#Flare Of Fortitude | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

afreakingdork · 5 months ago

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You Are My Sunshine, My Only Moonshine - Chapter 2

RotTMNT x Reader

Michelangelo is nothing but art in this chapter art by @kaysdenofchaos

Rated: Teen and Up Audiences

Relationships: Michelangelo (TMNT)/Reader, Michelangelo (TMNT)/You, Donatello (TMNT)/Reader, Donatello (TMNT)/You

Warnings: POV Second Person, Gender Neutral Reader, Anxious Reader, Introverted Reader, Stuttering, Aged-Up Mutant Ninja Turtles, Romance, Love, Love Confessions, Falling In Love, Unrequited Love, Rejection, Aromantic Asexual Michelangelo (TMNT), Bisexual Donatello (TMNT), Pansexual Leonardo (TMNT), Lesbian Cassandra Jones | Foot Recruit, Demisexual April O'Neil (TMNT), Implied Cassandra Jones | Foot Recruit/April O'Neil/Sunita, Endgame Donatello (TMNT)/Reader, Romantic Love, Platonic Love, Panic Attacks, Sexuality Crisis, Agoraphobia, Social Anxiety, Happy Ending, Fluff

Synopsis: You’ve lost most of your life to anxiety and fear. Now, in your late 20s, you are desperate to reclaim it and during one such outing you encounter the sun personified. With his and his similarly celestially inspired family, will you finally reach your goal or will you lose yourself along the way?

Also available on Ao3

First 💛

Done on a whim, it was almost strange how right you’d been when comparing Mikey to the sun. He was a beaming hot star in the sky and he touched the land with his warmth, giving rise to life itself. For whatever reason he extended this beam to you and you were now what you dubbed as his outing friend. A term that was never spoken aloud and therefore not official, you only ever saw Mikey in the context of events. They were meant to thrust you into life and the sun, a gaseous ball that existed with or without you, happened to cast its life giving properties in your direction.

As such, the fear of sunburn, an easy retribution for more time in it, meant that your fraternization wasn’t always the best thing. Overall, the benefits of daily sun intake outweighed such things, but you wished you had been given more time to apply the protective balm necessary. Without aid, you were fast tracking social interactions at a near breakneck pace. Gone were the warm-ups or slow care you required to manage. Instead, Mikey barreled forward as an unrelenting force.

It started with that painting class. Your first invite, you hadn’t really taken into account when ‘next week’ was. Since Pasta Fest had occurred on a Friday, the text saying the class was Tuesday wasn’t technically incorrect, but only four days to prepare seemed absurd. It had taken you over a month to go out for Italian and that mental fortitude was built on an even longer stretch of yearning. Now, not only would you be denied a recovery time, but you also needed to get ready in the blink of an eye. The shortened shift balanced the scales as it was difficult to worry about the logistics of going when you didn’t even know what to wear. Having never painted in a class setting, you weren’t sure what was necessary from clothing to materials.

You had tried to text Mikey what details came with the class, but he was either oddly cagey about it or simply didn’t consider things from your perspective. The latter seemed more apparent as his responses came carefree on how not to worry followed by a sea of memes. It left you raiding your closet. Finding something loose that you wouldn’t mind getting paint on, you took it upon yourself to research the class. The internet told you little more than it was an introduction to oils, so you were left to self-soothe with an endless playlist of painting videos going non-stop until just before the class.

Meeting outside the school, Mikey appeared in casually cut clothes that fit his laid back attitude. Those pieces were then sparked with loud prints or colors that accentuated his bold flare. Tonight’s ensemble illustrated such with lightweight cotton pants that were enveloped by a fuzzy sweater swarmed with giant smiley faces on it. Trying not to think the little dot eyes of them were following you, you were ushered through the door and straight to the correct room without having a fact check once. His confidence knew no bounds as did his reach. He greeted the professor by their first name and you were quick to find that art was yet another field he mastered.

Whisked around the class, Mikey gave you the ins and outs and seemed to know almost every member on a personal level. Those he did not, he introduced you both to and it felt as though you were being shopped around to potential suitors. You were regaled in seemingly outrageous ways he had connected with these people in a way that made you question his career. While he insinuated he was a chef, he was spoken of like some kind of vigilante jack of all trades.

Unsure of what to do with that information, you had little time to dwell as you were set up at an easel. Class began and you were finally given time to breathe. Instruction meant paying attention which quieted other thought. You only now needed to focus on execution. Oil was a slow drying and therefore forgiving medium which meant things could be changed. As long as you didn’t blend too much then you had a chance to repair. As a class for those new to the medium, you were thankfully given a single color palette to avert such a mistake and found comfort in brush strokes blotting little trees.

You’d almost started to enjoy it when a swing of your arm knocked over a jar meant to clean brushes.

A large glass affair, it shattered and spread on to the floor along with your horror. Scrambling so no one would get hurt, you shot forward to pick up one of the largest shards when your foot hooked the easel. In an instant, everything was on the floor, from your painting face down in the muck to your paints which resisted the water but smeared nonetheless on the concrete.

There was also yourself. You’d fallen to your hands and knees where water and paint was rapidly seeping into your outfit. Though it was one you prepared to lose, this wasn’t anywhere near the road you thought would lead to it. A drop was one thing, but you were now as painted as Mikey’s sweater with the entire class staring to boot. Trying not to cry over spilled paints, you used the last of your dignity to at least gather those shards when a canvas shoe stepped right in front of you.

Looking up and feeling the wet sheen on your cheeks, Mikey looked down sympathetically before he dropped. With spread fingers, he swiped through the paints and danced straight through the shards. While he seemed to worry not, you scrambled along the ground to grab the glass amongst the teacher’s worries for both your safeties. You lost sight of Mikey outside of ballet-like spins over your head, but in the process acquired most if not all the glass.

When you finally rose dripping, he moved fluidly toward you and, in a spin and tip-toes, he brought you away from the mess. You both tracked paint, but after a quick trip to a trash can, Mikey released you. You then turned, now the right distance away to see a gorgeous swirling rainbow painted with your mess on the floor. Mikey had manipulated every bit of the spill into a large piece of artwork.

“Right! Sorry about that, Diane! I’m done taking over so let me clean this right up. There’s one of those squeegee brooms in the hall closet, I can just-”

Your head snapped to Mikey with the intent to exclaim on how he’d done this, but nothing came so he watched you with wide eyes until his lips rounded.

“…or we could see about hydro dipping? Not sure it’ll work with this mix, but I couldn’t help but notice that bunch of white shirts over there!” He pointed to where a box was laying half open with a cloth sticking out of it.

“You apologize, but you take over my class yet again.” The teacher, Diane you supposed, mused with her hands on her hips. “Alright, we’ll try it, but you’re replacing the product before the tie-dye class!”

“Of course!”

Switching gears as if this was always the plan, everyone moved their easels out of the way and the class shifted to a more physical one. Discussing the golden ratio and what made Mikey’s floor masterpiece alluring, the teacher went on while you were stuck staring at the mutant who didn’t seem to notice. You meant to follow along, but there was a mesmerizing intensity to the affection on his face.

Your next outing came as a Hockey game which you always knew was going to be a problem. When Mikey invited you, images of rowdy crowds and air horns filled your head. The ghosts of which echoed in your ears as you prepared your denial. Fingers flying over your phone’s keyboard, a text appeared in the awaiting window about how this game was hosted by the seemingly ambiguous family member who had stood him up for the painting class. It was intriguing enough to give you pause.

Another message appeared, this time with Mikey moving to guilt by saying that he alone would have to be her hype man. The other family members were too booked to support this one and your fingers further slowed. With his usual steadfast nature, more texts soon followed noting that the game was on a Wednesday night, meaning it would be slow, and that it was in the children’s league, so there would be barely be a crowd. On your last leg of escape, he’d added that you both could sit anywhere and you were done for as you erased your negating message to pen one that agreed.

In return, he was kind enough to suggest dressing warmly.

Settled in a hoodie and having only minorly debated more layers, Mikey appeared outside the rink looking nonplussed which quelled a few of your nerves. His hands were buried into a particularly brightly tie-dyed hoodie which made you think he had not only been true to his word about replenishing shirt stock, but he had also been in Mrs. Diane’s other class . Wondering just how many hobbies Mikey had, your curiosity vanished when he offered to prepare you for what lay inside.

Your heart soared.

With an upheld finger, Mikey warned that Casey would lead a chant at some point and he would signal you when. It would be a whole affair, but the phrase would be something obvious. There was a chance that a guy running the camera would inevitably point it at you because the operator liked to harass shy patrons. You were to stay still if you appeared on the screen and Mikey would take the heat off. Your concerns about air horns were validated, but you were assured they’d be closer to the ice and telegraphed.

Armed with knowledge, you entered through a pair of double doors and out along rink-side seats. Air cooled, but not enough to breathe smoke, Mikey led you up to a higher section with no one in it. About halfway up the back, you settled into a foldout seat and watched as kids skated around to warm up. Mikey whispered in your ear about which one was Casey and you found her to be a furious looking human woman with an undercut who would continually scream what sounded like battle cries. Trying and failing to ask Mikey exactly how she was related to him, the game started and an announcer came on.

The small crowd was a joyous one and you felt excited as the puck dropped. Sporting events weren’t something you ever attended because everything about them spelled anxiety induced doom, but in this setting it felt bearable. Everyone was shouting, especially the parents who had lined up rinkside, but you almost felt a cozy little barrier from them in your seat choice. In the snow globe, you were looking upon, Mikey was the painted sun in the corner trying to warm a nearly frozen day. Even as jack frost nipped your nose, you would be tempted out, just to soak up the ray where your life had been dreary for weeks.

You were mentally preparing to chance a cheer at the next point when a trumpet sounded to your right.

You jumped straight out of your seat at a height that caused it to fold back up. A drum then joined the horn and as you descended your bottom hit the chair’s lip. It then buckled so you could further drop and sprawl out. Your hands shot forward to grab the armrests in case you slid away and Mikey appeared over you, asking if you were alright. JHeart beating straight out of your chest, you only looked up at him with your lips about to part in a dry sob.

You thought Mikey might help you up, but you watched determination grow on his brow.

With a jump different from yours, he landed in a captain’s pose and looked out at the makeshift band. Spying them, he reached into his coat as if getting a telescope, but instead manifested a kazoo. He counted off with his teacher’s projection before playing a tune. Though the sound wasn’t near as loud as the instruments, something about Mikey’s command had caught the group’s attention. They quickly stopped their discordant sounds and picked up what had to be a known song for these events. You watched with warped awe as Mikey marched, without looking, overtop the armrests to lead the band. Only brave enough to sit up, you watched as the group’s spirits soared with their conductor.

Soon the music drifted to the ice where you heard Casey scream something about listening to the mystic warrior’s battle tune and rallied the kids to destroy their adversaries.

This then spurned the parents until everyone in the place was screaming after Mikey’s little chunk of plastic. The cacophony which should have suffocated you, instead made your heart race as it all felt like a grand escalation. Not the sign of the chant you’d been warned, but something else, a goal was scored just as the buzzer went off. The whole building erupted and, within only a single second of your confusion, Mikey lifted you clear off the ground to spin and explain that they won. Shouting back the question because you couldn’t believe it, he only reaffirmed before setting you down.

Quickly turning back to the ice, you found the kids all tackling each other in slips and slides before Mikey exchanged your body for your hand. You were pulled down to the rink where you didn’t have to fight the masses as they parted naturally for Mikey. Casey watched her kid’s dogpile approvingly and greeted Mikey by his color instead of his name. He introduced you and she immediately gave you a noogie. Crying in her arms over what social barrier you had mistakenly overstepped, she released the mess of you saying you were a good luck charm and she expected you at future games. Not sure how you’d handle that, you thankfully didn’t have to as more people appeared and the conversation moved away from your recurring attendance.

Exiting found you gushing to Mikey about everything you had seen.

He was uncharacteristically quiet as he listened attentively with his hands in his hoodie pockets.

Your event successes were then cosmically balanced as you were forced to then cancel the next two events in a row.

The first being glass blowing, you especially felt terrible as this was their last public event before they had some sort of big project that would require full use of their studio. Every day a week up until the event, you’d tried to first ignore and then fend off your oncoming cold, but it was too late. Whatever bacteria that had taken root in your body triggered a fever the day of and even when you tried to ready yourself with a mask just to power through, you’d nearly collapsed in a coughing fit.

It meant that a phone call cancellation was out of the question and, for once, you were the one to send Mikey walls of texts in the form of at least three dozen separate apologies.

There was the non-refundable ticket price.

Your last minute abandonment.

The way you’d destroyed his only chance to go.

Swimming in a commingling of snot and tears from the exchange, Mikey sent you an audio response. Stopping crying only because you were forced to, you played it to find his lips a little too close to the microphone as he told you it was fine for what you quickly caught on was the exact number of apologies you had sent to him. Dotting the message off confirming that, he told you that money wasn’t really a thing to his family and that there would always be a next time.

Quickly writing back that he should go without you, another message popped up just as you hit send.

The play button on that one had a continuation where he explained the time limit to the spoken messages and that he’d rather wait for you with some cheesy line about it being an excuse to still see you four months from now. Laughing and then immediately choking for it, you thanked him and ordered yourself some soup from a place he recommended.

