#author: faith wood

[welurklate]

A quarto-sized tiny book of one of my favourite fics.

[danielleurbansblog]

Review: Love on a Whim

Synopsis: Brynn Haywood’s impulsive marriage to a man she’d known less than 24 hours leaves her with deep regret. She flees to Cape Cod, finding refuge with her loyal friend, Dawn Dixon. As Brynn grapples with her emotions, Dawn acts swiftly, eager to help secure a lawyer for her through her mother Marnie’s good friend, Lincoln Hayes. However, Lincoln’s preoccupation with his daughter’s lavish…

[fallingskiesandrisingseas]

But what was most baffling to all that met the Pevensies after they came back was that they were kind.

Really. Not pretending, not because they were insecure. True, empathic. Far too understanding for children their age. They all have music in them.

Peter’s hands feel too small for him, but he shakes hands all the same. Gentle pressure. There is nobility behind those eyes. Eyes that always border on the supernatural sort of blue, especially in the dark.

He plays the guitar, gently coaxing otherworldly sounds out of an instrument that did not know it could be played like that. He helps his siblings with their homework, is taller much faster than his peers. Seems to take up more space, even though no one understands how a teenage boy manages that.

He doesn’t like doing nothing, ever. He instructs his classmates in grammar, gives away figures he cuts from wood with a knife that seems too sharp for a boy that small. He never hurts himself, though.

As the years pass, Peter grows strong. But he is gentle. He does not seem to be brash, even when many of his friends are. Peter keeps his emotions in check. Noble. Not undangerous, but not belligerent. Peter only ends fights, and only with people that deserve it.

He offers advice, a pat on the back. Teachers wanna dislike him, some do not like the look behind those eyes. Most find they cannot. Peter is popular with both adults and children, speaks sense and laughs often.

Peter is kind. Pious, devout. His faith is unmovable like rock. Did the kids meet God on the estate of their uncle?

Edmund plays the violin. A sad Edmund is a rare sight, but when he plays sad he can keep his whole floor awake. Somehow, Peter always finds h him quickly, effortlessly attuned to his brother’s moods. They play chess, then. Their chess master must have been a champion, Ed beats people with ease. He’s usually not smug about it.

Ed speaks politics and war in earnest, accepts critique graciously, is elegant in a way Peter never manages. Peter speaks frankly, but Edmund can wrap words up real nice. He doesn’t mince words, but his classmates grow into liking the sound of his voice. They appreciate that Edmund does not lie, even when speaking tactfully. Edmund can dial the temperature in a room, change it to suit himself.

He, too, laughs often, but Edmund is known to smirk. He likes being right and he often is. He’ll entertain anyone with a good story, always seems to have the right information to help you out. Remedies to illness, connections, job openings, how to sneak out of PE.

He’s a spider in a web. A bit reserved for a 11 year old, and oddly well-connected. A real ghost when he wants to be, but he never scares people with it.

Aslan would not approve of that. He believes in God as well, but much more intellectually. He’s got the intelligence to back it up and wit to match. A scholarly belief, but not lacking conviction.

Teachers like his enthousiasm, remember a moody nagging child when he left and see a secure young man come back.

Edmund will stand up for what is right. He gets into some trouble like that, but his verbal agility saves him always. Edmund has strong principles and will not bend them for anyone. No matter the trouble he gets in.

The bond with his brother is unbreakable. They even walk the same, chest out, left hand on their belt. They seem most at ease when fencing.

Susan was always warm and tenderhearted, but when she comes back there is a difference.

She seems to have gained authority. It’s real strange watching a 13-year old use her beauty like a grown woman, but Susan has learned to wield it, to stun people so she can creep under their skin. People LISTEN to her now.

Her wit is like a knife, but she avoids cutting deep. Susan is reasonable, and strong, and principled. The little drama others get involved in does not bother her, and she seems immune to petty insults. She has killed before, with her hands.

She will do it with kindness now. She is not very approachable ( that would be Lucy ), but she is kind. She used to mother over her brothers and sisters, but now that they have raised each other in a court full of magic she has gotten more relaxed. They listen to her on important issues, trust in her judgement. Her brothers does not deem himself more important, she is both well-spoken and well-respected by her siblings. Equal. It baffles the old men that teach her. Irritates them, too.

There is an air of mystery around her. Half a look is enough to get what she wants, Susan’s friends laud her security in herself, her Mona Lisa smile. She seems to temper moods easily, makes people feel at ease.

She most of everyone exudes royalty. It’s the grace. Susan plays the harp, her long fingers dancing across the strings like she’s had a lifetime of practice. She’s elegant, never caught off guard. Jamais faux pas.

She does not get angry. She knows who she will be. She is anxious to become an adult, yes, but she only wishes to look how she feels. Not to look differently. Yet the wish to be taken seriously, to have someone see you as an adult, it makes her surprisingly similar to her peers.

Her friends have not been old yet, is all. But Susan is calm and collected. People see her as someone you can tell a secret to. She never hurts someone, is usually a neutral party, speaks sense to adult and kids alike. She is not ignorant, however, will use every trick in the book to keep the peace. She knows when to go nuclear. Vis pacem para bellum.

Lucy is a sun in human form. She has a joie de vivre that is unmatched, is gay and golden-haired and never in a bad mood.

Lucy is kind by default, does not turn it off, does not turn it down. She’s witty and funny and quick on her feet. She has been grown before, yes, but enjoys being young for a few years more. She dances, sings old tunes. Her voice is her favorite instrument, you can usually hear Lucy coming.

Whistling a tune in the halls is known to improve the moods of everyone who hears it immensely. Young girls need to figure out who they are, but Lucy knows, knows what she’ll be and who she likes and what kind of people she wants to be around. She is not pretending, never moody. She can get sad, of course, but her older brothers and sisters are always nearby when that happens.

Lucy is genuine and fierce and convinced, immovable at times. Admired for her drive, but respected for her empathy. She speaks to everyone, often distributes flowers. There’s no naivite in her at all, she simply wishes to be like this so that the world may imitate her. She likes to see people prosper, is the first with praise.

She will go far, is the consensus. There’s steel beneath the soft exterior, Lucy has fire below the flowers. She’s well-liked and well-loved. She has love in spades, it seems, animals and stragglers and misfits and outcasts. She’s popular, her room is a good place to get a cup of tea and someone who will listen to you for some time. After a while she no longer bothers with the door.

That a heart that size fits in a girl that small is a mystery to many. Lucy does not think it is a mystery at all. It is the heart of a lion.

Her faith is as vocal as the rest of her, she sees it confirmed in all that is beautiful, all that is kind. She never tries to convert anyone but there are several people who have told her that version of God is someone they would like to know.

The Pevensies often see each other at parties, where they like to stand together. Edmund knows about everyone, everyone knows Peter, everyone likes Susan, but it is Lucy who knows everyone.

They are kind, but not weak. Peter gets his knuckles bloody sometimes, Edmund does not abide by the rules of unjust teachers. Susan and Lucy solve their problems differently but no less effective. Kindness is their usual way of operating, but they are still kings and queens. They will not allow cruelty, will not let bullies go unpunished.

They are sure of what they are and sure of what comes after death and this makes them kind. Kind , not harmless. Kind, not spineless. Kind, not ignorant. Kind, not naive.

Kind despite. Maybe kind because. The kings and queens of Narnia are proud of what they are, honour the teachings of their lion friend. Kind.

When the crash happens and three siblings die, everyone they know mourns deeply. Without them, the world is less kind.

[blkkizzat]

'SINS OF THE FATHER'

PRIEST!NANAMI X READER

✟ the liturgy: (summary) Even the most pious of men succumb to temptation and Father Kento is no exception... especially when it comes to you. (Priest!Nanami POV) ✟ the confession: (tw) dark themes, sacrilege, adultery, blasphemy, jealously, exhibitionism, blackmail/manipulation, heavy biblical references, cunnalingus, fingering, riding dick, shoe fucking, blow jobs, panty sniffing, olfactophilia, dacryphilia, lightly suggested altarboy!yuji (aged-up) x reader, oil tycoon!gojo x reader, suggested mentions of reader x other jjk men, corruption, masturbation and angst as you are literally tormenting this poor priest (lol). ✟ the sins: (wc) 4.1k ✟ the opening rites:(a/n) i grew up catholic (got confirmed too) and went to catholic school but haven't stepped inside a church in literal years. i was honestly surprised how many bible references came so easily from pure memory while writing this.

Sanctified conviction radiates off Father Kento as he approaches the inordinately adorned wood carved pulpit with authority to address his congregation. 

Despite the uncomfortable Summer heat there is no lack of attendance, a sea of familiar faces packed into the small town chapel. The buzzing song of cicadas and soft oscillation of the large fan circulating humid air through the church are the only sounds heard as the masses eagerly await his homily.

You were among them of course. 

Sitting front and center– a small saccharine smile graced your lips while your doe-like eyes, captivated and attentive, were made even bigger as they raised to the podium to meet his own.

Bible open, Father Kento takes a full breath pause before he finally speaks, his gaze is benevolent yet his voice is firm as it projects over the congregation. 

“Dear Brothers and Sisters– Let us reflect on the gospel of First Corinthians Chapter 10 Verse 13…and The Lord says– ‘There hath no temptation taken you but such as is common to man—”

Oh but you– you were anything but common– and irregardless of any higher standing his status as a clergy member bestowed upon him he was still a man of flesh and blood.

No matter the effort exerted, Father Kento had been unable to keep his eyes from yours during the service. The magnetism of unknown and certainly unholy forces drew him to you time and again without fail.

No beauty in town rivaled yours, not with an angelic countenance that complemented your delicate features so gracefully in your every action. 

Yours was a form of divine femininity rivaling that of Venus herself. 

If that wasn’t beguiling enough, your honeyed voice and syrupy words had the ability to sway even the most feral of temperaments. Leaving those who heard it at your mercy like a gentle but deadly siren.

“—but God is faithful, who will not suffer you to be tempted above that ye are able—”

Is God faithful? 

Ironic how you had Father Kento questioning the very foundations of his own faith while simultaneously indoctrinating God’s dogma to his faithful parishioners.  

If you were a test he had failed. 

Many times.

Even the first man, Adam, had fallen to Eve’s allures and not even the warrior strength of Samson was able to overcome Delilah’s seductions. 

Who was he to prevail where the biblical idols had fallen?

What actual grace could God give man against the sensual temptation that he had carved from man’s own rib? 

Father Kento had felt forsaken of God’s grace ever since you had approached him after mass to quietly request the rites of confession. He should have refused when you kindly solicited him to perform them in the cooler confines of the secluded rectory over the oven-like heat of a chapel confessional box in summer. 

Led astray so effortlessly by your genial charms as you looked to him like a lamb lost and addressed him so meekly as “Father Kento”. He would have just as easily given you access to heaven then if it were in his power.

