arms around her. she blows smoke halos in your face, bubbled laugh when you playfully gust them away before bringing you into a kiss. she hums as she closes her eyes, and glides her tongue across your bottom lip. “we’re never getting out of here if you keep this up.” your words a breathy pant between grazes of tongues.

“good,” she whispers, connecting your foreheads, unfocused gaze of seductive, glassy-eyed squint burning as she flicks them down to look hungrily at you. “because i'm taking what’s mine until i'm satisfied.”  

and you wisely do not voice an objection. one of your last sober thoughts before your skirt’s tugged down your legs.  

[visenyavires]

Bleed Not For Death, But For Love

Chapter 4: Dangerous Game

Warnings: Kidnapping, suffocation, entrapment, blood, nudity, mild sexual content

I am startled awake to the sound of mischievous giggling that I recognize as the daughters, and once again, it’s growing closer. I try to think quickly, knowing that they probably expect me to be asleep so I sit up and put my hands in my lap as if I’m expecting them. The giggles grow ominously louder and suddenly the double doors to my chambers fly open and three swarms of flies create a massive shadow in my room. 

The first daughter that materializes is angry, her black hair flying around her face like dark rays of light. She has blood splattered across her tar-colored mouth and cheeks, and her eyes are manic… almost sadistic. 

“I knew it,” she snarls, her eyes fixed on the marks on my neck. “She let Mother play with her.” Another daughter with red hair forms close to me and gets near enough to take a deep inhale of the dried wound her mother had made only hours before. 

“Mmmmm, I want to play with her too,” she coos playfully as the third daughter with blonde hair finally emerges from her insect swarm. 

“Enough, Daniela. There will be plenty of that later,” the blonde says calmly, but wickedly at the same time. Daniela backs away from my neck and giggles maniacally as she retreats to her blonde sister, who I take as the eldest. 

“Bela, she was supposed to be asleep,” the black-haired daughter seethes at the eldest sister through gritted teeth.

“We improvise then, Cassandra,” Bela snaps in her direction. “Get creative.”

Before I know it, Cassandra is holding me by my throat and laughing maniacally. She begins to squeeze and it doesn’t take long before I begin to lose consciousness. Before I slip away, I hear Bela command, “Take her to the dungeon, we need her screams to be as far from Mother’s chambers as possible.”

……….

I wake up on a cold, wet, stone cell floor with the daughters waiting for me, talking quietly amongst themselves. It’s dark except for a few wall torches giving minimal light and it reeks of blood and mildew. I sit and lean up against a side wall and my head begins to pound violently while blood drips down my face from my hairline. Daniela takes a huge sniff of the air, grins widely with a happy moan, and turns toward me.

“She’s awake, sisters! Dinner is served,” she hisses. Cassandra removes her sickle and walks slowly towards me.

“I’ve been waiting for this since you first stepped on the castle grounds,” Cassandra grins sadistically. Bela stays silent but has a mischievous glint in her eye. Something isn’t right. As Cassandra inches closer, I scoot backward towards the back of the cell. I’m shrouded in more darkness the further I scoot back as the torchlight slides off my face. She opens the cell door and her sickle gleams in the torchlight menacingly. My throat goes dry and I know they are reveling in the fear they see in my eyes by Cassandra’s increasingly sadistic smile. At this point, I’m fearing for my life when Cassandra moves quickly toward me, the tip of her sickle pressing into one of the marks her mother had made on my neck. She looks at my neck, tilts her head to the side, and grins wickedly as she meets my fearful gaze.

“Please,” I whisper. “I haven’t done anything wrong,” I plead, my voice shallow and quiet. Daniela flies towards me and before I know it, she’s cuffing my wrists with chains that are attached to the vaulted ceiling of the cell. Bela walks to a lever as if on cue and the chains are pulled into the ceiling, forcing me to stand, then eventually, my feet are no longer on the floor. Daniela then cuffs my ankles tightly and the pull on my arms makes my shoulders burn. My heart is racing and not in the way it was only hours ago. This time, I’m frightened. Cassandra now has full access to my body and she cackles.

“Mother needs to share her food with her children,” Cassandra purrs in a very similar mannerism to her mother. She grins and stares at the place on my head where blood is slowly dripping from, then meets my gaze again. 