One had been fine, but two felt like pushing it.

Recovery came slowly for you, but you did eventually get better. The only thing was not all your ailments were of the tangible variety. Though your body had been repaired, your mind wasn’t so lucky and it was with utter dismay that you had to cancel your next event, a pottery class, simply because it was a bad anxiety day. Waking up knowing you were already in for it, you spent the day toiling in and out of attacks until the thought of even texting him was too much. You’d left work early to crawl into your bed to face the sea of brain inducing zaps and could only offer him stunted cancellation without grounds.

It took hours, but the next time you were able to bear looking at your phone it seemed the only thing that had kept Mikey from coming to see if you were still alive was that he didn’t know your address. Sending exhausted reassurances, you resisted promising a reschedule because it currently seemed like an impossibility.

Now standing in the face of a rock climbing wall, you almost wished it had been.

Guilt was the only thing that had gotten you here. You had been clear with Mikey that sporting events themselves were already not your thing and you thought by extension that participating in them yourself fell into the same category. Seemingly not, he’d pressed, not quite about your prior cancellations, but referring to coming here as the perfect way to catch up after not seeing each other for so long. Miserable and forced to confirm your attendance based on your delinquency alone, Mikey tugged on your harness.

“All good! Try for the first few hand holds and I’ll keep watch!”

Looking back at him with obvious horror, he only gave a thumbs up in response.

Returning to the colorful wads of gum that marked where you grab, you dusted your hands with a fine powder for traction before catching the first and trying to hoist yourself up.

After three consecutive falls where you never made it more than a foot off the wall, you were ready to throw in the towel.

Completely unperturbed, Mikey was walking you through his seventh explanation of how to do it when you heard someone scoff right behind you. Flinching into the fake rocks and knowing exactly why, you wished you could cave the whole system in and bury yourself.

“Some people just aren’t made to climb!” The voice spat before you heard an aggressive slap of someone latching onto the wall a little too close to you.

Further shirking away and into Mikey, he didn’t offer the least bit of comfort as he rounded you. “Have you been climbing long?”

Eyes cracking open a little, you couldn’t believe how even Mikey’s voice was.

He almost sounded friendly.

“Years!” The man retorted proudly where he was somewhere up halfway already. “You have to understand. There should be kiddie hours and adult swim. Lately this place has been swarmed with newbies and they take up so much space!”

“That has to be frustrating, especially when you just want to climb.”

You stole a glimpse to find the offending man blink with a registration that his complaints had not only been noticed, but seemingly hadn’t been judged. “Yeah… I… work all day, ya know? I just want to burn off some steam somewhere where I can get some upper mobility!”

“I do.” Mikey nodded as if he were stuck in some dead end job.

Was that true?

What was happening?

One minute this guy hated your guts and the next he’s spilling his motives.

Mikey had only said a few words at most.

None of them seemed particularly targeted.

It was that way he had spoken.

He had some innate ability to manipulate exchanges to his favor.

If he wanted to make you feel welcome, you’d feel it the moment he spoke those words into reality.

Knowing the same had happened to you, you heard a holler and looked up to find both men now scaling the wall at an alarming degree. Mind spinning as Mikey wasn’t wearing a harness, the pair only gave a few grunts before Mikey leaped up and slapped a bell. You took two large stumbling steps back as Mikey then landed with a squat right next to where you had just been.

Mikey rose all too easily from where he’d just leapt 18 total feet.

Eyes blown wide, you stumbled toward him in a frantic check to make sure his bones weren’t out of place.

Mikey didn’t address you and instead threw up a radiant smile to the man still on the wall. “Told ya!”

“You win!” The guy laughed back down.

Scented with a certain amount of fear, you were filled in on the climbing competition that had been struck up and Mikey introduced the man with his first and last name. Unable to believe this was someone Mikey already knew, you quickly found out it wasn’t. Instead, in the short few seconds you were thinking everything over, Mikey had somehow contracted this man into his echelon of friends.

Watching the pair bump fists, you could only wonder how Mikey was real. He had to be some figment your imagination had come up with to cope with your constant fear. There was no way a man this incredible could both exist and want to be near you for any length of time. You were a speck compared to him and must have been a drag upon his very being.

You held him back.

You kept him down.

Why you?

You wondered that all the way out of the gym that day and beyond. The texts still came. Mikey still for all intents and purposes was only doing what he cared to do and that for some inane reason was continuing his friendship with you. When you’d met he’d said something about spoiling you, but you had figured that was some kind of warped joke.

Now. you wondered.

That intrigue only increased when he said he’d make up for the climbing incident with a low stakes board game night.

He was keeping your ability in mind for once and that had given you strength enough to agree. Apparently some local club had opened up their meet-ups for new contenders. It was exactly your sort of speed outside the new people to meet. They were contentious in your mind, but you had played many a board games in your years. It was a safe activity as long as the right board was chosen and the best low key way to hang out with the few friends you had. Never once having had a table flipped on you, you enjoyed the various rules enough and most known games stood the test of time. Wondering if you should bring one of your own, Mikey texted you to wait to see how it goes though he liked your eager attitude.

Telling him you were going to crush it, you only wished now that you hadn’t allowed yourself to get so cocky. Something you should have known by the way their ad had been worded. These people weren’t playing Monopoly. They were playing intricate games that spanned lifetimes in which you had to manage literal civilizations while also plotting conquest of nations. There were pandemics to avoid and zombie outbreaks to survive. Each game lengthy and with a set of rules the size of a novel, you struggled through the first game before the overwhelmingness of it all caught your throat.

Silence found you trapped as the other players screamed at each other. You had been thrust into a cooperative form of a game that had once been about beating each other out on tokens. Not sure when the switch had occurred, a second lengthy rule book had emerged and you were trying to parse out the totally new set of rules when it was ripped from your hands. You were told to learn as you went and no amount of mumbling your confusion swayed the other players. Not knowing what you were doing, one of your decisions had led to your ultimate demise. Whatever was happening now, it seemed the gist was that in two turns everyone would lose and it had all come to fruition based on a move you had taken what seemed like hours ago.

Though no one had actually attacked you personally for it, they had brought up your move over and over as they desperately tried to strategize a way to still win.

“This was why I said we shouldn’t open the game nights up…”

The remark had been passive.

One meant for the person next to the commenter.

Not for your ears, but you’d heard it.

It had somehow cut through the rabble rousing and you sank so far down in your chair until you nearly folded in half.

Mikey’s silence wasn’t helping.

He’d also written you off.

You knew you shouldn’t rely on him to save you every time, but he was your guiding light.

Wasn’t it an unspoken agreement that he would take charge?

You’d told him about your troubles first thing.

He had a front row seat to your spirals.

He also never stepped in until damage was done.

Had that been intentional?

He had so much on his plate, how could you expect him to notice everything?

You didn’t.

This was a board game.

Not the end of the world.

There’d be more games.

Not all were easy to win.

There were no stakes.

You just wouldn’t ever come to this particular group again.

That was fine.

There were millions of people in New York.

Ready to call it an early night, a voice cut through the arguing.

“What if I use my movement to return to Costa Rica?”

All heads at the table swiveled to Mikey, who had a finger curled under his chin as he stared at the board.

“That’s insane!”

“Back to…?”

“Wait…”

“Grab the rules!!”

Staring from the outside in, you watched the table erupt as planning switched gears. Someone announced it was possible and from there they began to bicker over what little chance that gave them. Finding a sliver of hope, they grabbed a paper and drew out the steps just in case. If followed exactly it would be a winning combination and they went through the motions with only a few dice rolls standing in their way. Clearing them as if on fate, the whole table rocketed upwards to congratulate each other.

A single tear slid down your face.

How did he always do that?

You hated yourself for thinking less of Mikey. You should have known better than to imagine him regretting bringing you to make him the fool. He didn’t think like that. The Mikey you had come to know was the sun. He continued to scorch the earth even when she put up her defenses. Just above atmosphere, he burned unperturbed. His sheer desire to be alive and live was indomitable. It was that fight that had taken him to calculated silence. He waged his celestial war in the quiet of his mind. Looking for that one little shred of hope, the ones he somehow always got his fingers on, he yanked the tapestry of life and rewove it to how he saw fit.

You were a joke.

His complete opposite in every possible way.

All you did was give up.

Run away.

Quietly getting up while the others drilled Mikey on how he’d done it, you left. Going straight home, you avoided Mikey’s texts for the next few weeks. Not strong enough to quit him completely, you did read all of them at nearly all hours which held its own culpability. He surely saw all your read receipts and you almost wished it would sour his opinion of you. Maybe then he would finally move on and you could start this process anew. You should have known better than to think you could hitch your wagon to someone else’s. You were supposed to venture out alone. This process had been about you wanting to do more. Mikey was too selfless for his own good. He didn’t realize he was dragging himself down. The space would help.

The only problem was, it didn’t.

Mikey didn’t seem to care that you never responded. He moved forward tenaciously and even invited you out two more times. You’d scorned the messages, but time had done something to you. You reflected on how surreal it all was. You’d warped your image of Mikey without realizing it. You’d given him godlike command over others. You thought him some kind of manipulator that could get anyone to do his bidding. It felt comical. A rewind found him instead ignorant of scorn or even happiness. He simply forged his own path so authentically that others couldn’t help to be drawn in no matter what their side. You swore he must have the ability to turn even the most speciesist person over into a mutant advocate given the chance.

He was your idol.

That skirted more tedious titles, but you refused to put him on a pedestal. It was because of his failings that he now appeared an achievable image. He was the golden standard of what you wished you could be. He was utterly immune to social anxiety and you craved the pride in which he held himself. He still retained his sun moniker, but now it was one of a laissez-faire ruler. Life may have proliferated from him, but not because of him. There were other powers at work, but his status was attainable. You could mimic him like a lowly sunflower that had forced its way through the concrete. You could move with him. You could catch his rays as he passed you by.

The only thing you couldn’t figure out was what he got out of it. The him that was a person should have written you off as a moot point, but he hadn’t given up. Messages continued to roll in. The negative thoughts said he should have long ago, but another argued that you were yet another thing he chose to fight for. When you had seen him, he hadn’t shied away one bit. He’d thrown himself and, by proxy, you into each foray and fixed the outcome if it wasn’t to his liking.

He never once complained.

He’d told you it was fine hundreds of times.

He hadn’t dismissed your feelings.

He’d tried to reroute them.

Staring at your phone for yet another sleepless night, you saw he asked if you wanted to try something low-key next. His next few messages seemed to indicate that he thought maybe you’d been overwhelmed and had needed to take a step back. He said that he understood and mentioned something about two of his brothers who experienced the same thing. Promising only the utmost comfort by going to see a movie, you could only think he was too bright and that wasn’t just because your phone’s brightness was the only thing illuminating your dark room.

He was still singeing you.

The little burns would pile up.

The warmth was also undeniable.

Whatever it was he saw in you though, you were thankful for it. Whether he was oblivious or his spirit was something ethereally burning, your absence wasn’t one he worried over. In contrast, you felt a dangerous flicker as you pondered how easy it would be to take advantage of him. As you’d seen time and time again, once he decided something, he rolled with it. It didn’t matter how you and others treated him; he wanted to see the best in others.

Heart sinking, you wondered how many people had hurt him. It had to be impossible because he could turn anyone into his fan with only a few choice words, but there was still a chance.

You didn’t want that from him.

You: Aren’t you worried?

Chef: About what?

You waited for the inevitable message asking why you hadn’t responded, but it never came.

You: That I might not be a good person?

You watched the bubbles percolate before dozens of messages started to flood on your screen. Some testimonials and mostly things he felt, he dismissed your claims in his usual motormouth way. In or out of the digital world, you had always loved to listen. It took the conversational burden off of you and Mikey was made for that. Even if it was clear he sometimes missed your responses, you couldn’t be mad because he shared the whole of himself. To you it only felt like the pittance to pay in order to stand in his glory. You were gaining so much from him; there was no way you could question your guide. From how far you’d come and all the things you’d done, the night you met almost seemed like a distant memory.

Going alone had taken months of preparation.

In that same time frame, you’d done more with Mikey than you’d done in your entire life.

Isn’t that what the movies taught?

People were stronger together.

How could you return to a world without him there with you?

You: When and where did you want to do the movie?

You: Is there a theater near both of us?

You: Or would that be too much?

You: I realize now that I don’t know where you live…

You: Don’t feel like you have to tell me!

You: Also

You: Thank you

How could you make it mean more?

Two words didn’t sum up how you felt.

About him finding you.

About him continuing to see you.

About him not giving up on you.

You could say it.

You could show it.

After a light discussion ironing out the specifics, a time slot was booked and plans were set. For all intents and purposes, everything had returned to normal, but this time you were prepared. You were going to be worthy of his time. A student with a gold star, you did your best to keep up with his messages until the day of. Meeting after work, Mikey offered to walk you to the theater as what he phrased as your bodyguard. Laughing at the imagery of him bouncing your bad thoughts away, he mentioned where he’d be arriving from which was an approximation of his address.

When you looked it up it had been a block with what you thought were empty buildings.

You couldn’t put it past Mikey to have some sort of kitschy bobby like flipping houses. You wondered where and when he picked up carpentry when you emerged from your apartment to find him right on time waiting out front. Greeting you easily, you started down the street and made it a few blocks before he stopped dead. Not as quick as him, you made it a few more feet before you turned to find him patting himself down in a flurry. Arms moving faster than you could track, he went a new shade of pale green under the streetlamp.