Yet it was you who had so graciously led him to the gates of Zion— which so conveniently happened to reside in the velvety depths between your thighs. 

Consequently, the only sins that were confessed in the rectory that day were the moist squelches of your peach-ripened pussy gushing around his cock and coalescing with the frenzied sounds of hot flesh slapping together in unison. 

A child of Lilth incarnate to be sure but you looked so pure and celestial, even in ecstasy.

Hair matted to the sides of your face drenched in sweat while your nimble hands clutched onto his clerical collar. Your eyes filled with such loving devotion and you rode him earnestly as if it was your life’s penance. 

Father Kento in turn gives you his absolution by taking you from behind. The swell of your plump rear rippling against his hips and shared fluids splashing onto his hard abdomen feverishly drive him closer to God than he’d ever been.

Yes, he is weak. 

But Father Kento held the conviction that not even The Vicar of Christ, the Pope himself would be able to resist the vice grip of your silken cunt as if its true purpose was never to bear life but to wring out the very essence of the soul of man. 

He’d fallen prey to a day-walking succubus on hallowed holy grounds. 

No– Father Kento was certain if this church had ever truly been blessed as a house of God you would have caught aflame the moment you graced its threshold. 

“—but will with the temptation also make a way to escape, that ye are able to bear it’.”

Father Kento concluded the passage. Nonetheless, neither it nor any other doctrine had provided him the solace of escape and nor biblical strength did he receive to endure against his temptations.

There was no resisting you. 

There was no escaping you. 

For anyone you cast your sights on.

This is exemplified by the obvious effect you have on the young alter boy Yuji. 

Barely old enough to be called a man, the youth's entire body flinches whenever you spare a sweet glance in his direction. 

Has Yuji’s innocence already been stolen? 

Father Kento must quell the inkling of jealousy at the thought lest he stumble over his words and shame himself further.

He was a man in every sense of the word and a man of the cloth, he would not compete for your adulterous affections with his own altar boy.

Even so, Father Kento’s lip does curl in disapproval at the deep flush of guilt on Yuji’s cheeks. Yuji clumsily trips over his own feet, nearly permitting the blessed vessels for the rites of eucharist to fall to the ground.

Harlot! Have you really allowed someone other than himself to bathe in the sins of Jezebel?

Maintaining composure through his sermon, Father Kento reminds himself that an inexperienced youth is no threat. 

However it is more than likely Yuji– who normally is so oblivious in nature– had likewise become aware of the wicked exhibition of sacrilege occurring beneath the prayer cloth in your lap at the very hands of your own husband– Satoru Gojo.

“So you may ask where does that leave us as followers of Christ? Temptations lure us into doing, saying or thinking something that does not reflect who we really are as sons and daughters of God.”

Neither you nor your husband were Christ’s children so none of these ideologies applied to either of you.

Nefarious philistines the both of you– godless and immoral.

Although Father Kento was for certain your husband, Oil Tycoon, Satoru Gojo– was the only one whose deeds could put yours to shame. 

The white haired devil had descended upon the quiet small town like a thief in the night to greedily capture the first few drops of black gold that surged from the earth before it could even fall to the ground. Quickly buying up land and resources, in less than a fortnight Gojo essentially had control over the entire town– its priest included.

But as he became more wealthy, so did the town and its people. Satoru Gojo built up the town around him to match his own gluttony for opulence, taking the town and its people away from simple old time comforts and into the more complex modern age. 

Therefore the man was seen as a saintly savior, rather than the lecherous leech he truly was.

To Father Kento’s credit, if he deserved any at all– he had initially held strong in his faith. 

He was not a man tempted by the power that would come from a promotion to bishop if a larger church was built. Nor was he tempted by monetary gain. The treasures he had always held most valuable were only those to be found in God’s kingdom.

Familiar with the tricks masked by flamboyant arrays of grandior, Father Kento’s folly had been his own headstrong vainglory in being a man above the lures of temptation. Thus he failed in recognizing you as the seductive snake in sheep's clothing the cunning tycoon Gojo had sent to be his undoing.

And you had never once failed to unravel him.

Even now Father Kento struggles to keep himself together as you inconspicuously lean against your husband, your head resting gently on his shoulder while the dainty fan you are holding obscures the lower half of your face. 

What appears as an innocuous attempt to halt the perspiration rolling from your nape into your heaving bosom is merely a front to hide the sinful ‘o’ your cherry lips form.

Your chest softly heaves although your labored breaths aren’t from the humid heat shrouding the church– but the increasing warmth dampening in your loins. All which had been provoked by your husband slipping two fingers through the buttons of your thin sundress and into your pussy, lightly teasing its gooey folds. Gojo’s movements are mostly concealed by the cloth but Father Kento can make out the skillful circular motions stroking your spongy bud and causing the sporadic twitch in your knees. 

You had writhed similarly under him. You were always far too sensitive.

Fat tears would never fail to pour from your bright eyes when he would latch his mouth onto your sex. You would be his last supper if ever given the choice. If heaven had a flavor it would surely be akin to the taste of your pink candied cunt and he knew of no sweeter treat on earth.

Twas no wonder then how Father Kento easily loses all sense of self when flicking his tongue into your gaping slit. Swirling the appendage within your gummy walls he gluttonously slurps down the steady stream of your flowing nectar. 

Your mewls and cries for him are far lovelier than even the song of cherubim. Father Kento has committed them to memory and as such he knows when they reach a certain octave– your pitch so high it's practically soundless– you're nearing your nirvana.

Arriving at your peak you would thread your hands through his blonde locks and thrust your hips forward as if his mouth were salvation itself. Your manicured nails would dig into his scalp to rock his head deeper into your plump pussy. The actions would beckon his tongue to finally give you its mercy by dragging it flat up your folds to suckle and nip at your swollen clit.

You never called on God then. 

Nor your husband. 

Only Father Kento.

Coincidentally, Father Kento’s gaze locks with Gojo’s for a brief moment and Gojo’s pale lips curl into smirk. 

A fleeting look is shared before contact is broke but the message is clear: 

Satoru Gojo own’s everything in this town. 

Gojo owns your cunt. 

Your cunt owns Father Kento.

Therefore by proxy Gojo owns him.

The revelation has Father Kento showing the white of his knuckles from the intensity of his grip on the pulpit podium as you simultaneously release a silent scream brazenly cumming on your husband’s dexterous fingers in the middle of mass. 

“The time now is propitious for us all to make a journey of conversion, led by sincere faith to allow ourselves to be confronted with the Gospel. Let us confirm this commitment by sharing in The Body and The Blood of Christ.”

Proceeding with communion the altar boy Yuji stands next to Father Kento holding the tray where the blessed chalice of wine and platter of thin wafers reside as the congregation dutifully exits their rows to receive the eucharist. 

As it is the more modern way to receive communion the majority of the congregation choses to place their non-dominant palm up over the other to respectfully receive the host. Yet traditionally, the priest placed the blessed wafer directly on the tongue of the one receiving. This practice was typically only seen by the elderly, the most exceedingly pious and of course— you.

When it is your turn to approach you beam brightly as you and all your beauty seem to float before him.

“The Body of Christ.”

Father Kento raises the host before you.

“Amen.” 

You obediently replied. 

Like expected your eyes fluttered to close as your pillowy lips parted in order to accept the host directly in your mouth. 

God help him, this was the most sacred part of mass but the way your deviant tongue lulls out hot and thick with your saliva pooled on the edge and threatening to spill onto your lips has Father Kento shifting at his post.

You look just as compliant and yearning to receive as when you had been on your knees before him taking his cock in your mouth whole.

Father Kento delicately placed the host in your mouth in a similar fashion as to when he would tap the tip of his bulbous leaking cockhead onto your tongue. 

So willing to please you kiss his angry red mushroom tip to appease his cock, swirling your tongue over the tiny hole before puckering it between your lips to greedily suck any drops of pre that dribbled forth as you pumped his base.

You were a tease. 

That much was evident both then and now as you extended the tip of your tongue to caress the tip of his finger. A tiny kitten lick, but nevertheless a tingle ran through his cock in remembrance.  

“The Blood of Christ.”

Father Kento presents the wine symbolizing the blood before you. 

“Amen.”

Again you closed your eyes and allowed Father Kento to press the chalice against your parted lips. 

The very picture of amenability, you actually enjoyed when he went rougher on you as a result of your teasing. Father Kento would gather your hair into a tight grip as he not-so-gently rammed his cock past your tonsils and down your throat. 

It was unnatural and ungodly for a person to lack any semblance of a gag reflex such as you. 

In response you pressed your fingers into his thighs– not as a means of resistance, but to control your own lust as you began shamelessly humping your mound against his leg. You were always desperate to feel any small sensation against your cunt while he ravaged your mouth.

Of course, Father Kento would oblige you and in turn he is rewarded with the heavy moans that would vibrate around his cock as his oxford loafer pushed up into your soaked core. Your white lace lingerie did little to contain your juices and as such Father Kento made use of the fluids leaking from your pussy as polish to shine his shoe.

Having sipped the wine from the chalice you peer up at Father Kento as if seeking his approval. 

He gives you a small nod. 

Similar to the one he bestows upon you after his seed has filled your stomach and you lick your lips as if it was his essence and not The Blood of Christ that lingered on them.

In the beginning, he had prayed long and hard to forget those sinful images of you that would intrude unwelcomed into his mind. 

Yet you always had ways of sucking him back in. 

Such as leaving your soiled panties stuffed between his headboard. Father Kento thought he was going mad when even after changing the sheets thrice was he still plagued with your smell.

He should have burned the offensive garment as soon as it was discovered and yet he treated it with reverence as if it were a holy object of salvation. Truly an euphoric experience, on days he couldn’t have you he’d bury his nose into the fabric murmuring blasphemy as he worshiped the very scent of you while jerking his cock.

When Father Kento finally ceased trying to resist you he then had the fleeting thought he could save you. Bring you to God and away from your villainous husband. 

But you were no Mary Magdalene, there was no returning you to the flock.

You will not leave your husband who provides you wealth and security. Father Kento is not so enamored he holds illusions that extend beyond his reality. There is nothing Father Kento owns and nothing he can offer you but himself. 

The singular consolation of the tragic circumstances is that Father Kento is sure you prefer his touch. The touch of a seemingly pious man who only has desires for you.

Unlike your scoundrel of a husband who Father Kento was sure had not remained faithful to your marriage bed. Not the way most of the female townsfolk threw themselves at Satoru Gojo. If he had no qualms using you to achieve his means he certainly had none for himself. 

You were simply a pawn to be played, as was Father Kento.

“Before we depart I leave you with these words: Let every day be a new day to renew the promises of our Baptism: We renounce Satan and all his works and seductions — for sh– *ahem* HE – is the seducer. Now go forth, Brothers and Sisters and remain true in the light of God.”