“Should we crack your skull open some more or should I slit your throat and bathe in your virgin blood?” she asks with a cackle and presses her sickle further into the side of my neck, breaking the skin. The daughters giggle collectively and are all surrounding me now, hunger filling their eyes. 

Like a deep church bell, an angry scream rings through the dungeon, and before the daughters could even turn around, Lady Dimitrescu storms into the stone halls, claws out. 

“DAUGHTERS!!!” she bellows as she enters my line of sight. Her laugh lines have disappeared into a snarl of rage, her eyes irate and full of fury. The three girls turn around, absolutely terrified, and stand up straight to face their mother. Daniela is the first one to break.

“We are so sorry, Mother, it was just a prank,” she says with a trembling voice.

“Yes, Mother, we didn’t mean to hurt her, we only wanted to scare her,” Bela explains with fearful eyes.

“Speak for yourselves,” Cassandra mumbles in a whisper I assume only I could hear since Alcina doesn’t react to it. The pure rage in her eyes is enough to make your heart stop and her impressive height only makes her that much more intimidating.

“You are playing a very dangerous game, daughters,” she warns loudly with ravenous anger filling her golden eyes. This prompts Bela to lower the chains and Daniela removes the cuffs from my ankles, then my wrists as soon as my feet reconnect with the stone floor. I collapse to the ground on my hands and knees looking at the wet ground, dizzy from all the recent blood loss, my head pounding, back burning, and blood from my head filling my eyes. I hear her claws retract and her voice booms through the stone halls.

“I want all three of you OUT of my sight!” she yells angrily, her long, heavy steps growing closer to me. 

“Yes, mother,” they say in frightened unison and I hear their fly forms appear and fade away just as quickly as they came. 

……….

My breath is ragged and I’m trembling with weakness, fear, and disdain. Suddenly, I see white satin draped over a crouched form in front of me and I feel a large, gloved hand slide gently from my cheek under my chin, softly raising my face to meet her gaze. Her porcelain expression is full of concern as she sees the wound on my head and the fresh cut on my neck dealt by Cassandra’s sickle. Tears fill my eyes as relief joins the Pandora’s box of emotions I’m already feeling and I struggle to cry silently. As if she can feel everything I am, her expression softens and she takes a handkerchief to gently clean the fresh blood and tears off my face. I feel safe, protected, even slightly adored by this woman who I have miraculously taken to so quickly.

Alcina sighs with disappointment and I know it’s at her daughters. She carefully sweeps me up into her strong arms and lays my head against her soft, plentiful chest. As she carries me out of the cold, dank dungeon, sunlight peeks through the windows and the scent of her ambrosia perfume makes me feel at peace and my pain fades a bit. Her chest bounces slightly with each step and it’s helping me keep my eyes open. I know if I close my eyes, I won’t wake up for a while.

I look up at the goddess incarnate carrying me down her castle hallways, her sharp jawline showing miles of confidence. Her scarlet lips form a serious frown and her eyes look straight ahead. She adamantly walks past my chambers and I’m grateful. I do not wish to see that room for a while. Tears continue to fall from my eyes onto Alcina’s chest and she looks down at me, her expression softening again.

“Don’t cry, pet. The worst is over now,” she says reassuringly. I believe her, but only for now. 

The rest of the castle flies by with her long strides and before I know it, she’s ducking beneath her chamber doors, taking me back to her bed. She lays me down on top of her large, soft comforter and walks into her master bathroom. I let out a huge sigh of relief to be in the safest room in the castle instead of being in the situation I was in only ten minutes prior. After a few minutes, Alcina returns from her bathroom wearing only her blood-red robe and holding fresh towels and a brush. 

“Can you stand?” she asked gently, setting the towels and brush beside me on the bed. I shake my head with disappointment, the vertigo is just too strong and I’m too frail to hold myself up. She nods understandingly and helps me sit up. I’m able to hold myself up in this position and I turn so my legs hang off the edge of her bed. She walks around to the other side of her bed and crawls up behind me. She runs her large but delicate hands up my arms until she’s holding my shoulders. She continues to move closer, her legs bent with her calves beneath her and her thighs straddling my hips from behind. She ran her long fingers through my hair before grabbing the brush and using the slow strokes she loves so much to get the tangles out. When my hair is soft and smooth, she plays with the back of my dress that I've been wearing since the night before.