“I left my phone at home!”

Going on high alert, you fumbled for yours. “Y-you h-have the t-tickets, b-but I think… um…? D-did you… send me a c-copy?”

“Did I!?” He appeared over your shoulder to look down at your device as he turned his pockets out.

“O-Oh…” You scrolled through the texts and found he’d only told you the details. “No…”

He clicked his tongue. “Ugh! So dumb!! I left my wallet too!”

“M-maybe you c-could login with m-my-”

“Let’s swing by my place, it’ll only take a second.” He groaned to the sky.

Startling to attention, you stuttered nonsense.

From the area he gave you, it wasn’t far, but it certainly wasn’t close.

If you headed there and backtracking then you’d be cutting it close to the movie time.

“Come on! It’s this way!” He gestured and took few leading steps backward.

Your phone seemed to complain about the time, but the impatient thunk of his shoes moved you to follow him.

You were curious about what he described as a lair.

The oddest choice when it came to nicknaming your house, he went on about how their last place was blown up before they found this one. Unable to place whatever reference he was making, a few turns took you to a less populated area. Nervously sticking close to your light, you descended a dirty old stairwell to where a door was chained up. With what looked like a wave of his hand, Mikey undid the metal and opened the entrance with a sweeping gesture. Staring into a black abyss, you made a nervous sound which caused Mikey to look up.

Seeing what he’d opened to, he laughed at himself. “Kinda horrifying when you haven’t memorized the steps. Let’s use your phone’s flashlight.”

Doing that in a few clicks, he hopped ahead after locking the door back up and, for a moment, you thought the worse. Trapped down where no one would ever find you, Mikey could have been playing some long con and you were about to disappear for good. Not wanting that, you trembled a little as Mikey continued forward. He whistled a jaunty tune and left you without choice. You scrambled after him as he led you down to an old subway station where he jumped down onto the rails. Overlooking the drop yourself, you found him holding his hands up as if to catch you.

“Don’t worry! I’ve got you and this old thing’s out of service. The access door is literally right around the corner from here!”

You decided that if you were going to die at least your final moments had been interesting.

Doing what had to be the worst leap, Mikey caught you with ease and set you down as if he’d done that a hundred times. His lackadaisical show of strength came as an auspicious one. If he wasn’t out to kill you, he could surely protect you. As if reading your thoughts, he filled the empty air with talk security in place. From what had to be jokes about lasers to something about surveillance, you wondered who would ever want to hurt Mikey.

You were left guessing as, true to his word, it had been a short walk to said entrance.

Mikey gave another bowing offer by opening the door for you and you were led through a set of contrastingly well lit tunnels. It spoke of life even if the space was barren and you headed toward what appeared to you as a subway depot. A place where cars were stored for later, there were several laid out on various tracks and soft fairy lights strung over nearly every part of the ceiling.

“Welcome to the turtle all-in-one super lair!” Mikey spun away from you with his hands in the air.

Unable to keep your eyes in one spot, you saw gorgeous graffiti layered on the walls and that the place was tidy though clearly lived in. Mikey went on a new tangent about how the cars had been retrofitted into rooms and how one day, when he had more time, he would show you the kitchen. Not anywhere near processing his words, you were left as he politely excused himself to get his missing items.

Hang tight, he said.

You could spend hours here, as if in a museum, and not see everything.

You thought you responded, but your mouth hung open at the expanse. You gaped as you traced the architecture to where an atrium opened up and revealed three stories. Stairs moved around like an Escher painting and you could only imagine their limitless possibilities. They breathed life and soft music poured down the steps closest to you. Wandering closer to take a peek, you found faint light was also escaping from what had to be a television.

You had already chosen to stop when a sharp silhouette interrupted the glow.

What had Mikey told you?

You couldn’t remember, but you felt like you were snooping.

It was on that instinct that you ducked behind the brick archway.

Steps soon matched the shape that moved at a leisurely pace.

Your heart beat a nervous clock when you saw a blue-coded turtle.

You placed him instantly.

Mikey loved photographs.

This was Leonardo.

He hit the landing with bowed legs as he walked and read a comic at the same time.

You were very much gawking.

He was slow to stop and, when he did, he took a deep breath.

His head then snapped to your direction with sharpened focus. “Yeah, maybe you missed the no soliciting sign, but…!”

Comic gone, he was all blue light and swords.

You flailed frantically. “I’m with Mikey!!”

Cold steel stopped inches from your face and Leonardo’s whole demeanor shifted. “Oh, wait! Y/N? Didn’t you two have a movie tonight?

“H-h-h-h-he f-f-f-forg-got h-h-his w-w-w-allet…!!!” You didn’t think you could manage the another word.

“H-h-h-huh.” Leo remarked back, not quite mocking. “You cold or something? Don’s got the temp set to something good I thought.”

With a shrug, his weapons disappeared in another flash.

Star.

This man was a shooting star.

He burned with flashes of ferocity so bright you had to turn away.

From what you’d been told, he commanded even more.

From what you could see, you bet he could also disappear just as well as his swords.

Unable to get a steady voice, your gaze hit the floor.

You felt Leo continue to evaluate you. “You good?”

You nodded.

He’d think you were insane.

Your actions didn’t sync up with your lack of words at all.

You felt him smile more than you saw it. “Did Mikey ever tell you about the time he got his skateboard stuck in a sewer grate?”

Blinking a few times, you were shy to peer at Leo. “M-mikey.. .skateboards?

Leo’s wicked grin split his face. “We all did.”

You watched on with growing interest.

“I can’t believe I put my wallet in the microwave again!” Mikey clambered down the stairs.

“-and that’s why Mikey was the last of us to be potty trained!”

You giggled from behind your hand.

“Nope!!!” Mikey screeched on the last step. “Leo, what are you doing!?!”

“You left your friend here all alone!” Stepping through the large space Leo had given you, the blue turtle moved behind you to gently take each of your upper arms as if to show you off. “I was entertaining our guest! Being a good host! Filling them in on all your most embarrassing memories! Normal stuff!”

You chewed your lip to keep from laughing.

“They’re lies!!! All of them!! Lies!!!” In a fit of anxiety you watched Mikey claw around him.

Where there was nothing, he caught something and he ripped the air with a tear of orange light.

Life force leaving you, you felt Leo’s grip tighten as Mikey shoved through the hole he’d somehow created.

You didn’t hear the second rip as much as you saw it appear next to you.

Mikey then walked out of it and into your face. “What did he tell you!?”

You gasped like a fish taking its last breath.

A ominous shadow appeared, casting darkness over Mikey’s overly wound form.

Only you looked up to find a hulking red turtle that you knew to be Raphael.

The eldest used the whole of his hand to grab Mikey’s shell.

He then lifted the turtle straight into the air, away from you, while you leaned so far back into Leo that you thought you’d be on the ground otherwise.

“You’re making a racket! Both of you cut it out! You’re freaking people out!” Raph huffed and you couldn’t shake how he was at least ten times the size that he appeared in any photo you’d ever seen of him. “Sorry about that. Y/N, right? I’m Raph, nice to meet’cha!”

This was their ground.

Large and all encompassing, this man had to be their rock.

Not just because he was big enough to support all of them on his carapace, in that sense he was the size of the Earth, but because his very essence oozed compassion.

You imagined he worked twice as hard as Sisyphus.

“That being said…” Raph dropped his scolding for a snicker. “Which story did you go with, Lee? Potty training?”

Mikey screamed and fought his air jail.

He was also very much a big brother.

“Oh yeah!” Leo cooed triumphantly. “And the bull story and the skateboard-gum incident!”

Flames exploded and Raph flicked his hands as if bacon grease had splattered up at him.

Once again, Leo was your cane as you watched Mikey shake off being on actual fire like it was a few measly water droplets.

“No more!!!” Once doused, Mikey caught you and pulled you straight away from Leo.

Crashing into his hard plastron you heard Leo and Raph chorus for Mikey to be careful.

“We have to go! Movie starting and all!” Mikey screamed to the ceiling.

“We haven’t all introduced ourselves!” Raph added, sounding a bit sad.

“Speak for yourself.” Leo rolled his eyes.

“Did you? Or did you launch straight into humiliatin’ our lil bro?” Raph’s brow ridge rose under his mask.

“Hey look, there’s Donnie!” Leo waved just as Mikey yanked on your arm trying to get you away.

You looked over to where a fourth, purple clad turtle had just descended the stairs. Caught like a wild animal on film, he was the picture of a gremlin. Hunched forward, goggles down, in a stained hoodie, and holding an ungodly sandwich with a calories count the likes of which you had never seen from a home kitchen, the man only reviewed Mikey with a sort of tepid affection before staring you down with what you could only identify as malice.

Mikey released you and jumped the distance to tackle the new brother.

Donnie dropped his hatred for a smile and twisted around so his sandwich would remain unharmed as he caught his younger brother.

If that wasn’t a reflection of the sun, you didn’t know what was.

With a cold icy exterior that sat in the dark expanse of space, Donatello had to be the moon in your little cosmic parallels.

Mikey nuzzled his cheek to Donnie’s and, with his free arm, the older brother carried the younger back over.

That gaze, merciless and seemingly ever-present, Donnie glowered at you all the way until he deposited Mikey by your side.

“I knew you had a face only pops could love, but damn Don, if you keep mean muggin’ like that and you’re gonna lose your last fan!” As soon as Mikey was gone, Leo tried to slot himself against the purple man.

Donnie looked like he had a retort, but he bit down on it to sidestep at the last second and caused the blue brother to fall onto his face.

Raph’s large hands dragged down his cheeks so hard that it peeled his lower lids. “Why can we never get through introductions!?”

“Because you don’t take threats seriously.” Donnie turned from an outright glare in your direction to a stewing nature towards the oldest.

“Now hold on!” Raph threw an annoyed finger in Donnie’s face. “Raph is the king worrier! You all know that. Right, Mike?”

“Raph has the worry crevice.” Mikey nodded.

“Right!” Raph started and then spun around, offended. “Wait! No! Not this again!”

“Told ya!” Leo pumped his fists from where he was still on the ground, now reclined as if he’d always been that way.

Mikey mentioned villains.

It had been a joke, right?

Mikey mentioned calamities.

That was just New York.

Mikey mentioned powers.

He had the emotional prowess of a psyhcologist.

Mikey had mentioned so many, many things.

Mikey had said so much.

Too much.

None of it had felt real.

Mikey had a penchant for exaggeration.

It only hit you then.

These were the heroes who saved New York.

They saved the planet.

They’d been a rumor.

They’d then been famous.

Fame tapered off.

They had returned to whispers.

Taking a step back from them all, you felt precariously placed.

You weren’t supposed to see this.

Mikey had ripped through space-time and you were now supposed to go see a movie with him.

You couldn’t imagine sitting next to him for two odd hours knowing what he could do.

He’d combusted into flames.

Leo had reached through space as well.

What could the others do?

Had Mikey told you?

They were so strong.

Your earlier thoughts of disappearing reared their head.

They couldn’t just kill you, they could eradicate you.

Stumbling slightly, words trickled off your lips. “I-I’m here because M-Mikey… w-wants me to be...”

Why had you said that?

Were you trying to convince yourself?

Did you believe that?

“Oh-me-gosh!” Mikey gasped and, in two skipping steps, he hugged you. “Y/N! You said it! You actually said it! No pity or anything!”

You nodded against him, feeling your body wilt as your brain rallied about what he was capable of.

Spinning up off the floor, everything blurred. “You’ve come so far! I’m so proud!! Good job, good job!!”

You saw snippets of the others as if time stopped when you passed them.

Raph smiling in a knowing way.

Leo grinning mischievously.

Donnie’s grimace.

A sound came from Mikey’s phone and he took the time to set you down methodically before grabbing it. “The movie! We’re so late! Oh man!! The credits are gonna start!! I wanted to see what’s coming soon!”

Leo sat up, rolling his shoulders in a stretch. “What’s the address?”

“One million Run of the Mill pizzas to you good sir!!!” Mikey cried happy tears and dropped to a knee that honored the glory of his brother.

“If only your tab wasn’t already worth ten lifetimes!” Leo bemoaned as with a flick, there was a sword back in his hand and he sliced open a large blue disc right into the air.

“Eh, I’ll serve my sentence eventually.” Mikey laughed brightly as he tugged you through and you both appeared right in front of the movie theater. You had to take a moment not to throw up.

💛NEXT💛

Always shouting out my beats @tmntxthings and @thepinkpanther83

#sunshinemoonshinefic #rottmnt #rise of the tmnt #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #rottmnt x reader #rottmnt Michelangelo #rise Michelangelo #Michelangelo hamato #rottmnt mikey #rise mikey #rise mikey x reader #rottmnt mikey x reader #me #fanfiction #my fanfiction

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alexcors · 1 year ago

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Tentazione

Sunday morning was pampered with coolness, even in the habitually stuffy, impregnated with the aromas of incense, wax and oak, the parish of a modest provincial church. The priest's voice fell in low notes on the sonorous singing of the tiny choir, over the whisper of the voices of the parishioners who read the prayer aloud.