The closing rites over, Father Kento has never been more relieved nor eager for the conclusion of a mass. Watching the congregation mingle in the entrance, he gives his farewell blessings to the parishioners.

A few still remained however you were nowhere to be seen. 

This was not odd, the Gojos were a busy couple, likely excusing themselves immediately to attend to more important affairs.

Or so he hoped.

“There you are, Father! Riveting service, as always.”

With a devious grin and a firm drawn-out handshake Gojo greets Father Kento. Turning to face the devil himself, Father Kento greets Satoru in turn with a strained smile and an even firmer grip. 

Yet still he is unable to show you any of the wrath you justly deserve and Father Kento’s smile is more genuine when he faces you.  

You regard Father Kento coyly as your husband’s arm tightens around your waist. Your face is flushed and it’s evident you are still weakened from the orgasm your husband gave you earlier in front of the entire congregation. 

That knowledge though is only held by the three of you, God and perhaps the altar boy Yuji.

Father Kento had never known you to be silent when cumming so the exertion of the effort you expended likely weighed heavy on you as displayed by how you are clinging to Gojo to keep from swaying on your feet. 

“Thank you. I am but a humble messenger of The Lord’s wor–.”

“– Wait. Hold that thought!”

Father Kento’s eyebrow twitches as Gojo's attention is momentarily called elsewhere. 

Every Sunday, a growing number of parishioners would seek Satoru Gojo’s greeting and recognition after service over that of their priest Father Kento. 

True to character Gojo makes an obnoxious show of charisma which leaves the last group of parishioners fawning and singing his praises as they exit.

“Forgive me, Father. Where were we? Ah– Of course! Yes, you are quite excellent in your delivery of God’s word, a true testament to your faith!”

His flattery is so obviously false in its sincerity that Father Kento is not surprised when Gojo’s sordid smirk returns. 

“But you are not only a messenger for The Lord… isn’t that right, Father Kento?” 

Father Kento warily clutches onto the large cross dangling from the rosary around his neck as Gojo continues.

“I’ll need you to spread mine as well. Haven’t you heard? I have plans to run for Mayor.”

Mayor.

The diabolical fiend truly knew no limits in his quest for control over the town. 

“I’ll need you to come over to dinner tonight to consult with the rest of my top supporters.”

Father Kento steeled himself.. 

There was nothing he could do to stop Satoru Gojo from being mayor but his infatuation with you aside, he could not walk straight into the lion's den to collude with heathens. 

It would be the final nail in his coffin, Gojo would indeed own his soul.

“Oh! Y/N is prepping a feast too… aren’t you, angel?” 

Gojo’s grip on your waist trails lower to palm the fat of your ass and you clutch on to him tighter as you nod eagerly in agreement, biting your lip as his large hands knead into your cheeks through your wispy dress. 

Your body is ever responsive to Gojo’s touch just like he trained you to be.

“I must refuse. I have duties here to attend, I couldn’t poss–”

“P-Please F-Father…”

And just like that your delicate voice cuts through his iron defenses like it were warm butter.

“…K-Kento, p-please come!”

Your request fumbles out of your lips as a cry as Gojo’s devilish fingers dip past your ass to prod at your cunt.

“You heard her Father. She wants you to come. Break bread with us, you will be among friends. Friends who know how to share, yeah? I’ll even share a piece of her cream pie for dessert.” 

That had been the final straw. Gojo had gone too far this time.

You seeking him out was one matter but he would not allow Satoru Gojo of all people to dangle you in front of him like a master would dangle a treat to a dog.

“Begone, you foul heretic. I will not tolerate your mockery of me, this church nor God any longer.”

Commanding in his tone, Father Kento extends the cross of the rosary forward to Gojo as if he were casting a malevolent curse back down to hell. 

Father Kento doesn’t have the courage to look at you though, he can’t. Not if he wants to take a triumphant stand against Satoru Gojo.

And so Father Kento closes his eyes and silently prays. 

Immediately bored at such a devout display, Gojo sighs rolling his eyes.

“Alright, alright, Father. I get it. Whatever you say, jeez. It’s not like I need your support to become mayor– just thought it would be nice is all. ”

Father Kento remains silent as he listens to both of your footsteps exit the church but not before Gojo stops at the doors, his cheerful voice taking on a dangerous edge.

“Heh, you know, not everyone in this town is as pious as you Father. Sheriff Fushiguro has never been one to turn down a stack of bills but I’m sure tonight he would enjoy sharing in Y/N’s creampie if you don’t.”

Father Kento’s eyes open to flash red with fury.

Having received a satisfactory enough reaction from the priest, Gojo grins wildly as your own eyes widen in shock at your husband’s words. 

Has Gojo only ever used you to manipulate him alone? 

The thought remains as Father Kento doesn’t miss the pleading gaze directed at him from over your shoulder as you are led out of the church.

Goddammit– He couldn’t let you fall into the brutish clutches of Toji Fushiguro. 

Toji may have been the sheriff but he was well-known for his oafish demeanor and greasy womanizing ways. 

NO! He mustn’t think of you any longer. 

Father Kento needs to clear his mind of you for good with prayer.

Prayer and solitude.

Deep prayer and extensive solitude was what he needed if he ever hoped to rise again to gain God’s favor. He needed to call upon The Lord’s strength one last time to remain at the parish tonight and defy Gojo’s will.

Father Kento couldn’t let the pleasures of flesh continue to manipulate the very fibers of his being in such a way. 

The rosary still in his grasp Father Kento raises his hands close in prayer as a final call for God’s mercy… and then it hits him– wafting off his fingers, overwhelming his senses and igniting every nerve in his being. 

The scent of your cunt. 

The lingering perfume of your sinful drippings spilled on your husband’s hand during mass had been transferred to his own when Gojo shook his hand and held it so firmly.

The bastard. 

The rush hits him hard and he feels dizzy as his ears begin to ring. Vertigo overtakes Father Kento as he holds the offending hand out as if he had been poisoned. 

Leaning back against a wall to gather himself, Father Kento realizes once the manic pounding coursing through his veins begins throbbing in his loins that he’s fated for damnation.

This is the moment he’d always dreaded although ironic with the simple acceptance of it he feels no despair. 

Father Kento’s conviction is finally clear as he is left with a singular truth that rang through his entire soul:

Whatever solace he would know, whatever peace he would have in this life, he would only find with his cock buried in the sweet embrace of your cunt. 

✟

©blkkizzat 2024. do not steal works or gfx, do not translate.

✟ the closing rites: (a/n) hell is hot and it's surely my destination after writing this. i tried to leave it a little ambiguous to whether y/n is actually in-love with nanami or just a sex-crazed slut eager to use him at the request of her husband. i don't have a pt.2 planned just fyi as this is meant to be a oneshot. although i do need to write more nanami so i will take requests for him! but fair warning i am very slow i apologize.

also shout out to the amazing art i used for the gfx ✟ art by mishwell

✟ REBLOG to be unburdened of your sins by Father Nanami but likes and comments are also appreciated!

upcoming: the nursery (yakuza!toji), please teach me! (ceo!gojo), request: teasing choso (college au), request: sukuna x blkreader, [none in any order as im at the mercy of my adhd lol]

[stylesispunk]

Blind faith | Series

priest!joel miller x nightclub dancer!reader

Synopsis: Series coming soon...

dividers by @/saradika-graphics 💌

Joel found you on a quiet evening when the chapel was empty, save for the flickering candlelight and the faint scent of incense clinging to the air. You were curled up on one of the wooden pews, arms folded beneath your head, chest rising and falling in the steady rhythm of sleep.

He cleared his throat, but you didn’t stir. He hesitated before reaching out, tapping your shoulder. “Miss?” His voice came softer than he expected. “You can’t sleep here.”

"Father, do you always wake up strangers like this?"

Your voice was thick with sleep, eyes blinking against the dim glow of the chapel’s candlelight. The air smelled of old wood, wax, and something faintly metallic, like rain on stone. You looked young like this, your face soft, but Joel knew better. You shouldn't be older than thirty.

"You can’t sleep here," he repeated.

Joel stood over you, stiff-backed, his fingers still hovering near your shoulder from where he’d tapped you awake. He shouldn’t have noticed the way your legs stretched across the pew, the way your blouse—too sheer for a place like this, shifted as you moved, leaving no place to imagination.

"Didn’t know God locked His doors at night," you mused, rubbing at your eyes.

Joel exhaled sharply. Lord, give me patience.

"This isn’t a shelter," he said. "If you need a place—"

"I'm not homeless" Your tone was firm, final. But there was something else in your voice too, something he couldn’t quite place, but it hinted sadness.

The world outside was changing. Women weren’t quiet anymore. They weren’t soft in the way people in towns like this expected them to be. And yet, there was something about you that didn’t fit the mold of rebellion either. You weren’t a girl searching for trouble. You were a woman who had already met it.

"I just got into town," you admitted after a beat, glancing toward the stained-glass windows, dark now with the night. "Didn’t know where else to go."

Joel studied you, his chest tightening. "Are you in trouble?"

A small, humorless laugh left you. "Depends on what you call trouble."

Silence filled the chapel, thick and unmoving. The rain had stopped, leaving only the distant hum of the highway beyond the hills.

"You shouldn’t be here," he said finally. But his voice had lost its authority, had softened just enough that he felt the weight of it settle in his own bones.

Because the longer he stood there, the clearer it became.

You weren’t just a woman passing through.

You were trouble to his faith.

And trouble, he knew, never left quietly.

And worse, he couldn’t ignore the way, for the first time in a long time, he wasn’t sure if devotion could save him.

warnings: age gap, religious conflict, crisis of faith, temptation, forbidden attraction, forbidden romance, eventual smut social expectations, night life themes, contrast between joel's and your world.

the story is set during the 70s.

masterlist in progress...

coming soon...

please, tell me if you want to be added to the taglist 💌

[bushwskq]

FATHER CHARLIE MAYHEW X WITCH!READER

Part 1 🕯️

cw: smut, 18+

AUTHOR'S NOTE: I'm back! I just want to say that I'm really happy for the likes of part 1 ��� I hope you like this one too

There you were again, smoking a cigarette outside the church. Your leather boot making noise with every stomp you made on the anxious sidewalk. It was Wednesday, as Father Charlie had said, the day of confession in which the faithful came to the house of God to confess their sins and their souls were absorbed from the fires of hell until the next week like a vicious cycle. You reached out your hand grabbing the coffee cup on the floor, making sure no one had witnessed the little display of magic. Waiting a few more minutes you entered the church as soon as the last person left. Unlike your first visit, the place was now dark with few candles lighting the space. His eyes wandered around the place before finding the confessional, this time the pentagram on his chest was completely exposed.

“I see you took my offer seriously,” Father Charlie Mayhew began in surprise as you sat in the confessional. When he made the proposal, he didn't believe you would actually accept it. You noticed him shift position on the other side by the creaking of wood. “I’m all ears, start whenever you want.” Again you felt his cologne, oh my god, how it gave you a good and restless feeling at the same time.