“Do you mind, pet?” she asks with a sultry tone. I involuntarily shudder at her touch and I nod my consent. She slowly opens every clasp and undoes every button so that my whole back is exposed, then she returns her hands to my shoulders and slides the fabric down my arms so that my whole torso is bare. I begin to cross my arms to cover my breasts but porcelain hands gently grab my wrists.

“Ah, ah,” she says as she lowers my arms from behind. “There’s no need for that,” she purrs. 

“Yes, My Lady,” I say, my frozen cheeks filling with heat. 

“Alcina, draga mea,” she insists. I nod my understanding and I feel her left hand run back up my arm and the other sink to my bare waist. Chills of desire follow close behind her touch and I can feel her smiling behind me. She pushes all my hair to one side of my neck so the right side is exposed. She leans in close to my neck where Cassandra made her mark and kisses it tenderly. Her lips are warm and I want to stay like this forever: in her arms with her lips on my neck. When her lips depart from my skin, she whispers in my ear, “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

Alcina slides off the bed in front of me and takes in my bare chest with a warm smile on her face, but the grin fades when she notices the bruises all over me, probably from when I was unconscious while her daughters moved me to the dungeon. She shakes her head, clearly upset, and helps me stand, which causes my dress to fall to the floor, my panties being the only item of clothing left on my body. I stand before her, as vulnerable as I’ve ever been, and I bow my head in frail embarrassment. She lifts my head with her index finger and a smile of silent apology and reassurance. 

“You are beautiful, Y/N,” Alcina says softly, in a tone I never knew she could reach. She’s commanding, a leader, and sometimes harsh. She was yelling at her daughters only minutes ago- something I never want to see again, and now she’s speaking to me in the most comforting tone I’ve ever heard. I’m amazed, infatuated, and obsessed. I’m not afraid to admit it to myself, or anyone else for that matter, only her. 

Alcina scoops me up in her arms again, carries me to the bathroom, and gently stands me in the massive claw foot tub that’s full of perfectly warm water. She squats down low enough to run her long, scarlet nails along the edge of my panties and looks up at me yet again, her eyes asking for consent. I nod so she pulls them down and I rest my hand on her shoulder to help keep my balance while I step out of them carefully. I feel immensely vulnerable but too weak to care. Isn’t this what I want? Why am I feeling borderline shame??? I shake my head at myself internally and meet Alcina’s golden gaze below.

“Thank you,” I say softly and with a bashful smile. She returns the smile as her way of saying ‘you’re welcome’ and helps me sit slowly in the middle of the tub. I start to scoot back to relax, but she places a hand on my shoulder to stop me. She then stands up to her full height and unties her robe. I feel my face flushing with heat as the red silk falls to the floor and I can’t (and won’t) help the look of awe I know is plastered on my face. Her large porcelain breasts caught my eye and I almost started staring and something told me she wanted me to. I bite my bottom lip partially out of desire and partially to keep my jaw from hitting the floor in amazement. 

My mind is stuck on being professional, but given our current setting, I’d say we have quickly moved past that point. Smiling, Alcina then steps into the tub behind me and uses the edges to help her sit gracefully. Her long legs straddle me from behind and she then grabs my hips, pulling me back towards her. As small as I am, I’m sure I seem like a doll to her. She gently and carefully washes me with a soft rag covered in ambrosia soap that matches her perfume. After I’m clean, she runs her taloned fingers through my hair, massaging my scalp, carefully avoiding the wound just behind my hairline. I bravely allow myself to lean back and relax into her stomach and she caresses my face from behind. Her gentle touch works its way down to my neck, her nails playing with my skin. I want her to keep going, so I arch my back and lean into her touch. Her muscles shift in reaction and she leans forward into my ear.

“Oh, how I desire to, pet, but I do so love the taste of your virgin blood. I’m not quite willing to part with it just yet,” she purrs softly. She plants a kiss on my warm cheek, then turns my head with her finger again and her ruby red lips meet mine. I begin to feel warmth between my legs as she holds my face gently with one hand and slides her other hand to the front of my stomach, pulling me close. But just like that, her lips depart from mine and she stands to get out of the tub, leaving me only with a smile and scarlet-stained lips. She dries off with her back turned to me and slides her robe on over her snow-white skin and turns back to me. 