Damian was standing a little behind, no longer trying to listen to the mentor's speech, as his deacon's rank and the duty of a righteous Catholic ordered. His gaze from the first minutes unmistakably found the one that had occupied all his thoughts for the last month and generated desires, which he renounced by entering a monastery.

Young Ravena Rothi.

The daughter of Sicilian aristocrats, sent by her father to this provincial Italian town with only governesses and companions, she was a true temptation for the future priest. A real creature of Hell in the guise of an angel. And Damian had served Satan long enough to understand such things.

A former member of the League of Assassins, from an early age he established himself as one of the best, thanks to diligence, skills and hot Saracen blood that flowed in his veins. True to the ideals hammered into him almost from birth, by the age of sixteen he managed not just to get his hands dirty in blood, but almost drown in it.

An endless series of broken destinies under the cover of darkness turned Damian's life into one continuous night, becoming unbearable, forcing him to wander in the darkness in search of at least a drop of light. And it seemed to the young man that he had found it, subdued his rage and thirst for blood within the walls of the monastery, and then the church, where he was about to take the priesthood.

But, at the crucial moment, She appeared.

A temptation sent to him by the Lord, the Devil, or both at once, apparently designed to test the fortitude of his spirit. And a body in which the familiar flame flared up again, as on those nights when Damian chased the victim like a hungry predator stalking prey.

A light draft, seeping through the cracks in the patterned stained-glass window, pulled a curl that had escaped from her hairstyle, shiny as a raven's wing. He ran it over the creamy white skin of her shoulder, slightly covered by the light, like sea foam, fabric of her dress. Again without the stole, which hung in folds on the girl's arms, leaving the neckline, shoulders and neck under Damian's greedy gaze.

And as if there were no three years of asceticism and humility! The young deacon shifted from one foot to the other, closing his eyelids for a moment, involuntarily wondering how such an innocent creature could push him into the abyss of all mortal sins at once? But, as soon as he opened his eyes, the answer was found in the same second.

Her gaze that was now gliding over the lines of a written prayer. Not meek and weak-willed, but direct, bold, almost audacious. Lilac-blue, like a forest blackberry, burning with magical lights in its dark depths. Damian couldn't help but remember seeing those eyes for the first time when Lady Ravena first came to church with the other young girls. Her polite but short bow, instead of a modestly lowered head, a soft but confident voice when talking to his mentor, a glance gliding around and burning with curiosity. That's what the former assassin caught that day. Like an arrow at the chest, which seemed to be aiming at the heart.

Then, having first mentioned the Lord in vain, the deacon walked around the altar, deliberately casually touched the edge of a dark blue stole with his fingers and threw it over the girl's open shoulder. Now his fingers tingled with the desire to repeat this gesture, to allow himself to touch the alluring skin of the charmer, at least through the fabric. The young man cut off more frank thoughts with prayer, like an old family sword.

The almost harmonious chorus of voices, the memorized text in Latin that Damian hummed with his lips, allowed him to even out his breathing and calm his overly restless heart a little. By an effort of will, the deacon forced himself to immerse himself in a personal copy of the Holy Scriptures, when the former killer's gut tugged at the inner strings.

Damian was always clearly aware of surveillance, whether it was colleagues, enemies or monks. But now a sharply upturned gaze caught an unabashed pair of violet eyes, forcing their owner to suffocate with surprise. To lose the rhythm, but to continue to whisper something with her deliciously pink lips, while a blush blooms on her cheeks, and her fingers pull at the corners of the pages of her prayer book. And all this without letting go of his gaze.

He'd better go away. To go down to his room, close himself in his cell and pray to the Lord for help, because the deacon's own endurance was thinning and melting, like the wax of a church sich, with every deep breath of Lady Ravena, which lifted her chest so seductively. But apparently his trials are not over for today.

"Damian?" – the mentor called when the final prayer finally subsided and the parishioners, under the creaking of benches, moved to the exit.

"Yes, Padre."

"Can I leave you to take care of the parish for a couple of hours? Madame Chantal asks to consecrate her house."

"For the fifth time?" - The deacon chuckled.

"Don't blame the old people for wanting to brighten up loneliness, my son."

"You're too kind to her, Padre," - Damian glanced briefly at an elderly woman dressed in the fashion of young ladies. - "This crazy Frenchwoman is just in love with you."

"And what is it? Love for one's neighbor is beautiful in all its manifestations."

The young man did not express his thoughts on this, only nodded briefly, promising to take care of everything in the absence of a mentor. Which the cheerful old lady immediately grabbed under the elbow, referring to her age, fatigue and, as if accidentally dropping the edge of the golden stole from her shoulder.

The long-awaited silence enveloped the church with the last slam of the high doors, giving the former murderer a couple of grains of much-desired peace, which, oddly enough, smacked of disappointment. And Damian tried to convince himself that he was disappointed by his own lack of restraint, and not by the missed opportunity to cross paths with Lady Ravena once again.

But it was worth, even mentally, remembering his personal Devil…

"Padre?" – a slender figure in a thin dress, tied under her breasts with a satin ribbon, slipped into the church with the ease of a shadow.

God help me!

"The Lord commands you to be more modest in His house, child,"- Damian said in a stern tone.

"Did He send you to report this or punish me?"

"Did you want something, Lady Rotti?" - The deacon asked as evenly as possible, ignoring her cheeky tone, the tip of the ribbon swaying in time with her breathing and the tingling on his fingertips.

This tantalizing piece of burgundy satin… He could untie the knot in one motion, forcing the light snow-white fabric to slip off the sloping shoulders. And watch as a pinkish haze of embarrassment spreads over the porcelain skin. How the breath is lost, forcing her tender lips to open a little…

God!

"Padre Riccardo," - Ravena's voice pulled him out of his sinful fantasy. - "He allowed me to borrow one of the parish books."

"For what?"

"I… wanted to teach the servants to read and write."

Damian didn't remember his mentor telling him anything like that. He could (should have!) to refuse this temptress, citing his ignorance, employment or something else. Because the very thought of a short solitude with her scared and caused a thrill, almost making you burn from the inside. And that scared me even more.

"I'm not sure…"

"Please?" Ravena took a step toward him, standing so close that Damian could smell her skin. Light, floral, mesmerizing.

How could he refuse this charmer when she looked at him like that, asked for it like that?

"Well," - the deacon stepped aside, motioning the girl to follow him. "Since the padre promised, I suppose you can take one."

Lady Ravena, with an easy gait, followed, first ducking under the canopy shifted by the young man, which fenced off the narrow staircase from the parishioners. For a brief moment, Damian allowed himself to enjoy the sight of her slender legs, barely showing from under the hem of her dress. Later he will have to atone for another sin…

In the lower room, the air was thicker, diluted with the smells of burning candles, ink and parchment. Among the dark wood that covered the walls and covered the floor, Lady Ravena seemed like a vision, a light white cloud, for some unknown reason, descended from heaven.

Damian watched as the girl concentrated on choosing a book, reading the titles and touching the spines with the tips of her elegant fingers. She glanced at some with an indifferent, almost bored gaze, glared at others with her eyes, as if wanting to take away not one, but several books at once.

Finally, a book slipped off the shelf, which in no way suited either a young lady, or, even more so, illiterate maids. But judging by how impatiently Lady Ravena opened the first page, and the look of violet eyes ran over the lines, this fact did not bother her a bit. The deacon chuckled: so a sinner got into offending him? It seems that he is not the only one who will need prayers today.

"Teach the servants to read and write a philosophical treatise?" - he asked, closing the distance between them. - "And in Greek?"

"Oh," - the girl abruptly closed the book. - "I'am…"

"Liar," the deacon breathed, leaning almost impermissibly close. His temptress smelled so delicious-lavender and foliage after the rain, clean and fresh.

"Why do you need a book, Lady Ravena?"

The edge of the stole slipped down again, exposing the shoulder of the girl, whose hands were busy to return the fabric to its rightful place. Damian's breath touched her skin, causing goosebumps and a barely noticeable shiver.

"I like to… read," - Raven muttered, clearly embarrassed, but not looking away.

"In Greek?" - The deacon ran his fingers over the letters on the cover, barely noticeably touching the hand with which the girl was holding the book to herself. So gentle…

"And in five more languages," - the lady lifted her chin, apparently wanting to sound smug, but it turned out only to expose her neck.

"This does not allow you to sin in the house of the Lord," - Damian hissed, through his teeth, with which he wanted to pierce the point above the pulse.

For God's sake, what's going on with him?!

"No… Does not allow…"

The exhalation touched his face, the candlelight reflected in the lilac eyes and tiny drops of sweat on the girl's temples. He could tell her to get down on her knees right now to atone for her sins. And she would have obeyed, sinking to the floor in front of him, revealing a delightful view of the inviting cleavage between her breasts.

"So confess me, Holy Father," - the stole slipped off the second shoulder, exposing smooth skin.

So hot…

"Forgive you, child?" His swarthy fingers slid down her arm, brushing and slightly shifting the tiny sleeve, catching the unruly burgundy fabric at the wrist.

"I'm sorry… For I am a sinner…"

"What is your sin, child?" Damian felt her pulse quicken, heard her breathing quicken, and seemed to be losing control of his own.

"In words. And in my thoughts," at the last word, her gaze dropped to his lips, and her cheeks flushed slightly.

"Go on."

"I lied in church, Padre," Ravena's voice dropped to a whisper. – "I Lied To You… I'm Sorry."

"I absolve you of this sin, because the Lord is merciful," - the learned phrase sounded lower than decency allowed, from which the girl shuddered, and the deacon's heart missed a beat. – "What was in your thoughts?"

Lady Ravena squeezed her eyes shut, almost making Damian growl–he wanted to see her gaze, watch it darken and shine, reflecting the candlelight and his own flame. But before he allowed himself to voice a demand to the girl to open her eyes again, she did the unthinkable – she licked her dry lips with the tip of her tongue.

The light and quick movement almost awakened the beast in him, who did not want to humble himself and give forgiveness. Just take it. To take away the book behind which this temptress was hiding, to steal a kiss, to give free rein to his hands and, finally, to untie this damned ribbon! Enjoy the view of her lovely curves, try it with his own lips and tongue. Listening to Ravena repeat his name like a prayer, while Damian's fingers would touch her in the most forbidden places, squeeze and gently stroke her skin under a snow-white dress… He wanted, literally longed to kiss her thin neck, and then bite his teeth, leaving a trace as bright and vicious as her tongue, just moistened pink lips.

So hot, so sinful and so…

"Amazing".

"What?"

"You're amazing, Lady Ravena," Damian forced himself to take half a step back. – "Young and… lovely."

The deacon's fingers finally pulled the stole up, hiding the shoulders and even the neck of the girl from his own hungry gaze.

"Such girls are chosen by the Devil to inspire bad thoughts. Swoops down like a hurricane on a thin peach tree…"

"Do you think my thoughts were a temptation, Padre?"

You're a temptation!

"I think you should pray harder before going to bed," - Damian breathed, diligently chasing away thoughts of Ravena, in the thinnest nightgown, kneeling by her own bed.

God… Why her?

"Thank you, Holy Father," - the girl nodded slightly, still deliciously rosy.

She took a step forward, heading towards the stairs, and the young deacon, absorbed in his own feelings, guessed to move only at the last moment. And the lady had to hit him with her hip as she passed by.

Damian didn't know what he was praying for more that second-that he wouldn't moan loudly or that his temptress wouldn't notice the obvious bulge under his cassock.

Ignoring the rules of decency and not seeing the girl out of the church, he almost fell on a hard chair, again seeking salvation from Heaven. And forgiveness. And strength, because God knows Damian won't be able to resist this temptation forever.…

That night the deacon prayed three times–twice before going to bed, and once in the middle of the night, when he jumped up from his hard bed almost in a feverish sweat. In the darkness of the cell, images flashed before his eyes, from which his breath was knocked out and painfully throbbed in his groin.

God…

Damian could still see how her raven-colored hair spread out on the pillow, how her slender body bent under his pressure, and sweet moans and tender lips alternately touched his face. He saw, almost felt, and desired against all the laws of earth and heaven. He had no right to do this – not only to a young charmer who had been spinning his head for a month, a depraved nymph entering his dreams, but also to give up the only opportunity to find forgiveness. And peace.

@reverseoforah, I LOVE YOU!!!!!

#damirae #demonbirds #damirae sauce weekend 2023 #this was the first chapter

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roguerambles · 2 years ago

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Record of Ragnarok - Male!Reader

Warnings - Mentions of Adult Situations. Jerkass Gods being Jerkasses.18+ Only.

Image from Google.

So, I may have started Record of Ragnarok yesterday. It’s a bit of slow start, but I find the concept and character designs fascinating, so I’m pretty intrigued!

I’ve also wanted to write Male!Reader for a while, but muse has been pretty low for me lately. I think this helped, because I’ve got some ~ideas~ kicking around in my brain box haha. This is kind of a prologue of sorts for future shenanigans (Most of which involve a son of Aphrodite sleeping his way through Ragnarok, oops-) Enjoy this blasphemy!

The Einherjar were delicious.

Oh, you were certain that was not why Brunhilde had selected the champions of humanity, but it hadn’t escaped your notice the men were gorgeous. Some of the most beautiful men in existence, the most skilled, virile warriors to have ever walked the earth were all gathered in one spot, adrenaline in their veins as they prepared for the battle that would decide humanity’s fate.