An exciting agony His eyes caught your movements through the small holes, imagining the contours of your body, the way your curves would press against him. His grip on the wooden cross in front of him tightened, the need to touch it overwhelming.

“You really believe in God. Father?” You asked suddenly, looking at the holes in the confessional that gave access to it. Charlie paused for a moment, composing himself before speaking “I have many reasons to believe in him, he saved me and he can save you if you let him.” he said in a low voice. You smiled awkwardly, without any effort a flame lit up on your index finger. It didn’t burn you, just a tingling on the tip that you were already used to. “There are things… things that many are not yet ready to understand, Father.” seconds later the flame disappeared as quickly as it appeared.

Father Charlie's heart raced as he watched the flame dance on his fingertip, a flicker of light in the dark confines of the confessional. Mixture of fascination and fear coursing through his veins as the fabric of his robe strained against his arousal, a physical manifestation of the turmoil within. His breath caught in his throat, and he found himself drawn to you in a way that both thrilled and disturbed him. As a man of God, he knows he should denounce her abilities, expel her from this sacred place. And yet... a part of him longs to understand, to unravel the mystery you present.

You can't react when he opens the confessional door abruptly grabbing your body with ease, his beautiful eyes darting to the pentagram like the first time. You don't react when he pulls you hard, breaking it, leaving only the cross on your chest.

"What...what are you?" he sighs, his voice rough with barely contained lust. “Some demon sent to disturb the peace, surely.” But even as he speaks, his hands are roaming your body, gliding over your curves with a hunger that belies his words.

The heat of his touch burns your skin, even through the fabric of your clothes. He leans in, his lips colliding against yours in a bruising kiss. It's a dance of passion and danger, the forbidden fruit he knows he should resist but can't. A witch and a priest, an impossible combination, and yet…

You can see the lust burning inside Charlie. It's intoxicating because you still feel his grip. His features are like a fallen angel, he was in the wrong vocation. His hands slid lower, pushing up the skirt of your black dress. The smell of your arousal mixes with his, an intoxicating scent that clouds his mind and weakens his resolve. He breaks the kiss, breathing heavily, his eyes dark with need. “Tell me,” he says harshly, “are you real, or am I losing my mind?”

He knows he should stop, he should push you away and run away from this temptation. But he can't. He is lost, drowning in a sea of forbidden desire, and he is powerless to resist. “I can be real for you tonight.” You say boldly, you had nothing to lose. It would be another night of fun.

You see the realization flash through Charlie's eyes. Slowly, he releases you, allowing you to take a step back. He looks at you, desire and fear tangled in his gaze. His hand shakes as he runs it through his hair, an attempt to regain some semblance of control. And then, as if he had made a decision, his resolve breaks. He walks towards you, closing the gap between you, and whispers huskily, “Show me… let me know the truth of your words.” The rational part of his mind screams at him to stop, to push you away and escape this temptation.

But his primal, carnal side longs to surrender, to lose himself in the forbidden pleasures you offer. He looks into your eyes, searching for any sign of hesitation or doubt.

But all he sees is a mirror of his own desire, a reflection of the hunger that burns within him. Father Charlie's heart races as he unbuttons the buttons on her dress, his fingers trembling with anticipation. He pulls the fabric to the side, exposing the smooth, supple skin of your collarbone. Leaning down, he presses a searing kiss to your flesh, claiming you as his. His hands roam your body, exploring every curve and contour with desperate hunger. He can’t get enough of you, the feel of your skin under his fingertips, the taste of your flesh on his tongue.

“You’re beautiful,” he sighs, his voice rough with desire. "More than any mortal man could deserve." He reaches out, his hand gliding over the curve of your breast, tracing the delicate curve of your waist. His touch is electric, sending shivers down your spine and lighting a fire deep within your core. Father Charlie's own clothes appear tight, a reminder of the vows he made and the life he chose. With a growl of frustration, he hurriedly begins to remove the fabric, exposing his chest to your gaze.

With that, he pulls you close once more, his lips finding yours in a kiss that is both desperate and possessive. He pours all his longing, all his desire, into that one moment, and you can feel the intensity of his passion coursing through your veins. A low growl resonates in his chest, and he grabs you roughly, his hands gripping your hips with blunt force.

He pushes you against the wall, pinning you in place with his body. His mouth crashes against yours, the kiss is fierce and demanding, a clash of teeth and tongue that leaves you both breathless. His hands roam your body, groping and squeezing, leaving no inch of skin untouched.

He tears at his underwear, tearing it off with wild desperation, not caring about the damage he causes. You can feel his arousal pressing against you, strong and insistent, a physical manifestation of his desire. He grinds against you, the friction delicious and maddening at the same time.

With a final growl, Father Charlie lifts you up, your legs wrapping around his waist as he positions himself at your entrance. He stops for a moment, his eyes boring into yours, a silent question in their depths.

And then, with one thrust, he enters you, filling you completely. The sensation is overwhelming, a mixture of pleasure and pain that borders on the sublime.

He sets a brutal pace, pounding into you with a ferocity that steals your breath. Each thrust is deeper, stronger than the last, bringing you both closer to the edge of oblivion. Father Charlie buries his face in the crook of your neck, his teeth sinking into your flesh as he loses himself in the rhythm of your copulation. He is a man possessed, driven by a hunger that cannot be satisfied, a need that consumes him completely.

Father Charlie's grip on your hips tightens, his thrusts become more erratic as the line between pleasure and pain blurs. You can feel the desperation in every move, the need to claim and be claimed in return. The sound of their copulation fills the air, skin against skin, the wooden structure rhythmically echoing the charged atmosphere. Father Charlie's breathing is ragged, his body shaking as he approaches the edge of release.

He grinds against you, his cock pulsing inside you, the heat of his release building. With a final, guttural groan, he spills himself inside you, the profanity of his actions washing over him like a tidal wave.

As his orgasm subsides, he collapses against you, his body slick with sweat. The air around you is thick with the scent of sex, a testament to the forbidden pleasure you've just shared.

For a moment, there is only the sound of their heavy, labored breaths as they cling to each other in the aftermath. Father Charlie's fingers run gently through his hair, a stark contrast to the ferocity of moments before. Slowly, he pulls away from you, his gaze never leaving yours. In that moment, there is a newfound vulnerability in his eyes, an admission that this transgression has changed him forever.

@mlt2000

[undertheorangetree]

In The Woods Somewhere

Summary- Coriolanus does not intend on returning to the Capitol alone.

Warnings- MDNI 18+ DUBCON Female reader. TBOSAS spoilers technically. Reader is essentially Lucy Gray. Porn with plot. Toxic relationship. Possessive Coriolanus. Chasing. Biting. Restraint. Choking. Edging. Overstimulation. Fingering. Cunnilingus. P in V sex.

Author’s Note- Happy holidays! This is not our regularly scheduled programming but I have Hunger Games/Tom Blyth brain rot so here’s this monster. Please heed the warnings and link to the full fic on AO3 below

She knows the moment he looks up at her, rifle clutched in his hands, that he will not be coming north with her. Not anymore, not now that he has the one thing tying him to this place well in hand.

She isn't a fool. She knows that his feelings for her played only a small role in his agreeing to come with her but she had been willing to overlook that. When he had cupped her face in his hand and swore that he would join her, that they would escape Panem- and their collective noose- together, she had seen the hesitation there. Coryo was not a man built for nature, no more than he was built for the districts, but she loves him and so she had ignored it. Twisted it into something romantic and noble in her head, that he would give up all this, that he would leave behind everything for her. He had promised her earnestly and she had taken him at his word.

But with the look on his face now, some potent mix of elation and relief washing over him like a wave, she knows she never stood a chance.

"It's the gun," he says, and she hates the tone he uses. The way he almost breathes the words, the way he looks up at her with the ghost of a smile on his face. Had she had doubts about what the guns would inspire in him, the look on his face is enough to prove her right.

"The one you fired at Mayfair," she says with a nod, crossing her arms over her chest. It feels almost protective now, as if she can safeguard her breaking heart. "Spruce must have known about this place too. I guess it's not as secret as I thought. We hide that and you're free."

"No more loose ends."

The way he says it, his hands tightening on the barrel as he looks down at the rifle, makes her blood run cold. This is all he wanted, nothing short of a dream come true. She doesn't like it, her reaction just as much as his own, and she fights to push passed it. Tells herself that there is nothing wrong here, not really, that he is entitled to some semblance of excitement, but she can feel that unease gnawing at her gut. It feels like an omen. A warning.

She grins, hoping to seem more at ease than she truly is, and feels her nose scrunch up teasingly as she says, "Besides me."

It's the wrong thing to do. Immediately, he goes rigid, eyes darting up to look at her and she sees the distrust there, akin to a beaten dog. It wouldn't be as startling as it is if not for their conversation in the woods not even an hour before. He is willing to kill if backed far enough into a corner and is that not what she has just done? Reminded him of the power she held over him with this knowledge? Backed him into a corner? And just like that beaten dog, she can see that he is only a moment away from snapping at her with pearly white teeth.

"You wouldn't... tell anyone?"

She feels her eyebrows draw together, all attempt at joking gone. It hurts a little, what seems to be a complete lack of faith in her, and it's almost surprising. Almost. "Course not."

But would she? She doesn’t really know now. The fact that he believes she could, as if she could exchange his freedom for her own, feels like the final nail in the coffin. She could forgive his dislike of the idea of heading north, the relief on his face when he saw the guns. But what he said in the woods- three’s enough for me- and his distrust of her now… she doesn’t think she’s safe with him. All their talk of trust, of how he agreed it was worth more than love, thrown to the wind all for the sake of a duffle bag full of rifles. Because just as easily as those gun could buy her freedom, they could secure his own too. One small step toward returning to his life back in the Capitol. He was going to leave before killing Mayfair, she knew that. And if there’s no weapon linking him to the crime, he could. Because no matter how badly she wants to believe he wants a life with her, she thinks he wants his old one back that much more.

And she isn’t sure just what he is willing to sacrifice to get rid of all those loose ends.

She feels herself smile again, moving on autopilot to fetch the knife she knows is on the shelf near the door. It doesn’t reach her eyes but she isn’t looking at him, gripping the handle of the knife a little too tightly. “I think I’m gonna go dig up some katniss. There’s a good patch down by the lake, don’t know when we’ll come across it again.”

His suspicion only grows at that, lips parted and head tilted in question, and she knows she needs to go. Though his finger has not yet shifted toward the trigger, it hasn’t moved away from it either. He has been a Peacekeeper for no more than two months, but that was more than enough time to pick up all he needed to know about firing a gun. Even if his aim is shoddy, it wouldn’t take much effort to aim in her general direction and hold down on a trigger. She had said it herself, she is the only one left who knew the truth about Mayfair’s death- her murder. If he wanted to go back to the Capitol, he needed to be damn sure there wasn’t a chance of his time here coming back to haunt him. As it is now, she is the only thing standing between him and the Snow penthouse.