“Take the day to rest and if you need anything, I’ll see to it that the maids know to come to your aide. I’ll have Francesca take you to your new chambers. I think you’ll prefer the location,” she says with a wink and she turns to leave but stops in the door frame and turns her head so she speaks to me from her side profile. 

“See you at dusk, Draga Mea,” she says in a deep, sultry voice that makes me crave to hear more. She closes the doors behind her and my body aches with desire. It’s thrilling how she loves playing with me and it only makes me want her more. I stay in the tub long after she’s gone, still shocked by the events that had transpired. Alcina… a temptress, countess, seductress, mistress. Her confidence, her regality, her beauty, her stern but gentle hand. Her porcelain skin, her scarlet lips, her height that can make anyone submit, her wickedly seductive grin... I am simply amazed by her and all that she is. But a thought hits me hard enough to snap me out of my trance… I am mortal. 

I am her prey.

 It took me a moment, but now I realize that the true dangerous game here... is falling in love with Alcina Dimitrescu, and I’m right in the middle of it.

To be continued…

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Next: Chapter 5: Just a Taste

Previous: Chapter 3: Devotion, You Shall Have

[thebleedingeffect]

Alright, extremely EXTREMELY indulgent au coming your way, don't say I didn't warn you.

Anyway, John, Will, and Mike are all brothers. Specifically, Will is the eldest, John is the middle, and Mike is the youngest. They all grew up together and it was Garrett's disappearance that had devastating consequences even beyond just their parents' divorce. Their mother had sadly committed suicide shortly after Garrett's death was announced and their father had hoped to start anew in Louisiana, so they all moved with baby Abby in tow. But, the new change in scenery hadn't helped matters at all and it wasn't long after that their father had just disappeared one day, never to return. Another thing was that... they had no more family, and while Will was past 18 and out of the foster system, he was no where near old enough or even financially stable enough to support his brothers and baby sister. So the foster system completely tore them apart and it was impossible for Will to keep track of them.

Mike was only just barely able to keep ahold of Abby, and that was only thanks to the sheer amount of begging he had to do to their foster family.

This fact settles extremely heavily on Will and it eventually drives him to initially look into law enforcement and a possible education in forensics. It bothers him to no end that he just can't find his brother's and baby sister, his father had disappeared, and it seemed that the world was determined to make him alone after all.

John had been adopted into a church and promptly devoted himself to the Christian faith as a desperate way to make some kind of peace with his grief, loss, abandonment, and budding mental health issues. The events of the second death cult still happen and John can't help but desperately scream out for his brothers, not knowing if he wants them back or hopes that they'll never endure this same pain.

Mike and Abby are adopted into a little nowhere town in Utah and Mike falls into a heavy depression afterwards. He devotes himself completely to raising Abby as he rapidly shifts from the youngest to the oldest in a single year. He hopes that raising Abby will help him repress the memory of Garrett and his brothers that may as well have been torn from him in the exact same way. Mike struggles with anger issues, extreme grief, and delinquency, but he never fails to raise Abby as their foster family proves to be extremely neglectful. He hopes that John and Will would be proud, wherever they are.

A bit more than a decade passes before they're all able to find each other once again. John and Will had taken up new foster names to hopefully distance themselves from the tragedy, but it didn't help that the adoption records were far from decent quality. It seemed that the system had been more than happy to let the children of such a heinous crime to fall through the cracks, to disappear into oblivion. It was just so much easier to bury all the children's disappearances and the laws complete and utter failure in finding Garrett, or any of them.

John and Will find each other first. The FBI had requested Will to look into an extremely strange cause nestled within the state of Connecticut and Will had been just this amount of done with Baltimore, with Jack, with the killers haunting his brain, with absolutely everything- that he agrees to look into it, solo, just a week or so before he's dragged back to Baltimore by the skin of his teeth. A cop's dead body had been found in an alleyway, completely and utterly torn apart as if by animals. Will looks over the scene and it gives him such an extreme headache, head filled with images and creatures he can barely wrap his head around. It was by a killer, or several, but Will can almost see how their heads were so intertwined that all of those minds- they were one, and they were mindless.