And there you were. Stuck on the Heavens side of the Arena, where Mother Aphrodite had insisted you remain, completely unable to interact with any of them.

It was so unfair.

“Do stop pouting, darling.” Aphrodite sipped at her chalice of wine, glancing at you over the head of one of her servants. “You’re bringing down the mood somewhat.”

Round One was over, decided in the gods favour. Lu Bu, the Flying General, the Strongest Warrior in the Three Kingdoms, had been defeated, his soul now gone from the Gods Realm. An absolutely glorious specimen of mortal manhood you would now never share a bed with.

Of course you were pouting.

“Am I being punished for something?” You asked glumly, watching as Thor fought his way through the fallen Lu Bu’s army, charging in to avenge their general, or share his fate. The God of Thunder’s muscled body rippled with power as he tore through his attackers like wet paper, and you bit your lower lip, crossing your legs, heat flaring low in your gut, imagining that strength turned to more pleasurable uses.

“Nonsense, darling.” Aphrodite waved her hand dismissively, a smile playing on her lips. “If I was punishing you, I would have told you about the human “incarnation of desire” currently bedding his way through half the arena.”

You liked this man already, and gave your mother a betrayed look. “What did I do?!”

Aphrodite simply smiled, and turned her attention back to the arena. “Consider the options, dear, and I’ll tell you if you’re right.”

You slumped back in you seat, glowering.

It was not as if there was a lack of options on the Heavens side. Aside from Thor himself, Lord Shiva had sat near you and Aphrodite throughout Round One, his naked torso showing off a flawless physique. His biceps were exquisite and practically begged to be caressed, and his four arms and their possible bedroom applications sent your imagination reeling. Heracles was somewhere around, and you had always wanted the opportunity to fully test the God of Fortitude’s stamina…

But everyone was fixated on the damn fighting that all your attempts at flirtation were largely unnoticed.

So unfair…

But Thor would be celebrating his victory, his blood hot and passions inflamed. Surely Aphrodite wouldn’t object to you going to congratulate him...?

“Mother—”

“Ares, what did you think about the battle?”

You huffed and slumped in your chair as Ares approached, his grumpy expression brightening at your mother’s attention.

You settled for watching the muscles move under Thor’s skin as he began to leave the arena, the bodies of his foes dissolving at his feet. He glanced up into the stands, and you went still as his gaze met yours. For a (only slightly) embarrassing moment you feared he had somehow sensed your thoughts. You caught the tiniest hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his stoic mouth, the faintest tilt of his head in acknowledgment, before turning and continuing on his way, quickly disappearing from sight.

Maybe if I’m quiet nobody will notice me sneak away…

You glanced around. Aphrodite was distracted talking with Ares, who at this moment only had eyes for her. Lord Zeus and Hermes were curiously absent from the King’s balcony, and Lord Shiva was gone too. You knew he was meant for Round Two, so you assumed he must have went to prepare.

Perhaps I should wish him good luck…

You slid out of your seat, casting one more look over your shoulder, then slowly crept towards the exit, careful not to make any noise.

Almost…almost…

Your fingers grazed the cool stone doors. You froze in place, waiting for a scolding, but you heard nothing but the murmur of the crowd, of gods chatting eagerly about the upcoming match.

You pushed the door open slowly, just a enough to slip through. It then closed behind you, leaving you in the dim light of the corridor outside.

Yes.

Elation flared within you, and you barely resisted dancing on the spot, your mind already whirling with possibilities. Biting down a grin, you started walking, glad you had decided to wear your most appealing outfit. There was time before the next Round, and plenty of people to spend time with…

It was, after all, good to consider one’s options.

#record of ragnarok #record of ragnarok fanfic #record of ragnorak x reader #male reader #record of ragnorak x male reader

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pulpsandcomics2 · 8 days ago

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Flare of Fortitude

#kev fang #fantasy art

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markrosewater · 5 months ago

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You said that white doesn't get Fog effects anymore, but we just got two white cards in the last year that prevent you from being damaged as part of their effect, Everybody Lives and Flare of Fortitude. They technically aren't fog in the mechanical sense, you still get poison and commander damage, but they largely play the same. The fact that we got two of these means it feels less like an outlier too so I'm curious what is happening with these two cards.

White goes get damage prevention, so it is Fog adjacent.

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inquisimer · 5 months ago

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happy friday!!! how's about " i’ll tell you my sins so you can sharpen your knife. " for your hawke/sebastian rivalmance 👀

happy dadwc! finally capped an ending on this piece that's been half-finished in my drafts for @dadrunkwriting

wc: 1094

She rarely comes to the Chantry of her own volition. The silence that blankets her skin as she steps inside is unsettling. It feels tangible, as if the very air itself knows that she is not called here by some task or request, but because she did not know where else to go.

One of the sisters catches her eye and raises an eyebrow; the silent, yet completely understood question: shall I fetch the Grand Cleric? Has something happened? Siobhan shakes her head and the sister leaves, sketching a simple bow. As foreign as confusion and uncertainty are to her, she supposes they are a familiar sight within these walls.

Hesitant steps lead her toward the pews that face Andraste’s statue. She has lived more years without praying than with, but it helps to look and feel as if her presence here has a purpose.

Did you question? She thinks desperately, staring up into the cold, stone eyes of the Maker’s bride. Did you doubt?

“Hawke?” She spins on her heel, sharp, and blinks twice before she recognizes Sebastian out of his armor. He looks softer in a brother’s robes and her heart stutters once with doubt, briefly thinking perhaps it would be a kindness to encourage him toward this path. But she cannot—there is no value in allying with a lowly Chantry brother. There is value beyond counting in holding sway over Starkhaven’s ruling prince, more so if she can bind his hand to her own.

“What are you doing here?” Her uncharacteristic silence has stretched long enough for Sebastian to draw near. His icy blue eyes, jagged yet kind, pin her as surely as a knife to her throat. “Did you need something? I can fetch the Grand—“

“No!” she says hastily. “It’s nothing, I just—“

She cuts off before she can invent a lie that she’ll have to keep straight later. Better to let him fill in the blanks of her silence, which he does with an efficiency that takes her breath away. He steps closer and she can smell the armor polish that lingers on his skin.

“You just?” he echoes lowly. “Just what?”

One of her most valuable skills is knowing when to bite her tongue. Despite what Carver would say, holding it has gotten her out of more situations than letting it run has gotten her in. She does so now, but her silence only heightens Sebastian’s curiosity.

“No one just comes to the Chantry, Hawke,” he says firmly. “The Maker guides us all within His purpose, whether you intended to follow or not.”

“I’ve been beyond the Maker’s notice for a long time now, Sebastian.”

He barks out a surprised laugh, drawing the ire of a few nearby Sisters. Raising one hand in apology, he gestures with a tilt of his head for Hawke to follow. They sit together on a bench in the corner.

“No one is beyond the Maker’s notice, Hawke,” he says firmly. “He has a plan for each of us and it does not matter if you feel His influence in your heart or not. It is there.”

Siobhan shrugs. She doesn’t particularly have the fortitude for this kind of theological debate right now. Her own faith ran dry years ago, but every now and then she wishes things were different. Wishes she was different. Wishes she could believe.

She reaches out and takes Sebastian’s hand in her own, tracing the lines of his palm, the callouses on his fingertips. She enjoys the slight widening of his eyes, the flare of his nostrils. Few people would be so forward with a member of the Chantry, she supposes, but she knows where the line is and she’s far from crossing it.

“And what if I said I just…came here looking for you? Would that be the Maker’s hand?”

A slight blush rises in his cheeks but he holds her gaze, affected but unperturbed. He’s used to her flirtations by now, though he rarely returns the affections. But today he flips his hand over and laces their fingers together. His eyes darken and triumph leaps in Siobhan’s chest as Brother Sebastian gives way to the once and future Prince of Starkhaven. He raises their joined hands to his lips and brushes a featherlight kiss across her knuckles.

“I wouldn’t rule out the possibility,” he says, voice low and smooth like smoked honey. If he sang the Chant in that voice, many more of the faithful would flock to Kirkwall, she was sure.

“Well, then maybe there’s hope for me after all,” she teases, but her heart isn’t really in the jest and he can tell. He squeezes her hand lightly and lets it drop between them.

“Of course there is, Hawke. There’s hope for all of us. Yes, even you,” he adds when she scoffs. “You don’t have to believe in the Maker to be doing His work, Siobhan.”

“His work?” she challenges. “Is it also His exhaustion and His weariness and His regret that I’m carrying around? If so, tell me where to put them, so that He can collect His things.”

Sebastian holds out his palms and this time when she takes his hands the touch is chaste. “Put them here,” he says. “I will carry them, until you find what they are for.”

It is a genuine offer, she knows, but it twists sour in her gut. It is too much, to knowingly hand such weakness to someone who could hurt her with it. She shakes her head and Sebastian looks crestfallen for just a moment before covering it with a gentle smile.

“I can’t,” she says. “If it is His will, how would it look to turn away the burden?”

“He did not mean us to carry our sorrows alone.”

“How can you know that?”

“Because there are people like you, Hawke, carrying the weight for the rest of the city every day.” Sebastian ghosts his thumbs across her knuckles. “Surely if they trust you to do right, you could trust someone else with the same?”

Trust me with the same, he means. But Siobhan knows that you do not hand your strategy to the pawn you are sending into the fray, however pretty his smile. However bitter the logic. She pulls her hands away and stands, tucking them into her cloak instead.

“Another time, perhaps,” she offers, but they both know she doesn’t mean it.

“Another time,” Sebastian echoes toward her retreating back anyway, a troubled frown wrinkling his brow. “You know where to find me, Hawke.”

#dadwc #my writing #oc: siobhan hawke #siobhan x sebastian #dragon age fanfic #dragon age #da2 #hawke #sebastian vael #sebhawke #ws: nothing but my aching soul

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edutainer2022 · 5 months ago

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I know headcanons are a tricky territory. But sometimes when I see the "Scott can't be so broken and overworked or GDF wouldn't deal with him, he's charming and easygoing" I wonder if anyone has ever met the A-type personality in a high octane stressful (leadership) position? Yep, we're charming, capable and easygoing when interfacing with higher-up authority or leading by example. We're usually the heart of any group and a naturally appointed leader. We're the ones everyone considers "strong" and "dealing with it so admirably". That makes us no less stressed, overwhelmed, overworked or anxious (because of SO MUCH spotlight on us being capable and functional). Add grief and guilt, and fear into the mix. And you get Scott. Ask me how I know? Because loosing Dad made me one of the most efficient scholars in the field and propelled administrative career so early I'm still 20 years younger than anyone around. Doesn't mean it didn't make me want to die a little every day since. Because living through a f*cking WAR, in an actual warzone with bombs, has earned me sooooo many accolades on efficient leadership and admirable fortitude. Because I have people depending on me being that. Doesn't mean I'm not freaking out or not breaking down when nobody's watching. You've all met my "Tumblr" persona. Trust me, I'm a lot less engaging on my own. Doesn't mean I haven't resigned to my life being a function of meritorious performance. I can't afford not to. That's IMMEDIATELY what I zoned in on with Scott's character. The first thing we see him do is casually willing to sacrifice himself for a city. That's also the second, third and forth thing we see him do. Because that's how Dad died, we learn. The conversation in the tent doesn't RESOLVE much, if one actually follows Scott's reactions all the way through, just lampshades some things and adds perspective. And it takes some really willful gloss-over reading comprehension to say Scott is quite okay AFTER Dad's signal is found. All the way through to Jeff actually catching him falling.

I completely get not following popular headcanons and fanon. Trust me, there's A LOT of what's merrily considered "established fanon" in TAG that I don't agree with and that doesn't make sense to me in terms of what the text indicates about characters. But the Scott thing is something that gets me to flare up, precisely because the show went to great lengths to demonstrate through text and paratext his (many!) issues behind the "decisive team leader" persona. To the point the early TAG release and supplementary materials made sure to specify Scott has a propensity to "agonize over past mistakes".

Sorry for a harsher tone. I just needed to get it out.

#methinks i have astronomy #thunderbirds are go #scott tracy #scott tracy needs a hug #thunderbirds headcanons

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teecupangel · 11 months ago

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desmond in the Star Wars universe 👉🏽👈🏽 instead of dying he sleeps deeply, to be woken up again thousands of years later when the device needs to be activated again. uhh earth could be in wild space, but the brotherhood could be the very distant predecessors of the jedi. it's the beginning of the clone wars, obi-wan & anakin together with the 212th and 501st lands on earth, accidentally awakens desmond in the "jedi" temple. desmond gets so productive that after he hitchhikes to the SW galaxy, he rebuilds the brotherhood, astonishes the jedi order, befriends a true Mandalorian armorer (for the hidden blades ya know), kills Palpatine, takes in clones and freed slaves as his apprentices. he changes the galaxy forever. he might even revolutionize jedi thinking and indirectly make them secede from the republic (he learned from giovanni auditore that being too involved with the governing body can compromise your order).. aaaahhhh brain vomit but i needed to share hahahah

If Desmond woke up because he needs to use the device once more, the setup could be that he doesn’t need to use it anymore because Earth is a barren wasteland. The history of the planet is shrouded in mystery but data collected by Obi-Wan, Anakin, 212th and 501st seem to imply that the inhabitants of the planet learned of the Solar Flare and that the next one would be the harshest most destruction one yet, with the capability to agitate the planet’s core. Because of that and some kind of ‘dark history of needless death’, the inhabitants decided to create ships called ‘Arks’ to leave the planet instead.