“Thought you said they weren’t ready yet,” he protests, that uncertainty still more than apparent.

She prays her smile doesn’t look as forced as it feels when her eyes flick up to look at his handsome face, doing what she can to seem nonchalant. “The world changes awful fast.”

She pulls the door open, the rain pounding against the porch outside, when he calls her name. Her grip on the knife tightens a hair more before she’s turning back to look at him, keeping her eyes wide and innocent as she tilts her head in question. She knows she hesitated, knows he caught her if the look on his face is anything to go by, but rather than let her panic consume her, she focuses on his eyes. The beautiful, brilliant blue of his eyes. That may be the thing she misses most about him, after all this.

“It’s still raining.”

As if a little rain is enough to stop her from saving her own life.

“Well, I’m not made out of sugar,” she grins, taking one last look at him before shutting the door, placing some kind of barrier between them.

Read the rest here :)

[artsninspo]

COUNTERFEIT - one

➨ rio's library - good girl nbc

「 ✦ full library & archive ✦ 」

🍒 author's Note: back with another story! this is a multipart story. formerly known as cherries. it's a mix of the drinks series and forgiveless. Rio's more 'gang-friend' in this one. Enjoy ♥️

🍒 pairing: Rio (Good Girls) X Faith (Original Character) All my characters are black women.

🍒 word count: ~1.7K

🍒 summary: bad days lead to bars, friends, drinks and strangers.

🍒 one ~ cherry margaritas

If one more person calls me ungrateful I don't think I'll ever stop screaming. I shoot my sister a glare and her voice catches in her throat leaving her mouth open with words that will be left unsaid. Traitor. My anger is clear as day, and Char knows better than anyone that I've reached my limit. Amber, our ‘friend’ stops too looking up at me as I stand. I didn't invite Amber over for an earful, I invited her over for support. For fucks sake. The stare down comes to an end when Char closes her big mouth, swallowing.

“Faith” her tone is what it should have been all along but its too little too late. The call comes again but I'm halfway down the hall and to my bedroom. I walk into my closet angry at myself for thinking my sister would back me. I grab a coat and slip into a pair of baggy jeans. I kick my pumps from this evening's date night aside and grab a monogrammed bumbag.

“Faith” Amber says, wearing on my thinning patience.

“What?” I respond, casting a look over my shoulder.

“It’s not that we don't think you're great - I mean of course we do your the life of the party, you're so smart and funny”

“I’m glad I provide entertainment for you Amber” I respond and she places a hand on her chest. I brace for the perpetual state of victimhood that follows nice-nasty and outright mean.

“I didn't mean it like that!” Amber says. Whether it's fact or fiction makes no difference to me - my goal was to shut her up and when her nostrils flare I know I've achieved my goal.

“Don't be like that Faith, Jason is – being bored isn’t a reason to leave him. He literally worships you” Char continues. I wish her position was disappointing or surprising but it’s what I expect from Char now that she's been fully indoctrinated by our mothers social climb. Years of private school, country clubs and tennis lessons have her disillusioned.

“It’s fine, I don't expect you to understand” I snap, pushing past the both of them. 

“Where are you going, do you want me to come?” she asks, eyeing my casual attire.

“No, finish the wine and talk about how ungrateful I am” I respond slamming the front door to our condo. I rush to the elevator hoping they won't follow me and call a cab once I'm in the lobby. The wait is less than a minute. I turn off my location, blocking my sister, Amber and Jason for the night.

I’m too young to be so stressed, I've felt like I've been drowning for weeks as Jason turned the intensity up in our relationship in all the wrong ways. Trying to become bffs with my mother and Rick. Talking with the future, talking about expectations and children and houses. Why would anyone think I would sign up for a lifetime of the one I didn’t choose. The one Ma laid on her back and threw away everything she knew and held dear for. I’d never so eagerly trade my autonomy. I rate the driver five stars for the much appreciated silence and smile as my feet touch the pavement. I smell cigarettes and weed as patrons partake outside the bar. I can see it’s busy when I head in. Unlike anything in the heart of the city D’s place is truly one of one. Traditional wood counters, stools, a pool table, a jukebox, booth seating on one side, open space in the middle and a few table configurations for those who want to sit and talk. Everywhere is full tonight and it makes me happy for my friend as I head to the bar a man getting up to give me his stool. I look around for Diego smiling when I find him.

“Hey” I wave, and he comes over with top shelf tequila.  Smiling at my presence he makes a show of making my favorite drink a cherry margarita and tops it with five cherries. “Thanks” I beam saluting him before my first sip. “Perfection” I wince and he laughs.

“What’s up?” He asks and I chew on one of the cherries pushing the rest of them into the liquid in the hopes they absorb some of the liquor.

“Nothing much, I can help you bartend if you drive me home…” I suggest.

Diego dries a glass. “I don’t get off until three” 

“It’s fine” I shrug while having another swig.

“Doesn’t Jason usually get tickets to the big games? I was looking for you court side” He asks, looking up at the mounted TV in the bar.

“We broke up” I confess and he frowns, pausing his task.

“What’d he do? Do I need to fuck him up for you?” D asks, ready for war.

“Nothing, it just wasn’t going to work.” I admit taking another cherry. D gives me an unsure look before manning his bar. I watch the clock run out and drain the liquid from my glass, then I get behind the bar and get to work. Diego and I grew up together on the same block as kids. He spent a lot of time with me and my sister before the whispering started. People thought it was poor parenting to have him sleeping in a room with two girls. D would’ve never laid a finger on us. He moved away when I was ten and we reconnected after college. He became the big brother I never had. Now, he has his life together and I’m the wreck.

Time goes by when you’re having fun and D and I are an excellent team. Working, being busy, accomplishing something and being around D is grounding for me. There’s nothing we want from each other or hope to gain from our association and honestly it’s refreshing. D really has put everything into this place and it’s a pleasure to help him keep his patrons happy with good drinks and excellent customer service. It’s a sausage fest and the flirtation is harmless. Almost all of them are regulars and regular guys here to drink a few beers and watch the game. I make a show of eating the cherries from my glass gaining an audience, extra tips and looks of disapproving amusement from D. It's harmless rebellion, the kind of thing that Jason would spend hours scolding me for - not understanding I’m just joking around. Having a bit of fun. D’s bar is the kind of place that would make Jason itch. There’s no VIP seating, back room or slipping someone extra money to get better service. Honestly that behaviour may lead him to a black eye and pressing assault charges for his uppity ways. The thought makes me smile as the patrons file out,  I have so many tips there's no more space in my pockets so D gets me a jar. 

 By the time it’s three AM I’ve forgotten all about my breakup. D and the security clean off the tables and put the chairs up. I get the mop ready and clean the floors to save them from sticky floors when they come in later on today. The bell rings and the door opens to three men walking in. I wait for someone to tell them we’re closed but no one does. The tall slim one in all black sits at the bar and the other two go into the back. My heart rate slows as I look around for D, when I don't see him I keep my head down mopping until D comes from in the back. He greets the man and pours him something top shelf.I continue mopping until I see Diego motioning for me to come over. I do and he looks nervous. He hands me his keys. “Go wait in the car” he says handing me his keys.

“My coat” I remind D, and he nods, getting it from behind the bar for me.

“I don’t remember hiring you,” the guy drinking at the bar says, stopping me in my tracks. His voice is smooth and his eyes are too easy for him to be anything but trouble. The tattoo on his neck tells me he’s bad news, as well as how rigid D’s posture is behind me.

“She’s a friend, came to help me out” Diego says, being oddly submissive. I look up at him confused. He has at least a hundred pounds of muscle on this guy and he’s afraid of no one. The guy turns to face us and his hands go in his pockets as he gives me a slow once over. He’s hard to read.

“I didn’t know we needed help and I don’t remember getting a text that you’d have someone else closing with you” he adds. His speech is slow and calm which adds to the sense of danger about him.

“I was headed home, came by for a drink and it was getting crazy in here. I just wanted to help out” I explain and the man gives a half smile but it only makes me more uneasy.

“There are health codes, forms, certifications and things we need in case something comes up or a by-law officer stops by.  I need to know who’s behind my bar. Who’s serving my customers.” he doubles looking at D.

“I said she’s a friend,” Diego grits in response. The man’s jaw clenches but he turns around.

“Shit hits the fan, you’ll have to deal with it, not me” he says going back to his drink and I hurry out of the bar. I have a million questions but I don’t ask any the entire ride home. My mind goes to a hundred scenarios, landing on one every time if D needed money why didn't he ask me for some. If it was for protection didn’t he know better than to get mixed up with men like … whoever that was? The car slows to a stop in front of my condo and he puts it in park handing my tips.

“Take care, and if Jason needs a clue let me know” he says before kissing my cheek.

“Thanks” I smile and he hands me another jar. I smile when I realize they’re tequila soaked cherries. “Sorry for the trouble” I apologize.

“My cousin is OCD about people,” he shrugs.

“Ok” I nod wondering why I don't know this one of Diego’s cousins or that he was the bar owner. I don't push, instead I hug my friend and trust our bond before heading into the building, into the elevator and into the apartment I share with my sister.

authors note: well that's all for now folks. see you around for the next part. don't forget to ❣ Like, ❝ Comment, ↺ Reblog

click here to ✮ join taglist ✮ and be notified when it drops.

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[vxnuslogy]

— to you, who finally saw the sun.

pairing: sunday x gn!reader

premise: to you, who finally saw the sun, i bid you one final farewell.

— warnings: angst (kinda, i also dont know), bittersweet goodbyes, they do kiss yippie, written before the 2.7 update.

— author’s notes: in honor of getting e1s1 sunday, have this actual final stellaronhunter!sunday fic. art credits to 隐世樱yyy on weibo. also, fun little easter egg, colored texts are a reference to previous stellaronhunter!sunday fics i've made, so yeah!! maximum emotional damage!!!!!| ~2.8k words.

— tags: @ryescapades @mitsvriii @https-sourlimes @dazaisms @st6rly @pneumosia @tetrachrxmacy ; if you'd like to be tagged, please fill out the forms on my pinned or post or send me an ask off anon!!

how long has it been since sunday played the piano?

he can’t quite remember the last time he pressed a finger to the delicate white notes and let its noise resound in the room. but he does recount the harsh judgemental stare his instructor had whenever he made a mistake—a note lingering too long and going off course, it always led to the snap of a ruler to his wrist.

“do you play?” a voice from behind asked.

sunday turned around to capture the stars in your eyes. when he met your gaze halfway, a gentle smile grazed his lips before his golden eyes skidded to the instrument once more. “yes, i do. though i have not played in years.”

he heard the click of your shoes as you approached. sunday took a peek from the corner of his eyes as you longingly stared at the grand piano in front of you both. your gloved hands gliding over the polished wood before you eventually sat down by the small stool. you turn your head to him, hair fluttering with the wind as he feels the remaining breath in his lungs be taken away because of your smile. you patted down the space beside you and sunday reluctantly took it.