As if possessed.

The events of faith happen pretty much normally up to chapter 3, up until Will shows up two days before the profane sabbath. They reunite and I have a very clear scene in my brain of them and GOD !!!!!! Anyway, Will quite literally refuses to leave John's side despite the whole, ya know, demons revelation... which Will is kinda struggling and failing to quite accept, but it's buried underneath making sure neither of them die! Ultimately, they get the neutral ending, or aka they did not get the very last demon and Gary is still running around! ^-^ !! Why you may ask? Because it's a physical fucking need for Will and Gary to meet for that fucking hell of an encounter to happen.

After everything has calmed, somewhat, Will does a few choice things.

First, he calls Alana and asks her if she would be willing to watch over his dogs until further notice. Second, he calls the university and takes out every scrap of vacation time and more, not really caring if they refuse him or not. Third, he calls Jack and tells him that he won't be taking any more cases until further notice. And fourth, he calls Hannibal to cancel their appointments.

Jack is, of course, absolutely incredulous and split between anger and shock that Will refuses to give him an explanation. Alana can't help the pure worry in her throat at the request, but she immediately agrees. And Hannibal? He is very, very not happy about this entire situation and that despite all the prodding, all the carefully laid questions, Will does not take the bait. Will was always the better fisherman between them both.

Will and John immediately begin reconnecting with Lisa and Garcia in tow as well, and even more as Freddie reaches out in curiosity over his sudden disappearance. Will tells her that he'll give her an edge over whatever the hell happened in Connecticut, but only if she gives him everything that she can find of the Schmidt Disappearance.

Freddie comes back to him a day later, and tells him of a lost thread in the remains of a place called Freddy's Pizzeria.

The four of them immediately pack their bags and leave for Utah, and Will ignores how his phone burns itself in his pocket. How memories of Hannibal plague him, but he buries them with a sharpness that he's known for.

Will and John end up meeting Vanessa first actually! And it's through her that they're led to Freddy's and end up finding Mike during hers and Mike's first meeting as well :]] which is ALSO extremely emotional because I'm a sucker for reunions tbh. The events of the fnaf movie are actually a bit longer thanks to this and instead, there's more William and Vanessa interactions >:3 !! But more than anything, I really want a line of some sort of William being extremely pleased that he managed to get all the remains of the Schmidt family in one place :)

Also I just need Will being so fucking tired over knowing that there's dead kids haunting animatronics and you have John who just, you've fought literal demons?? And Mike just slams his head on the table because OF COURSE DEMONS EXIST, OF COURSE.

And John and Will are rly emotional over meeting their baby sister and Abby is initially skeptical, but it doesn't take long for her to warm up. John, Will, Garcia, Vanessa, and Lisa quickly join her drawings :]] it's getting a bit crowded on the paper- but that's okay, Abby quite literally refuses to not include everyone. Also I'm skipping the events of fnaf a bit because I'm still thinking on it- but eventually they make it back to Baltimore. John is more than happy to avoid Connecticut for the time being, there's nothing waiting for Abby and Mike in Utah, and the only vague home that they still have lies waiting in Baltimore.

Some random cute details of when they arrive at Wolf Trap: they had to split into two cars and Will slept the entire drive, trusting Lisa to get them there while Mike sat in the passenger seat. Garcia and Abby were extremely excited to see all of Will's dogs, Garcia was only a bit better at hiding it. John is a deceptively good cook and he makes breakfast the day after, blueberry pancake speciality. Will regrets immediately letting them all stay in his house for the night cause it was NOT meant to house seven people + several dogs. Alana shows up that morning to take care of the dogs because Will was too exhausted to tell her that he was coming back. She arrives to an absolutely full house with Will still being half asleep. Garcia invites her in without another word and enjoys watching Will struggle to introduce everyone. Will steals a piece of bacon off Abby's plate at one point cause she tries to embrass him in front of Alana. Vanessa gives an understanding smile at Alana being overwhelmed and mouths 'you'll get used to it'. Mike and John are so much of disasters even during first introductions that Alana is completely unsurpised that they're all related.

Might write more of this silly au, its very important to me.

. Barely withholding the urge to make a afton-schmidt-graham au rn .