Whatever or whoever remained in the planet by the time the Arks had been completed would have already died because of the current inhabitable status of the planet that seemed more manmade, whether it was connected to the dark history or to the rapid creation of the Arks, they can’t be sure.

In this one, they bring Desmond to their ship because he would have died and they wouldn’t just turn a blind eye on that.

From there, Desmond takes the time to familiarize himself with the databanks he has access to (mainly the ones that should be accessible to the general public) and finds himself with more questions that answers.

Trying to type ‘assassin’ was useless, even typing ‘templar’ gave blank. So he was left with just reading as many as possible, thanking his Bleeds for giving him the fortitude to read so much information and retain it (special thanks to Altaïr for being such an overachieving nerd that his ‘study habits’ actually bled to Desmond).

Then we get to the parts in your idea where Desmond starts to rebuild the Brotherhood because he sees the need for the Brotherhood to exist, especially during this ‘Clone Wars’ and goes toe to toe with Jedis and their doctrines, realizing that their use of the Force can be seen as wisps in the Eagle Vision meaning he knows whenever someone is going to use the Force and how they’re going to use it. It’s actually the Jedi Council who gives Desmond the idea that maybe the Jedis are… an evolution of the Brotherhood.

No.

The evolution of the combined efforts of the Brotherhood and the Order, having no other choice but to finally work together to protect themselves and the people they care about.

Desmond supposed the only way the Brotherhood and the Order could finally achieve unity was thanks to a much greater threat.

Desmond sees the Jedi Order not as the child of the Brotherhood but a distant relative and walks away from them, forming his own Brotherhood to uphold the Creed and the tenets.

He was a relic of the past.

But it is the past that shapes the present and predicts the future.

And so Desmond Miles, the latest mentor of a long dead Brotherhood, doesn’t see how his small existence could be the small pebble thrown against a carefully crafted glass work that would shatter it and show the ugliness it tries to hide.

#i tried to make my answer more on the prologue part #like setting up the prologue from where your ideas can spring forth #i hope that would be alright :)#assassin's creed #desmond miles #ask and answer #teecup writes/has a plot #fic idea: assassin's creed #fic idea: star wars #fic idea: crossover

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bellasmumblingsandmusings · 6 months ago

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What Could Have Been

Chapter Two

Previously: Prologue Tumblr Link for Prologue, Chapter One

Pairing: Astarion x female!Tav

Warnings: 18+. NSFW, Ethical and non Ethical BDSM, noncon, some allusions to sexual violence, attempted sexual violence, dubcon, blood licking/blood kink, reference to cheating behavior, emotional trauma, group sex, sex, smutt, anxiety, negative thinking, sexual trauma, recovery, healing, angst,

Word count: 11.5K

Status: Ongoing

Author's note: A story about two broken people making mistakes, not being heroes and yet trying to find a way to love themselves and each other.

Song for this Chapter: Dream Girl Evil : Spotify Link

A03

Entire Story Link on AO3

Spotify Playlist

Chapter 2: Shall We Cut and Run?

Astarion's gaze lingered on Sima, shadow etching her silhouette into a ghostly shape that whispered both temptation and terror. As he slowly followed her, a subtle change washed over his typically stern visage—his predatory arrogance softened into a tender, longing look. Though she was but a dark outline against the encompassing blackness, his mind swelled with vivid, wistful fantasies.

The hedge maze, crafted with exquisite precision, unfurled around them. Each pathway branched and twisted, a complex network of choices that all led inexorably towards the center. The thick hedges shielded wanderers from prying eyes, but the statues which nestled within little alcoves along the paths told tales of their own. Each sculpture captured a different tableau of human indulgence—erotic, sensual, and unapologetically explicit. These stone narratives left naught to the imagination.

As Astarion trailed behind her, he commenced an experiment with his powers. His first attempt was a subtle compulsion, aimed to make her halt—a whisper of thought that might tame a creature as simple as a dog. It was his play at simplicity, yet her defiance was unexpectedly robust. The simplicity of his mental command met a fortress rather than a surrender; Sima's mental fortitude far surpassed what he had anticipated. Though thwarted, he was undeterred, his confidence unshaken as he pressed on, determined to claim victory by turning her, and by any means necessary.

Sima, meanwhile, darted deeper into the maze, her movements quick and determined. The protective spell—Mind Fortress—cast upon her by her ally Gale proved its worth, shielding her from the invading whispers of control. Her path wound past the lascivious statues, their provocative forms a stark contrast to her focused escape.

Astarion lips curled into a splitting grin at her persistence. Her resilience was unexpected, but it was a delightful twist in his nocturnal hunt. Patience was his eternal companion, and the chase, a thrilling game that ignited the primal joy of pursuit within him.

Suddenly, the Sending Stone in Sima's pocket pulsed with life, its flare a beacon of readiness from her companions. She seized the moment with provocation dripping from her voice: "Astarion! Seems like your spells aren't quite up to snuff. I'm near the center now!" Her laughter followed, sultry yet tinged with madness, and it echoed through the leafy corridors.

In response, Astarion’s smile broadened, his teeth a flash of menace in the moonlight. He relished the challenge, the playful taunt that elevated the stakes of their encounter. With a flick of his will, he cast Dissonant Whispers, the spell fanning out across the maze like a toxic mist.

Sima staggered under the assault of the psychic energy, sharp pain lancing through her skull, yet she remained upright. The spell inadvertently drove her further from Astarion's reach, propelling her toward the heart of the maze—the center—a space marked by its serene, ominous calm.

As she reached the central clearing, the atmosphere shifted. Here, amidst large, ancient trees and scattered rocks, the air hung still, heavy with an unspoken history of silence and secrets. No birds sang, no cheerful chirps disturbed the hush; only the soft rustling of leaves and the occasional, distant rustle of small creatures punctuated the quiet. Sima's eyes darted around, her senses razor-sharp as she stood in the silence, the weight of moments stretching into an uncomfortable suspense. Time seemed to dilate, each second stretching out before her. The only sound was her own breathing, sharp and ragged in her ears, filling the clearing with the loud echo of her solitude. As seconds turned into minutes, doubt began to creep in, shadowing her thoughts with uncertainty. Was he coming? Had she been misled? The waiting gnawed at her, a test of patience and nerve.

Then, without warning, he materialized as if conjured by the shadows themselves, his approach silent yet heavy with intent. His smile was cruel, like a sculptor crafting nightmares from the dark, and his eyes burned with fervent desire. The challenge she posed seemed only to heighten his anticipation as he stepped forward, the space between them crackling with the electric charge of his unbridled lust.

As Astarion drew near, the air between them thrummed with the tension of an impending storm. He extended a hand, his fingers brushing against her cheek with a caress that mingled delicacy with dominion. His breath, a whisper against her skin, was hot with hunger. In that moment, he leaned in so close that his lips nearly grazed her neck, the proximity, a torment of what might come.

His other hand snaked into her hair, gripping her dark ringlets, pulling her closer with a possessive urgency. Sima, caught in his hold, sneered with fiery defiance, "I resisted you. The game’s not over until I submit, remember?"

His chuckle was low, resonating with dark amusement as he tightened his grasp slightly. "Is that so? I see that my spells have proven ineffective on you... so I suppose I will have to change my tactics. But the game will still end with your submission. You are mine, whether by spell or force. Or both."

"Are you a brute now?” Sima hissed back, her voice laced with venom. “Is that the beast you've become?"

His smile widened as he inhaled her scent, basking in the heat of their confrontation and imagined the musk of her arousal. "And are you a defiant little thing now, playing at resistance? There is nothing wrong with being a brute, when that same brute can offer such delight."

Her response was swift—a sharp slap across his face. His flinch was minute, the sting overshadowed by a torrent of conflicting emotions. He faced her again, his expression devoid of bitterness, only holding fascination. "Oh, really now, my dear?" The grin he gave her grin was chilling, his hold unyielding as he drew her even closer.

Sima met his gaze, unflinching, a smirk playing at the corners of her mouth. "You know, I thought I was going to enjoy this, but now I know... I'm going to love seeing the look on your face."

Pressing the Sending Stone, she uttered a single, potent word to her companions lurking outside the maze. "NOW!"

Above the entangled hedges of the maze, where the night seemed to press its dark weight against the world, a formidable ninth level Lightening Cage shimmered into existence. It encased the entire labyrinth like a steel trap designed by celestial forces, impervious to mundane interference.

Inside the electric snare, Sima, driven by a mix of desperation and dark determination, unleashed a Thunderwave spell at Astarion with the ferocity of a tempest at sea. Her incantation, amplified to the sixth level, crashed into him like the unchecked power of a tidal wave slamming against the shore.

The impact of the spell hit Astarion with a visceral force, sending sharp, jarring pain shooting through his body as if he were being torn apart by the storm's fury. He was hurled backward by the spell’s relentless energy, landing with a thud that vibrated through the ground, making the leaves tremble in the aftermath. The pain was sudden and sharp, a searing reminder of the spell’s potency.

Lying on the ground, stunned, he blinked up at the black sky, his ears ringing with the thunderous roar of Sima’s magic. The sensation was disorienting, leaving his senses scrambled and his body aching from the harsh landing. As the initial shock faded into a throbbing ache that pulsed through his limbs, a mixture of adrenaline and astonishment fueled his recovery.

Pushing through the pain, he staggered to his feet, a grin slicing across his face despite the ache that clung to his every movement. His eyes, alight with a mix of amusement and challenge, locked onto Sima’s fierce form. "Oh my... you… you little..." he managed, his voice blending incredulity with the thrill of the confrontation. "How dare you!"

In response, Sima's hands danced through the air, weaving more Arcane Energy than seemed possible. Clutched in her grasp was a metal box, its surface plain yet somehow ominous. Her eyes, wide and wild, mirrored the black ringlets that flew about her head, as if caught in the same storm she conjured. Her beautiful face twisted into an expression of unbridled rage. "You… fucking beast. You, who took his face and destroyed him. My Astarion, the one I loved...I have spent a year doing the vilest, most horrible things to obtain enough power to finish you. And then... once you're gone… He'll be here. He'll be safe. The spawn who loved me," she declared, her voice a tempest of rage, heartbreak, and grief.

Tears streaked her cheeks as she continued, her words breaking with emotion. "You're going to pay for taking him from me… HE WAS MINE!" With a surge of vengeful energy, she cast a spell of Hold Monster on Astarion.

Astarion’s smirk twisted into a scowl as the spell seized him, freezing his muscles and locking him in place. Despite his efforts to resist, the enchantment gripped him tightly, rendering him motionless yet fully aware. "You... impudent little..."

Sima approached him, the box of Arcane Energy hovering ominously behind her. Her stride was determined, each step a declaration of war. She reached him and delivered a fierce slap, followed swiftly by a backhanded strike. "Let me spell it out. I'll use the words of the spawn who died to bring you forth. Fuck you. And fuck everything you ever did to me!"

Astarion, held captive by the spell, felt each hit as if they were aimed at his very soul. His fury deepened, his voice thick with venom when he spoke. "Those words have no meaning to me or my power. They have no magic over me, and you could never truly mean them. Because you're nothing but a puppet in a puppet show, an entertainer here to entertain me. You're just a little girl with less wit and power than you could ever dream of."

Sima's response was raw and unrestrained. "You never loved me! You...you are nothing but something left behind when… my Astarion, my love… made a terrible mistake. A mistake I mean to correct," she retorted, her voice thick with emotion.

She turned back to the glowing red box, its eerie luminescence painting her face in sinister shades. "But soon you'll be gone...and he'll be mine again. See...I bound 7 souls to that box. I had to destroy 7 lives...just like Cazador and the siblings in the ritual circle… and we're going to save him, you see. I'm going to save him," she explained, her voice edged with madness. "So shut up and enjoy the show. Tonight the Ascendent dies and Astarion Ancunín returns," she proclaimed, pulling him closer by the collar, her face a mask of maniac determination.

Astarion, overwhelmed by a wave of emotions, shook with rage. "You are wrong. I gave up everything for you. I changed everything for you. I became the most powerful vampire in Baldur's Gate in order to be with you. I am stronger and better now than I could ever have been before. Do you think I want to go back to that life? I had nothing then—it was the life of a slave. Now? I have everything. I have everything… I… have you..."

Her reply was swift and fierce, a slap that echoed through the still air. "LIES! No more lies...no, no, no, no...Even my Astarion told the truth… The truth is, he did it for power… to be safe… but it destroyed him… and then it destroyed me, and then 7 more people… but I'm going to fix it. I even have leads on a Sunwalker ring for him… And then, he'll come back and love me again," she raged, her fury unabated as she returned to the box.

"Now shut up and let me work. That spell lasts an hour, and I just need 10 more minutes," she declared, her focus unyielding.

Astarion, trapped within his own body and mind, seethed with frustration. "Stop this, Sima, please… please..."

But his pleas were in vain as Sima, undeterred, continued her ritual. The raw emotion, the sheer force of her will, and the darkness of her journey shone through her every word and action, painting a portrait of a woman transformed by vengeance and a desperate hope for redemption.