“will you play me a song?” your request was nothing but a small plea, one exhale away from crumbling. sunday didn’t know about that—he never will. you mask the desperation in your voice when the first note rang and sunday looked at you with a smile.

“i apologize if it sounds rusty,” he looked bashful and bare in this light. drapes of white clouds, dark blue galaxies, and golden suns hang from his body and you couldn’t help but stare. the wings behind his ears flutter in embarrassment with your silence so you laugh—forced, melancholic, and unlike you. 

“i’ll love anything you play, sunday.” and you weren’t lying.

when the following notes soon echoed in the empty music room that was once reserved for only kafka, you let your desire to be close to him consume your entire being. sunday flinched slightly when your head fell on his shoulder, but didn’t shrug you off. with a flustered clear of his throat he continued.

sunday played the piano like it would be his last performance—forever caging himself to the audience after this performance to never take the stage again. he felt your emotions like they were tangible items courtesy to the halo behind his head, because the following song, he briefly muttered “for you” under his breath.

you both relished the moment spent by each other’s side. 

to sunday, this song was dedicated to the person who dragged him onto the stage once more. despite all his reluctance, difficult attitude, and past grudges, he will always bathe you in a golden light like the followers of xipe. singing choirs about your greatness till the end of time as he remained as your faithful follower. this was his thank you to you, and he felt it would never quite repay the kindness you’ve given him.

but to you, this was goodbye. each note, though filled with tender affection and cherished dreams, pinched at your heart like tiny pins and needles. you looked up to gaze at his face—calm, moved on from the past, and freed. though not fully, his contract with jade still remains, he was as free as the express travelling the cosmos. 

this was goodbye.

“will you play a song for me too, sunny?” a voice from the entrance joked.

there stood kafka, in her usual attire but without the coat, leaning by the door frame with arms crossed over her chest. you chuckled as sunday hid his embarrassed and flushed face, finding an excuse to say “no.” because everyone knew—order or finality—that sunday will only play for you.

“nothing to worry about angel,” kafka seemed solemn as she cleared her throat. she motioned for both of you to get up and follow her. “new mission is here. be sure to do your best, m’kay?”

sunday furrowed his brows as his wings twitched in confusion. kafka only took a few steps forward before leaving you two alone once more. you shook your head as you took his gloved hand in yours and tugged him in the direction of his new home. even though it's been a while since he joined, sunday still never voiced his worries—a habit you hope will slowly die out once he arrives at the boarding station.

“where are we going this time?” he asked. now he only realized your new attire and he feels his eyes wander. a black undershirt and pants, layered with a white asymmetrical coat. the gold cuffs of your sleeves caught the moonlight and casted a faint glow of your tears. sunday doesn’t get the chance to say something when a body crashed onto his back.

“good luck, mister,” silver wolf buried her face onto his back. arms tightly wrapped around his waist. if you looked closely, you would notice the way she slowly started stepping back—trying to prevent sunday from going out the doors he once entered from.

but sunday only chuckled. he turned to face the girl, patted her head and squatted down to her height as he slowly tried to pry the arms hiding her tear stained face. “it’s going to be alright, i have [name] with me, remember? they’re elio’s favorite, remember?”

the girl gripped the sleeves of his coat with an iron grip. sunday frowned in sadness, he hated seeing the girl so upset over a mission. and all you did was stand there, motionless as the clock by your waist continued to tick.

“sunday.” you call and you don’t know what shattered you the most: silver wolf’s fresh tears, or how sunday cradled and shielded her from your harsh reality.

silver wolf eventually peeled herself away. with a harsh motion, she wiped away all her tears and returned to her quirky self, “you better beat the final boss! if you don’t, then don’t bother to show yourself to me ever again!”

sunday nodded and once he reached your side, he waved the silver haired girl goodbye and fell into the same steps as you. each turn, each stairway taken to reach the skies, it drowns your lungs in realization. and like the time when you were both drenched in the rain, the ticket in your back pocket suddenly felt heavier than it should.

“leaving without as much as a word?” 

you both stopped in your tracks and turned around. the hallway was dimmed, your only witness being the moon in its full glory. sunday was the first to break the delicate silence with a soft utter of ignorance, something you never realized could happen.

���a mission that requires both of us,” he replied, a sketchy smile on his lips as he slowly shielded your vision of the immortal man from view. “we won’t take long. it won’t end like it did back in the capital of passion. i promise.”

you felt blade’s judgeful stare before he let out a heavy sigh. he threw a small journal bound by beds of stars onto his hands and handed you a sheathed sword. “i expect you to be back before dawn.”

sunday nodded and you don’t have the heart to tell him that blade wasn’t speaking to nor about him. 

“sunday wait!”

right when you were about to board your car—a testimony to your genius in engineering, sunday still wondered how you got it to work like the express. firefly ran out the door with nothing but her sleep attire. she clutched a small item to her chest as sunday looked at you. you hated the look of expectation in his irises, but you still relent. with a heavy sigh, you muttered, ‘5 minutes’ before you entered the car. sunday nodded like an obedient servant and met firefly halfway.

“i–!” she tried to find the words to say, but they always fell short by the time a sound escaped her lips. but sunday was understanding, he was kind, so he waited. like a dutiful older brother letting his baby sister come out of her shell.

beats of silence passed before firefly settled on a simple goodbye, “please take care on your mission.” she took his hand and handed him a small pen. his name delicately engraved on the fountain pen’s cap in her handwriting. 

the wind howled and she shivered. and like a moment right before a mission started and ended, sunday took off the white hood over his shoulders and draped it over her. “thank you, firefly. i’ll be sure to put it to good use.”

sunday wished firefly told him the rest of her thoughts, but he saved them for another time he will never have. even as he buckled the seatbelt in your car and drove off, firefly tried to chase after you. and if he looked close enough, soft glimmers of hopeful tears would be seen.

“you never answered my question.”

you looked at him from the rearview mirror. the way he carefully placed the fountain pen in the journal and the way he softly grazed the cover—afraid that the small book would shatter under his fingertips.

“it must have slipped my mind. what was your question again?”

“where are we going?”

you wet your lips and tighten the hold on the steering wheel. you don’t answer immediately. instead, you let your vehicle warp through space like a nameless traveler through the stars. when you start unbuckling your seatbelt, sunday follows shortly and you both get out.

“penacony.”

sunday feels his vision blur and merge into one giant puddle. he feels you drape another hood identical to the one he gave firefly as you harshly tugged it over his head. your hand finding its way to his and tug him towards a familiar direction.

“h-hold on!” he cries out in a desperate plea, but you don’t turn around. “what business could we have in penacony?! and,” sunday’s eyes wander again over your figure and feels dread start to bubble in his stomach—you weren’t wearing a disguise like you did in past missions.

you don’t answer and sunday feels his wings hug his abdomen tighter and tighter. he can already imagine the ghostly hands of the family—even under robin’s guidance—do unspeakable things to you. sunday can’t have that, he will never allow you to be caged in their clutches like they did with him. so with all the force he could muster, all the while being mindful of your comfort, he caught your wrist in a firm hold and turned around. tugging you in the direction of your home.

“sunday.”

“apologies, but i promised blade. bare with me for a moment longer.”

“sunday.”

“[name], please.”

“sunday.”

“cease the uttering of my name! do you not understand the position we are in right now?!”

sunday never shouts—not in anger, but in worry. he takes gulfs of air into his lungs as if he’s being dragged to the bottom of the ocean as he looks at you with blown eyes. his wings flapping erratically, fanning the reddening of his face as the pair by his waist briefly flutters. if you close your eyes and listen carefully, you can hear the soft clinks of the golden exoskeleton you created just for him.

“sunday,”

“i believe this is where your journey ends, mister sunday.”

“our story is over.”

you feel the world still as small orbs of danger surround you both. a man with whiting hair stands behind him, a cane glowing in pink as you feel your body grow heavier and heavier. welt pushes his glasses up and lets his eyes fall to you.

“[name].” he says in a tense tone. the grip on his cane so tight you’d argue beneath the gloves he wore, his knuckles were turning white in confusion.

“mr. yang.” you reply back, calmer than the loud beating inside the column of bones inside your chest. “please let him go.”

the older gentleman debated in his mind. before sunday could raise a hand, you step forward and force him to face you. you feel your body go back to normal and you sigh. sunday on the other hand, remains on guard as the golden eyes you grew fond off stared at you with emotions that could only be named as betrayal.

“the express misses you, [name].” welt says, “it won’t hurt to say goodbye to them.”

you only nod bitterly. “thank you, mr. yang. but there’s really no need.”

“what do you mean our story is over?” you hear sunday murmur.

you take a shaky deep breath, of all the ways he could ask, why did he do it as if he was about to cry? you shut your eyes tightly, you let your desires consume you again as you interlace your hands together in one final hold before you relax and exhale. when you open your eyes, you feel tears drop one by one like idrila’s blood. welt stays motionless behind him, looking at you both in confliction.

“welt,” you lower both your hands, stepping in front of the angel. “i know this isn’t the reunion you had hoped for. but please believe me when i say that we come in peace. i’ve come to return what is lost.”

welt’s frown deepens, “i take it you aren’t talking about yourself.”

“no, and i never will.” you feel sunday’s arm snake around your waist and his head fall on your shoulder. and suddenly, it felt like your shopping trip with the rest of the hunters was today.

“please wait for us by the golden hour.”

“no…” sunday weakly protests. “i can’t leave, i won’t allow myself.”

“welt. please.”

“mr. yang, please don’t.”

“welt–”

“i’ll wait.” the older man says in a rushed tone. he was quick to turn around and start walking away. it was unlike him, but you don’t blame him. after all, the missing child of the express was now found and the previous head of the oak family were together—with conflicting convictions to top it.

his steps grew fainter and fainter until all you could feel was sunday’s tears and his quiet whimpers, begging you to not let him go.

“sunday,” you mutter, slowly facing him. “our story is over. you need to go.”

“what about you… will you stay behind?”

“i have to.”

“no you don’t!” his volume rises as his arms tighten around your waist. “you can come with me. they’ve been looking for you, they’ll accept you! so please, don’t make me lose you, too.”

you chuckle, and for the first time tonight, you smile genuinely. “silly bird, you’re not going to lose me.”

“but i already have…”

you frown. you try to pull away from his embrace but he still keeps you caged in his arms. “sunday, will you play me a song?”

“enough, please.”

you pat down his hair, pull away just an inch, and cradle his face. “sing me a song about adventures and stars. can you do that?”

“will you come with me if i do?”

you shake your head no and he dives his face into the crook of your neck again. you laugh in disbelief at his stubbornness. it reminds you of the time he first started to try and take flight. how long ago was that memory? you can’t quite put a number on it but it no longer matters.