As Astarion stood transfixed, the magnitude of Sima's resolve washed over him, stirring ancient feelings that had slumbered within his cold heart for eons. Her devotion, born from a maelstrom of grief and manic determination, left an indelible mark on his spirit. It was an obsession that reached beyond the bounds of sanity, touching him deeply.

"You'd really change everything just for me? Darling, I never expected you to do anything so insane as this," he uttered, his voice beginning to fray at the edges as emotions he’d believed to be long dead continued to stir anew. The mention of the Sunwalker Ring—a mystical, legendary artifact lost to the annals of time—ignited a flicker of hope and fear in his ancient heart.

"I'd burn down the world for him. If I die doing this spell, well... he'll be free. Safe. Unchanged. Be able to make better choices. And if we both die, well, I guess I'll spend the afterlife in the Hells with him, so... it'll work out," Sima concluded. Her voice had a haunting conviction, a cascade of madness and profound love.

Caught in the gravity of her declaration, Astarion was rendered speechless. The realization that she truly loved him, that she was willing to undertake such extreme measures for his sake, shook him to his core. Yet, the insanity of her plan, the potential consequences of the wish spell on his very essence, filled him with dread. Her knowledge of his darker past only added layers to his turmoil.

"I'm going to fix it, my love. I'm going to fix it and you'll never hurt again. Because I'll be with you, I'll be a little insane, but you'll like that about me," Sima murmured deliriously, lost in her visions of speaking to the Astarion who had been hers and only hers, before the ritual's dark touch.

"It's ready," she finally announced, while the formidable Hold Monster spell still clutched Astarion in its invisible grip.

He watched her, seeing the deep adoration etched onto her face. The madness shimmering in her eyes was reminiscent of the tragic tales of old lovers lost to darkness. Yet, unlike those tales that stirred disgust, her expression pulled at something forgotten within him. Her soft mutterings, her gentle whispers to the void, were not just echoes of madness, but a desperate plea to rewind time, to restore what had once been.

Her eyes, alight with a mix of desperation and an intoxicating hope, nearly broke him. She envisioned a life that could have been theirs—a life of equals, without the curses of their nature dividing them.

"Any last words before I make the wish?" she asked, her voice steady despite the storm of emotions swirling within her.

Astarion fought against the magical bonds, his face twisting in irritation, a low hiss escaping between clenched teeth. But as he caught her gaze again, his expression softened, warped by a blend of sarcasm and an aching sadness.

"Well?" she asked.

"Godsdamn it, woman! I wish you could have loved me as I am," he roared, his voice a mix of laughter and agony. His fists clenched tightly at his sides, embodying the complexity of his emotions—his love, warped by circumstance, and her relentless pursuit to reclaim a past version of himself.

As Sima drew upon the Arcane Energy around her, the clearing was bathed in an infernal glow, casting long shadows that danced like demons at a witch’s sabbath. Her body was slick with the sweat of her exertion, her features twisted in the agony of channeling one of the most potent spells known to the arcane world—the Wish Spell, a command over fate itself.

"I Wish..." she began, her voice resonant with the power of creation and destruction.

Inside Astarion, a tumultuous battle of wills raged. He felt the iron grip of the Hold Monster spell binding him, squeezing the fight from his limbs. Yet, as Sima's incantation filled the air, a fierce determination ignited within him. With a Herculean effort, he marshaled his inner strength, his entire being focused on breaking the Arcane shackles. With a defiant roar that echoed through the mystical bindings, Astarion shattered the spell’s hold, freeing himself from its paralyzing embrace.

Seizing this newfound freedom with desperate urgency, Astarion lunged at her. Their bodies collided, tumbling to the earth covered in leaves and shadows, a desperate struggle against fate itself. The impact of their collision was violent and primal, as if the very earth itself shook under the weight of their conflict.

He held her tightly, his grip fierce as he sought to shatter her concentration. Sima's scream, a banshee's wail, tore through the night as her body hit the maze’s grassy mound, the spell's power coursing through her.

"No!" she cried, fighting against the overwhelming force of the spell as the tendrils of magic slipped from her fingers and the power fizzled out into nothingness.

"Stop this, right now!" Astarion demanded, his voice a mix of command and desperation as he tightened his hold, trying to calm her thrashing.

"Get off me you prick! Karlach! Gale! Anyone!" she screamed into the void, but her calls for help went unanswered, her allies ensnared by Astarion's spawn outside the vanished Lightning Cage.

"Shut up... I'm not hurting you... yet. Just be still," he whispered, his tone low and fraught with urgency.

In a final act of defiance, Sima headbutted Astarion with surprising force. The impact was sharp and immediate, like a bolt of lightning striking directly at his senses. It sent a shockwave of pain through his head, radiating outward and causing his vision to blur momentarily. Astarion staggered back, his hands reflexively releasing her as he grappled with the sudden, throbbing pain that echoed inside his skull.

As Astarion reeled from the impact, Sima seized the moment, her small frame moving with deceptive speed. Her energy and momentum were a testament to her unwavering resolve, propelling her towards a hoped-for escape from the center of the hedge maze. Despite the jarring pain clouding his thoughts, Astarion recognized that even without his magic to aid him, it would take more than mere physical strength to restrain her fierce will to fight.

In the shadowed heart of the hedge maze, Sima ran, her laughter slicing through the eerie silence like a mad symphony. It was the laughter of a woman unmoored by grief, her mind teetering on the brink as she grappled with the catastrophic failure of her year-long gambit. The deaths of seven souls weighed heavily on her conscience, their spectral fingers clawing at her sanity. Yet, even in the throes of despair, her instinct to survive surged powerfully within her, fueling her desperate flight through the labyrinth designed to confound and capture.

The hedges of the palace maze were a living puzzle, green walls towering and formidable. As she ran, her fingers brushed against the damp leaves, tracing the cold, wet contours that formed her verdant prison. The maze was cunningly crafted, with blind alleys and deceiving dead ends that looped back on themselves, its paths a tangled web that toyed with one's sense of direction.

Lost amidst the endless turns, Sima felt the maze’s walls loom taller and more oppressive, a physical manifestation of her crumbling mental defenses. With each twist and turn, her fear grew, knowing that if Astarion chose to wield his vampiric charms now, she would be utterly defenseless, her ability to resist his dark allure all but shattered.

The labyrinth seemed to pulse with a malevolent life of its own, the paths twisting and turning back on themselves like the coiling intestines of some giant beast. It was a nightmare from which she could not awaken, a trap that morphed and breathed around her, designed to ensnare and disorient its prey perpetually.

In her desperation, Sima attempted to escape the claustrophobic confines by climbing the hedges. Below, the sinister whispers of Astarion’s spawn filtered through the leaves, their presence an ominous symphony of impending doom. As she clawed her way up, Astarion’s voice cut through the din, chilling and smooth. "You will not escape me, dear." His command unleashed his minions, who tore through the hedges with supernatural ferocity, their forms blurs of shadow and malice.

"Fuck!" Sima cursed, feeling the cold, inhuman hands of the spawn clutch at her ankles, dragging her down with relentless strength. Her resistance was fierce but futile; the spawn overpowered her with ease, their strength monstrous as they pulled her through the underbrush to where Astarion awaited with a cold, predatory smile. But as she was dragged out, that smile flickered to a scowl.

"You were trying to run, darling?" Astarion's voice was silky, laced with a mock tenderness that belied the sharpness in his eyes.

As Sima was forcibly brought onto the palace grounds, her spirit unbroken, she lunged at him, only to be restrained by the iron grip of his spawn. "How dare you rob me of this! I could have had him back! You fucking bastard!" she screamed, her voice raw with fury and pain.

The twisted smile returned to Astarion's lips as he stood over her, savoring her defiance. Without a word, he unleashed his vampiric compulsion, a potent force that demanded submission. "Be still, my love," he whispered, the power of his command wrapping around her like a shroud.

Under the weight of his spell, Sima’s body went slack, her fierce spirit temporarily caged within an unresponsive shell, though her voice remained defiant, "You....bastard...."

Carefully, the spawn laid her on the ground. Astarion approached, his gaze soft yet piercing as he looked down at her. "You have been running and hiding from me for long enough, darling. It is time you stopped. Do you understand?" he asked, his voice a blend of command and coaxing.

"You will never have...my heart...I still love… who you were… a spawn. Mine… You are not him," Sima responded, her eyes blazing with a mix of fury and insanity, her body paralyzed but her spirit untamed.

Astarion nodded, acknowledging her words with a smile that masked his inner turmoil. "You are quite right, love. It is time you stop thinking of me as who I have been. I am not a spawn anymore, it's true. I am a full vampire, with the power a lord of the night deserves. A vampire lord. I am not who you once knew, but I am better than that, am I not? I am more powerful, and I will be a far better lover. But the real question is... are you ready to give yourself to me fully now?"

"Fuck… you..." Sima spat, her voice a venomous hiss.

Astarion sighed, his hand reaching out to gently stroke her cheek. "I know you think that, dear, but I am certain we can work it out. All I need you to do is accept me. Accept this new me, this me that you once loved. Because I still love you with my entire being. Don't resist me, and there won't be any reason I can't be soft with you. You will never want for anything but me, and you will never have to worry about anyone else touching you ever again."

Her response was a simple, cold, "No." Her eyes reflected nothing but hatred and disdain.

Acknowledging her refusal with a nod, Astarion's expression hardened. "Very well. If you're going to be stubborn about this, then you leave me no choice but to take what you will not give me willingly."

Sima was then escorted through the cold, echoing corridors of the palace to the dungeons. The heavy iron doors swung open to reveal a vast chamber lined with cages. The air was thick with despair, each cell a small chapter in a tale of captivity and sorrow. She was led to a particularly large cell, its bars thick and unyielding, the stone frigid and unwelcoming.

Exhausted, Sima lay on the cot, still clad in her black leathers, the spell of compulsion binding her will until dawn. As the spawn secured the door and retreated, leaving her in the dim light of her cell, she was alone with her thoughts—the echoes of Astarion’s words that would haunt her until the spell released her or broke her completely.

Outside her cell, Astarion tarried in the shadows, his gaze lingering on the iron bars that now caged his once-fervent lover. In the quiet of the dungeon, his mind turned over the events of the evening, each moment unfolding again in his thoughts. This was the culmination of long-laid plans, the intricate dance of fate and will that had led them here. Sima, with her fiery spirit and unyielding defiance, would soon be his, not just in spirit but in eternity.

As he pondered the transformation he would soon bestow upon her, a sense of triumph, mixed with a complex, almost melancholic satisfaction, filled him. He envisioned her rebirth into the dark gift of vampirism, a transformation that would bind her to him forever in the shadows of immortality. Tonight marked the nearing of his ultimate conquest—to turn her into a true vampire and claim her as his eternal consort. This thought alone tempered the cold halls with a whisper of dark anticipation, as he prepared to welcome her into the everlasting night that was his domain.

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tmwcs · 1 year ago

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S E 7 E N : B E E Z L E B U B P A R T 1 N E

SMUT/MDNI18+ M A S T E R L I S T

Yay! Chapter 2! "B E E Z L E B U B" is here! so excited to hear what you guys think of the series so far. I feel bad because i didnt get to proofread this since i typed majority of it on my phone while i was away from my computer, eventually i'lll go in to read through it and correct any mistakes, but for now, please ignore them.

Warnings: just one main one...fingering. of course there's kissing, issuing of pet names, and references of the bible, Heaven and Hell terminologies, death, cults, angels and demons. So please be confident as you continue to read, if religion is a touchy subject for you, prooooooobably not a good read for you.....but it is a good read. it really is (at least i think so)

Enjoy!

You decided to walk back towards the map and see if you can make out which trail would be closest to your home.

‘I have to go back….I’ll need to settle some things before I die…I only have seven days.’

The tears immediately started to build back up. You suddenly felt lonely, much more than you had since Lily died.

‘What’s going to happen? How are they going to….’

Dying is never a pleasant thing to look forward to, however, to die wasn’t what feared you, it was the manner of how the angels were going to carry out the deed. After witnessing such horrible methods of death issued by their hands, your body trembles at the thought of either being burned alive, your body disintegrating, there was even one where a man was chopped up to bits, almost like he went through a meat grinder, your eyes widened as your heart felt punctured at witnessing the events on the news, watching as multiple angels mutated their arms into sharp blades of cutlery that operated as machines, all of them going at the man simultaneously.

Pausing in your steps, you cupped your cheek as you sobbed for a minute or two, yet it was uncontrollable and vigorous in nature as you dropped your shoes from your side and commence to crying into your hands.

Recollecting yourself, for the thousandth time, you’d think that this on and off crying business would get old and tiresome, yet the moment you think about the terrible event that will come in seven days, you started back up all over again. It got to the point where your chest became sore each time you breathed, all due to the trembling gasps and sniffles you issued out.

Finally, you were reaching the large wooden display board of the map…along with the blood-stained message that had your name gruesomely spelled out.

‘I don’t know if I should look at it….my God….I’m so scared.’

You stared at the ground as you continued walking, unable to look up to view the message…not yet. You needed a minute to take deep breaths and build some fortitude in order to read it once more as you look at the map in the background.

Using your peripherals, you could see that you were nearby the board, and yet, there was something else by the board…or someone rather.