“sunday,” you sing his name like a song to be remembered. reaching into your back pocket, you take out a golden ticket and gently lay it flat on sunday’s palm. when you meet his eyes again, his wings obscure half of his face. you gently push them away and rub away the tears staining his cheeks and press your foreheads together. “perform. not for me, but the world. your stage is set, all you need to do is step on it.”

his gloved hands hold yours, you feel his head turn for his lips to meet the palm of your hand as presses a soft kiss that leaves the spot tingling. “will you watch me play?”

you drag a knuckle down his nose, an action too affectionate for people who claim to be just “comrades.” suddenly it dawns on you that kafka’s teasing, firefly’s giggles, silver wolf’s eye rolling, blade’s huffs and elio’s script all align for this moment. with a careful step forward, you invade the line with the words “comrades” and look up. you feel his breath on your lips and you smile.

“for all eternity, my eyes will always be yours.” you stand on your toes and press your lips together in a final goodbye. his arms hug your waist just a tad bit tensely as sunday tries his reciprocate—but in the back of your mind, you know he doesn’t have to try. sunday loves you like it's as easy as breathing.

“sunday, congratulations. you’ve finally seen the sun.”

© vxnuslogy 2024. please do not copy, repost, or translate any of my works.

[plor-bindery]

Bound: Our Objective Remains Unchanged

This is a collab with @kissmypoets-hp!!! They did the cover art and also collaborated with me on the typeset using their mad InDesign skills. I did the printing and binding.

The book copy I sent to Kiss just arrived, so I can share. (I’ve promised a copy to the author too, but we’ve also been chatting collabs so we’ve agreed it will come a little later…yay!)

The fic is, of course, the amazing Oxford rowing AU by @citrusses, Our Objective Remains Unchanged.

Kiss has been making all these beautiful digital covers in the Penguin Classics style and using classic artworks for the cover image. I asked whether we could collab on making one of these into a real paperback as I was learning how to do paperback binding, and they said yes! We settled on this fic because we both love it to pieces. Harry’s characterization is so sharp and real and yet so faithful to canon even in a muggle AU. Citrusses’ world-building is rich and delicious. And her Draco is heartbreaking and perfect.

The photos!

Process and materials under the cut.

Materials:

This was not my first attempt at a paperback with a colour printed cover — the actual first is still in the mail, so remains secret — but I was definitely still working out a technique here. I wound up using a heavier print paper and having Staples do the printing, then sealing with matte Mod Podge spray acrylic.

The text block was more straightforward — just ledger quarto paper 24#, double fan bind. I printed using my home laser black printer which has some pretty big margins, so I had to set up the typeset to accommodate some bigger trims to make Kiss’s full bleed artwork work properly.

Process:

The cover was the struggle. Staples does colour prints with toner, not ink, and the toner likes to crack and flake where the paper is scored/bent. The Mod Podge helps a bit. I still had to touch up with a sharpie in places, lol. I am also still figuring out how to score and fold neatly so the spine is centered. Add to this the headache and cost and wait to get stuff printed by them, and it wound up being quite high-stakes to get the covers done this way.

I also have been following Das’s method where you clamp the glued spine of the block (pre-cover) using two strips of wood, and I think I am over-clamping because the spine is often concave when dry. Next go, I will try no clamping and see how it goes.

But! I have recently acquired a colour inkjet printer! That does wide format and borderless! And has ink tanks!!! So more paperbacks are coming for sure. Also probably some hardcovers with wraps.

All told, it was a delightful process collaborating with Kiss and I would 💯 do it again in a heartbeat. I learned so much working with them!

[melpomenelamusa]

Melpómene´s whump stories archive

To celebrate the new year, I've decided to share with you some of my favorite whump stories I read this year as a thank you to all the authors who share a little bit of their world with us 💜✨

My plan is to update this list annually and have it function as a sort of personal archive for me, hehe, but you can use it too if you'd like! 😁

Smile for the camera! (by @morning-star-whump ): A boy is kidnapped by a psychopath from the deep web. His parents and his little boyfriend try to find him (Andre Vazquez is the best character).

Shattered (by @oddsconvert): An anti-human-blood-drinking vampire doctor tries to save the life of a human who for years was the bloodbag of a vampire I really hate.

Total $hit$how (by @befuddled-calico-whump): 5 misfits escaping prison for their criminal records are hired by a mysterious organization to stop another mysterious, but more evil, sci-fi organization (Benji, my son).

Darius & Mianu (by @geode-crystal): A traumatized prince and his faithful knight/boyfriend want to live happily ever after, but something always happens.

The Bahkauv (by @deluxewhump): Three friends decide to buy a magical creature to study; but what seemed like nothing more than a monster or an animal may turn out to be a companion.

Overloaded (by @fleur-a-whump): The son of a supervillain wants to join the good guys, but discovers that "heroes" can be just as cruel as villains.

Blood and tears (by @whumpisgoodwhumpislife): A little half-vampire is suffering too much and a human decides to take care of him and protect him (They are both my babies).

Voyagers (by @sorrowful-hyacinth): A jerk sea captain captures a jerk mermaid prince and they torture each other. They both deserve it because they're such bastards, but you also feel bad for them and it's complicated.

A taste of your own medicine (by @oddsconvert): Whumper gets kidnapped and torture along with his ex-whumpee by an even evil whumper. Only one person is having fun here.

With me (by @greatgigintheskiess): A bitter guy living in the woods accidentally rescues a little boy who escaped from an evil laboratory. Parental caretaker my beloved.

Humanity Collector (by @rabbit-flaying): A cosmic creature who likes to collect human things decides to add a real human to its collection (A cosmic horror one-shot).

Writemas 2024 (by @tildeathiwillwrite): A woman suffers the mysterious death (or murder?) of her husband. This is the kind of story I would love to read in a printed book and recommend to my entire family.

Whumpcember 2024 (by @kabie-whump): An evil wizard has turned Santa's reindeer into humans, who now have to live with their new bodies. A series of shorts with very interesting and cute characters that I definitely need to keep reading if I could.

Speedster (by @writinglittlepains): A superhero with super speed is captured, experimented on, and tortured by a supervillain who wants to steal people's powers.

Guilt & Revenge (by @what-if-i-just-did): A traumatized ex-bully is kidnapped by the kids he used to bully as a kid because he couldn't afford therapy and is brutally tortured by those who actually happened to be the ones who needed therapy.

We Are TroubleD (by @whumpty-dumpty-doo): Two best friends are kidnapped by a guy who originally planned to capture one of them for ransom, but now is just torturing them for fun.

[starcurtain]

What do you think about Sunday and Aventurine? and their interaction in 2.1, I know Sunday did what he had to do but I just have a strong dislike for him ever since. He is an interesting character though.

I mentioned on a previous ask that I wanted to talk about narrative foils/character parallels, and that ask mentioned Aventurine being similar to Robin and a little to Sunday. But I thought I'd combine that character foils idea with this post about Sunday because...

Aventurine and Sunday are Near Perfect Character Parallels

(Also sorry to Youtuber Fayato who I screencapped this image from; I literally couldn't find a single other good image of Aventurine and Sunday in the same frame!)

In media, the concept of the narrative foil refers to a character who contrasts another character; by setting the two characters and their plots side by side, the audience is better able to understand the traits of the central character.

And by setting two surprisingly similar characters in opposition to each other, it becomes very clear how even those facing similar circumstances can take diametrically opposed paths in life.

First, let's start with the basics:

Aventurine and Sunday are both characters whose real fathers were never in the picture, and who lost their mothers right in front of their eyes to traumatizing events.

They both experienced the violent deaths ("death" in Sunday's case) of their sisters.

They both were "rescued" by people who intended to use them by growing them ("grooming them" in Sunday's case) into a figure of authority.

They were both told they were "chosen ones" growing up. And yet ultimately this status as the chosen one is in doubt: Aventurine isn't sure if his family's faith is real, while Gopher Wood tells Sunday that Penacony's chosen should have been Robin all along.

They both became self-sacrificial, Aventurine through his obvious willingness to throw his life away, and Sunday through his plan to remain outside the sweet dream to be its keeper while everyone else got to live in "paradise."

They both are trapped by their situations, Sunday by his inability to leave the cage, Aventurine by his inability to accept the life he isn't able to throw away.

They both became the "villain" of their respective patches and both faced "death."

Personality-wise, they both strongly favor being in control, to the point that their scene together is an aggressive power struggle over each other.

This is how the "future" Aventurine describes himself:

Does it sound familiar? It should, since that's exactly how people describe Sunday.

But they also both prioritize their families, and they are equally altruistic at the core while seemingly self-centered on the exterior.

They both, of course, have the blessing of an aeon.

And here's where I'm going to take a massive tangent, but it's important: I do tend to be among those who think there is at least some connection between Ena, the Order, and Gaiathra.

I've heard all sorts of reasons that they can't be two different concepts for the same being, from the whole "Gaiathra is a goddess of trickery and that's not related to order" to the whole "the Order's followers worship with song while Gaiathra's followers specifically don't," but I think something that has been missing from the discussion of Ena and Gaiathra's possible connection is that "Order" as a concept has entirely different definitions depending on which cultural context you approach it from.

The most mainstream modern concept of "Order" is something that is imposed: A power from on high descends to quell the chaos of the mortal world, to "bring order" through guidance to humanity. This is very Abrahamic, very modern Christian, and that is reflected in the imagery surrounding Sunday. Sunday, as a manifestation of the Order's power, believes he will be able to uplift Penacony from the mire, free people from their unfulfilled desires and confusion, and bring about perpetual peace by enforcing his understanding of harmony on the populace trapped in the dream.

Sunday's Order is not the natural state of the world but something that must be carefully cultivated and maintained, a constant battle against the chaotic forces of life and its temptations. This type of "Order" promises an idyllic future, but at the cost of the present freedom of everyone who submits to the law, who must surrender their original fate for a structured sweet dream.

We understand this concept of "Order" because at its core, it's the one that modern societies largely embrace--ruling authorities establish laws that must be followed at all costs, even when they risk the freedoms of individuals, because they ultimately (supposedly) support a greater good. A majority of society adheres to the laws handed down from on-high, and life functions relatively stably.

Yet this conception of "Order" is predicated on the idea that the course of people's lives is decided first and foremost by the people themselves--which is why they can make mistakes, go astray, and need to be shepherded in the first place.

Without imposing structure through authoritarian power, this type of "Order" will crumble away in an instant, because this view assumes that rightness can only created by humanity, and that chaos--not order--is the natural state of existence.

Ena, who holds worlds tidily contained in her hands, who is tangled in puppet strings, who wears a hood like a nun or the Virgin Mary, and who is haloed like a Christian angel, clearly represents this definition of "Order" to a T.

But... this is not how humanity has always defined "Order."