“Hey.”

Looking up, your saddened and tearful gaze views the man dressed all in black. Like the man from before, this one was also very handsome, though he didn’t wear a mask like the other one…Helel, this one had his face fully exposed. With his back leaning against the board in the farther side, he had a relaxed stance as his arms remained firmly crossed. In his mouth, he had pinched between his teeth, a guitar pick as he flipped it around using a combination of his lips and tongue. He had on a black vest that remained open, bearing his bare chest with a series of silver chains that rested against it. Reaching to his knees, the vest had flared in a trail as he moved, much like an overcoat did.

His body looked toned and firm, and his long legs were elegantly matched with a pair of black trousers and boots. He was nowhere near as formally dressed as the man from earlier, and while this one was tall, the one that dawned red and black was taller, much taller.

He had jet black hair that was primarily combed yet the front was spiked up, he resembled a punk rocker or one of those heavy metal goth singers. Surely if any of the members of Voia Domnului saw him, he’d be labeled as someone who worships the Devil, and executed on the spot.

Responding back, you hesitated for a moment, yet issued one out as he stared at you.

“…H-hey….”

Shifting his gaze over to his side, he eyeballs the message that he had his back leaned on.

“This you?” he nudges his head slightly towards the board.

You looked at him somewhat confused, until you shifted your gaze at the message, right where your name was written.

“…yeah…”

“Hmph….well that sucks. It’s a shitty time to be human.” He speaks out so carelessly as he locks his fingers together and extends them forward, performing a back stretch as you hear minor cracks and his groans.

“So….y/n is your name.” he re-crosses his arms as he looks at you, tilting his head as he admires you and performs a half smile.

“You know…when Heeseung told me he was obsessed with some mortal girl…I couldn’t figure out why. I thought he had been going dry and lonely for far too long…six thousand years is a long time to go without getting your dick wet. Ya know?” still looking your way, you frowned your brows as you looked down at the ground.

‘Another idiot talking nonsense…what’s with these guys? Why am I have this stroke of rotten luck in getting hit up by handsome guys dressed abnormally? Is this a trap? Did the senator send them here? Do they work for Voia Domnului?’

Snapping you out of your thoughts, the man continued.

“But now that I get to see you for myself, well….fucking aye….guess I was wrong. You must be a reincarnation of one of the angels or an Ekron Goddess…..you’re too pretty to just be a mere mortal.”

Upon finishing his words, he walks over to you, you hear the dangling of chains as he takes each step.

Gently placing his fingers on your chin, he raises your face just slightly, turning it left, to right, and then back to center.

“I guess the wait was worth the while…he must have foresaw that someone like you was going to be in his future…maybe that’s why he displayed such self-restraint….hehehe. Fucking Heeseung…good one bro.”

You raised a brow as the man mentioned the name for the second time.

“Heeseung?....who-….you mean Helel?” you responded confusingly.

‘Who is Heeseung?’

“Oho! So…he lets you call him by his real name huh?....Well…makes sense, I mean…I’d let you call me by my real name…I’d let you call me whatever you want….angel face.”

Your brow tweaked upon hearing the pet name he called you by.

“So….Heeseung is Helel then?” you remarked, trying to gain closure.

“Yup. But only a select few can call him by his real name, and aside from you, no mortal has ever gained permission to call him by that. Just us, his brothers, and him.” Pointing his index finger up to the sky, his fingers still cradling your chin, you look up before shifting your view to him with confusion.

“…you mean….God?” you asked.

He laughs.

“Yeah…yeah angel. God.”

Releasing your chin, he continues to admire your face.

His attitude was a lot spunkier and outgoing it seemed like, though you could tell by the stern look in his eye, the man eluded a vibe that he had a temper. Maybe it was the way he spoke or just the way his brows were fixed, something told you that it wouldn’t take much for him to resort to anger.

“Something the matter?” he tilts his head as he softens his tone to you.

“N….no…..i just…I need to get home….and take care of some things before I…” there it goes again. Your breath hitches out of nowhere as the tears started to build back up.

‘God…why? Why do I keep crying? Just accept it already, y/n.’

Watching you, the man places both hands on your arms.

“Hey…..why are you crying?”

As soon as he asked, you heard the voice of Helel echoing in your head as you recount the same question he asked of you, with the same vibe of softness and sincerity in his tone.

‘Why are you crying?’

For some odd reason, it had only been a split second, but the thought of the masked man from earlier this morning flashed through your mind, and you found yourself longing to see him again….though you don’t know why.

‘I’ll come get you and take you home, does that sound good? Pretty?’

You really had thought everything was a dream, yet with the other mysterious man in front of you, displaying similar traits as the man from before, you realized quickly that you indeed, had an option…or rather, you had an escape route, since you had seceded to the man and told him that you’d be his, that you’d take his death over the one you were selected for…and be his for all eternity. In exchange, the world would be saved.

Upon recounting of the deal, you made, and realizing that this was a for sure thing, you felt the urge to gain more closure.

“…..what….is your name?” you asked the man, your eyes clearing up at the prospect of escaping the angel’s death sentence.

“Well, just like the rest of my brothers, I’ve got two. Well….Heeseung technically has three, but that’s bedside’s the point. I’ll tell you my real name within due time, don’t want to scare you. For now, you can call me Jay.”

“So tell me….why are you crying? You’re not doing it because of that…” he points to the board with the bloody message on it. “are you?”

You merely looked at him with a sense of hopelessness in your expression.

“Didn’t you tell Heeseung that you’d be his?”

Looking up at him, he gives you a half smile as he strokes your arms. “He’s not going to let a thing happen to you, promise….and neither am I.” Leaning in, he pecks your forehead, leaving you wide eyed and somewhat shocked.

‘Am I turning into some rock band’s whore? What’s going on? What kind of deal did I get myself into?’

“Um…Jay?”

“Yeah angel?”

You slightly winced at the petname. ‘First pretty and now angel?...’

“what….i mean…who are you? and who exactly is Helel?”

Jay smirks as he cups your cheek.

“I promise we’ll tell you. Just…you had already gone through a lot…” glaring over at the message on the board, you could have sworn you saw a faint snarl of his upper lip as he viewed the message with your name written in blood.

“I don’t want you to get overwhelmed…neither does Heeseung. I promise we’ll tell you when the time is right, okay? Angel?” leaning in, his sharp nose grazes against yours.

“But I-“

“Hey-no, shhhh…..be a good girl and listen.”

“…..sorry.”

“Aww…it’s all good angel. You’re so well behaved….you’re a keeper, so happy for my brother.”

They’re definitely brothers, alright. They displayed numerous similarities, yet the biggest attribute was their dominance as Jay hushed you, which made you think back to Helel’s stern tone when he issued those words in a snappy manner.

“I said….to keep moving….pretty. Or do I need to teach you how to listen?”

“So….lets take you home then.” Jay says in smirky manner as he takes you by the hand.

Maintaining his hold on you, he sticks both your hands in his pocket as you both walked the path.

“….Is it alright to ask where you’re from?” you asked, trying not to push any buttons since he hushed you when you asked who he was, yet the momentum of his affection displayed made you feel comfortable and somewhat bold, as if you had a privilege that no one else did.

“Well….that’s another thing I’ll elaborate within due time…for now, I’m from a place that’s faaaaar, far away. Really far.”

“oh….”

“what else?” you look up as he issued out his encouragement of giving you favor to ask more.

“What other questions do you have?”

‘Six thousand years is a long time to go without getting your dick wet. Ya know?’

“….how old are you?”

“really old. What else?”

‘he couldn’t have seriously meant six thousand like he stated earlier…..but somehow…I get this feeling…’

“what do you like to do for…fun?”

“aaaah…that’s an excellent question. Actually, I’m very fond of observing how you people study dipterology.”

“….’you people’?”

Laughing, he scoffs. “yeah…you people.”

Maintaining the pace of the walk, he continues.

“Sometimes I get entertained or fascinated by how wrong…or right you guys are when it comes to the scientific study of flies.”

You nod as you shift your gaze to his pocket. His hand was warm as it fully envelopes your own, his fingers interlocking with yours as he occasionally squeezed it from time to time.

“What else?”

……………..

The entire walk was spent with you asking random questions as Jay answered each one. Amused by your curiosity and finding you adorable, he continued to flatter you with compliments.

‘You know, your face is truly immaculate. The women where I'm from, don't even look like you…or up there.’

‘You got really pretty eyes. I should make a new species named after you.’

‘You like the color black? I feel like black is your color….or red.’

‘I can speak all languages, here….’ mu-ti-in aj2-ze2-ze2-ba du5-mu-u8-ak’ you know what that is? It’s Sumerian, it means ‘you are man’s precious sweet.’

A lot of his showering words confused you, it didn’t make sense, and when it did, you wondered how in the world he knew of such things such as an ancient language, or references verbatim of the bible….all 1500 pages of them.

Reaching the suburbs of the city, your heart started to rush in a beating tempo as you grew nervous. The time had gone by so fast, and it was already past 5pm, the walk was taken slowly as Jay relished your company, often pausing and taking breaks just so he could sit and admire you.

‘Lets take another break, I like looking at your face.’

‘Why aren’t you wearing your shoes? Ah…they have heels. Poor thing, let me warm your feet up.’

He was so kind to you. The way he would touch your feet and feel them instantly become warm and soften as the soreness disappears, he’d always look at you and ask ‘better?’ which you nodded silently at his unusual talent.

Noticing your hand shaking, he looks over to you with just a slight bit of concern…and amusement.

“Angel…whats wrong? You’re shaking. What is it?”

“n…nothing….i just….we only have four hours left until curfew but….the regulators come out two hours prior to start ushering people back inside their homes….and they might recognize me and try to take me away…to….to the senator.”

Raising an eyebrow, his expression grew stark and somewhat aggressive, though fortunately, it wasn’t directed at you.

“Senator?”

“Yes…he’s the leader of Voia Domnuluiand…last night….last night he…he um…”

Grabbing onto your waist, he turns your body, flushing against his as he cradles your chin once more with his gentle fingers.

“What did he do?....did he put his filthy hands on you?”

You nodded with a glaze of tears coating your eyes.

“Yes…but I was able to get away before he….he could um…” you felt uncomfortable as you recalled the events that occurred between you and Forras. The feeling of his hands groping you as his mouth was plastered on your neck made you shake with disgust. Watching as you dipped your head slightly and covered your eyes as you gasped from the traumatic experience at the hands of that man, Jay pulls you in and embraces you.

“Does Heeseung know?” he gently asks.

“mm…no…I didn’t even tell him anything about it….i just…I found the message right after it happened and ….i just…” you started to sob, and for a moment, you needed comfort like no other. Lily had you, yet since seeing your name after what had transpired with Forras, you reach up and grabbed onto Jay’s vest, crunching in into your palms as you bury your face into his bare chest and wept.

“Oh God……I didn’t do anything….he was trying..he was trying to-….to……”

Watching as you wept, he pulls his head slightly back as he noticed the partially torn buttons on your blouse and the black scuff marks on your shoes, which indicated a man with fine leather footwear had stepped on them.

Hugging you back closely, clenching his jaw, he comforts you…just as you needed it.

“Shhh…it’s okay. When you have the chance, you really should tell Heeseung….” Grinning, he continues with a dark tone. “I’m sure he’ll have a good idea on just what to do with that man…trust me.” He plants a kiss on to the side of your head.

“You wanna see something?”

Peeling your face away, drenched in tears, he lifts his hand and uses his index finger to clean the streams off your cheeks.

“watch…”

Observing, he snaps his fingers in the air, and coming forth out of nowhere, a beautiful, bright green butterfly appears. It fluttered around his fingers in delicate notion, resting atop of his hand. Presenting it to you, he softly issues out his words.

“Here, you can pick it up.”

Looking at him, you saw the gentleness of his face as he looks at you from above with his height towering over you.

Picking the beautiful creature from his hand with your own, you watched as the butterfly rested atop your delicate fingers, fluttering its vibrant emerald-colored wings.

For the first time in a while, you genuinely smiled as the tears kept streaming down. You were touched, the moment the butterfly danced atop your index finger, you were felt your heart warm up.

It was clear that there was something about Jay and Helel, and your gut feeling told you that it may have been sinful to take to them, but you couldn’t help it. They made you feel special, loved, and made you feel good. There was a sinful pleasure in their manner of romanticism, and you couldn’t help but start to yearn for more.

“What do you want to call it? You can name it anything you like. I personally like your name the best.” He issues as he smiles against your hair.

You chuckled at the thought.

“My name?.....if that’s what you like….we can call it that.”

“Well, sounds like a new species is established then.” He smirks.

Just as you felt his gentle grip tighten around your waist, a loud voice from behind shatters the moment.

“Everyone! Everyone it’s almost time! The sun is going to set in half an hour! The angels will come to kill the sinner!”

P A R T 2 W O

Taglist: @deobitifull; @solstramaii; @iamliacamila; @lisaaannna; @nikstrange; @jaehaki; @luv-enhy-skz33; @silcry

#jay hard thoughts #heeseung x reader #jay hard hours #jay enhypen #jay smut #jay imagines #enha x reader #heeseung scenarios #enhypen smut #heeseung hard thoughts #heeseung hard hours #heeseung smut #enha heeseung #enhypen hard hours #enhypen jay #jay x reader

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