It was not always taken for granted that people had the power of self-determination, and in fact, for many centuries and across many cultures, the concept of "the order of the world" was tied directly to the concept of destiny. Whether a volcano would explode and destroy your entire civilization, whether floods would swallow your city, whether the crops would grow or fail all depended on the pre-made decisions of supernatural powers, who were in turn often personified concepts of the natural world itself. What happened to any given individual, what twists and turns their life would take, whether they would achieve their dreams or not--all these aspects were also predetermined, decided not by the actions of the individual but by fate itself.

Thus, the world and everything in it has a natural order. Things may seem chaotic, they may even seem unbelievably horrible, but all events in existence unfold as they should. We may not understand why, but everything occurs in due course, woven into an endlessly repeating pattern on the fates' loom--spring becomes summer, life becomes death, disasters happen and are healed from, children are born and grow old. If it is your fate to die, you will. If it is your fate to fight and live, you will. To reject this natural order would be as futile as telling the sun not to rise.

The words "order" and "ordained" have the same origin.

Enter Gaiathra. First of all, she is the Star Rail equivalent of a pagan goddess--her worship exists separate of the confirmed existence of aeons, by an uncontacted and non-space-faring race. Even her description, being triple-eyed, evokes other "triple goddess" figures across history, both in modern interpretations (the triple goddess of Neopaganism) and in ancient mythologies (the three fates of Greece, the Tridevi of Hindu culture, etc.).

She is strongly associated with the natural world: The planet of Sigonia is said to be a manifestation of her very body, the rain is her blessing and acknowledgment, and she goes through a yearly cycle of death and rebirth (calling the cycle of the seasons to mind). She is said to be a goddess of both fertility and travel (likely in the sense of nomadic wandering by the time Aventurine was born). Avgin worship of the goddess manifests in the form of sacrificial cyclic knots.

Which might call to mind another pagan culture well-known for their cyclic knots: the Celts, whose famous Celtic knots represent cycles of eternity, unity, and the interconnected nature of life itself.

The Avgin prayer to Gaiathra focuses on elements of a person's life that all might be determined by "fate"--will your blood keep flowing, will your journey be peaceful, will your schemes stay hidden? It hopes that things will be as they should, that the future ahead of you is predetermined to be a good one, and that the cycle of life decided by the goddess will be in one's favor.

But while the Avgin hope for good things, they also strongly espouse embracing the reality of one's life, with suffering and hardships seen as manifestations of fate that should be accepted as facts of life. It is said that any society blessed by the Order ultimately falls--is it not the natural fate of all societies to one day fall? For mankind to return to the dust and be reborn anew?

Whatever will be, will be.

There is a reason--a logic--an order--to everything that happens.

I hope you can see where I'm going with this: While Sunday and Ena represent the concept of "Order" as a result of self-determination, a power "the strong" can wield to overcome the inherent chaos of reality, Aventurine and Gaiathra represent a different, older concept of "Order" (I can't help but see the entirely separate eye lurking behind Ena?): existence is not inherently chaotic but instead is foreordained, following endless orderly cycles life and death, weal and woe, rise and fall.

PHEW! Okay, so all of that to say Aventurine and Sunday make perfect parallels through a mirror darkly, even when it comes to the blessings they've been granted: One imposes order from on high; one continually rolls the dice despite knowing the inevitable outcome.

Both of their stories are entirely intertwined with the concept of fate, whether by opposing it...

Or accepting it.

And even at the end of Penacony, we leave both Sunday and Aventurine in precarious positions. Aventurine, while ostensibly "victorious," faces another roll of the dice immediately after Penacony, when his future as a Stoneheart is called into question. Yet "fate" comes through for him again--his bet, as always, comes true. His future isn't in question--it is the question itself. What's next? He finally wants to live to find out.

Sunday, meanwhile, ends Penacony's arc in a truly difficult place. He's virtually exiled from the only home he's ever known, a flightless bird tossed out of his cage into cold hard reality. He has to find an entirely new way forward and may even be forced to reckon with an entirely new definition of "Order" itself.

The parallels between these two characters are entirely intentional and very, very blatant, and I am exceedingly interested in seeing whether their paths diverge or continue to reflect similar fates moving forward.

So uhhh... that's what I think of Sunday? 😂

[aemondapologistfrfr]

Command Me 2/2

knight!benji blackwood x strong!fem!reader

Part One

Summary: The following days after Brandon’s death your emotions are all over the place. You make a confession and a plea to Benji who will do anything to see you happy. 

Warnings: 18+ mentions of death and murder, swearing, oral(f receiving), fingering, p in v, breeding kink, preg!reader for a bit but no birth scene, face riding, nipple play, smutty and sweet, time jumps bc i can, 2% angsty in the beginning 

Authors Note: finishing up @chainsawsangel request, they deserve a happy ending fr

Word Count: 3.1k

⊹˚₊‧꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

Two days after Brandon’s death

I sit in my chambers with Benji at my side and my mother in front of me silently talking to me. I nod my head not taking in any of her words as Jace eyes me from the hearth. Benji rests his hand on mine and I look down and smile up to him. I turn my head back to my mother as I feel a tear slip down my cheek. 

“My sweet girl.” she coos pulling me into a hug. I don’t even know why I’m so emotional. I asked Benji to do this and I loathed Brandon. I’m just never good when it comes to dealing with The Stranger. My mother rocks me as I let my tears flow and I sniffle and sit back. 

“The silent sisters said he’s ready to be buried.” Jace speaks up and I see him looking over me and Benji. “I don’t see why you insist on waiting and letting his body sit.” 

“We all mourn in our own ways.” Benji says from my side. 

“Mm, the ever faithful protector. Where were you when this happened then?” Jace walks over to the chairs. 

“Outside of my chambers. He’s sworn to me.” I say through my teeth. 

“That’s enough.” our mother stands. “His funeral will be held tomorrow and then we can begin to heal and move forward. Jace, come.” she nods her head along with her to the door. 

I relax back into the couch curling up within myself as Benjis hand grabs mine. I sigh and pull my hand away wrapping it around my legs. My feelings are everywhere right now and everyone is expecting me to act a certain way and I’m just feeling overwhelmed. 

“What’s wrong?” his words hushed as I turn to him and take in his furrowed brow. 

“I think I need to be alone.” I nod my head to him and he offers me a sad smile before slipping out of my chambers. 

I rush to my wardrobe and start sliding on my riding gear. I pull my boots on and I’m in the tunnels in an instant. I can’t stand to be in this castle a second longer. I race down the stairs and slip out the side of the Keep closest to the pits. From there I stitch my way through the city streets avoiding the guards. Relief pours through me as I start up the incline. I hear my dragons distinct rumbling and he’s coming up from the pits by the time I step foot in the dome. 

“Let’s disappear for a while.” I hum patting his snout. I begin to mount and as I secure my last clip Benji runs through the doors. 

“Princess wait, please,” he reaches up to me and my dragon jogs past him and shoots us into the sky. 

We cast a shadow over the city and my dragon offers them a fearsome cry. We swoop low to the buildings and then glide over the Blackwater. He drags his claws into the water encasing us in a mist. The sun kisses my face and dries my tears as we continue further from the city. We loop back around and enter the Kings Wood through the back hoping to go unnoticed offering us a couple hours of reprieve. 

My dragon starts a small fire for us before we curl around it. He brings his wing to canopy over me and I look up and admire his scales. I run my fingers against them as he chuffs and coos. We lay in silence and watch the sun start to dip under the trees. I feel a deep grumble come from my dragon and I’m on my feet in seconds. I quickly mount my dragon and we’re in the skies but not before I can see the hurt express across Benjis face. We land on the coast and the only sound is the waves crashing. 

“I killed my husband.” I look up at the moon. 

I kick off my boots and make quick work of the rest of my clothing. My dragon watches me curiously as I begin to step into the Bay. I dip my head under and swim out further. I hear my dragon offer low chuffs as I float near the sands. 

“Get back on this shore.” Benjis voice is muffled by the water in my ears. 

“No.” I sigh as I turn myself to float further away from the shore.

“Then I’m coming out there.” I hear him enter the Bay. His hand wraps around my arm and I look up to him. “What’s wrong, Princess?” he brushes my wet hair off of my face as I continue to float. 

“I’m sullied, I’ve sullied you, I’m a liar, and I’ve killed my husband.” I sigh and dip my head beneath the waves. Benji pulls me up and starts to carry me back to shore as I hold onto him. 

“You didn’t kill him, I did.” he sits us down on the sands. 

“Why did you kill him?” my voice barely audible as I try not to shiver at the breeze against my skin.

“You asked me to.” his eyes slide to mine. 

“Do you remember my wedding night?” I see him ball his fists. “You told me you would kill him in that very moment. Why did you want to?” I tilt my head studying him. 

“I was mad and frustrated with him. He treated you so poorly and kicked you out of his chambers after. He knew-“ he shakes his head sighing. “He knew, as well as everyone else in that castle, that I wanted you, that I still want you. He would tease you in front of me like some toy I could never have, but you’re not a toy. You’re smart and fearless and a bit reckless. You are to be Queen and should be treated as such.” his eyes finally meet my watery ones and I sniffle pulling him towards me. I can’t contain the small gasps that leave my mouth at the cool touch of his metal armor on my bare body. 

“I want to marry you, Benji. You take such good care of me.” I whisper as I burrow into his neck. His hands stay firmly on my waist as his fingers dig in. 

“We can’t.” he shakes his head. “I’m a knight and your sworn protector.” his voice strained as I stretch to unclip his armor. 

“You were a Lord before.” I hum lifting off his chest piece. “Lord Benjicot Blackwood of Raventree Hall. They call you Bloody Ben for all the accomplishments you achieved for my mother.” I take off his last piece while his fingers are still pressed firmly into my hips. 

“Y/n,” his voice wrecked. 

“Wed me, rule with me. Please Benji, I don’t want anyone else.” my hands start to pull up his shirt. 

“People will talk.” he grunts as I start to unlace his trousers. 

“Let them.” I kiss his neck. “Must I beg you to wed me?” I slip my hand beneath his trousers. 

“You will never have to beg me for anything.” his lips crash into mine and his hands finally begin to roam upon my exposed skin. He lays me on my back and places kisses down my torso before dipping his head between my thighs. 

“Benji,” I cry out as he offers me teasing licks. He chuckles against me before lashing at me with his tongue. My head falls back into the sand while whimpers cascade from my mouth. He holds me against his face as my legs begin to shake while coaxing pleasure from my body.  I arch off the sand as the coil snaps and my legs close around him. 

“Gods look at you in the moonlight.” he kisses up my body before capturing my lips. I gasp into his mouth as I feel his fingers slide through my sensitive core. He dips a finger in and chuckles against my mouth. He slips a second finger in and starts a slow lazy pace as I squirm beneath him. 

“Do you like the way I make you feel?” he asks curling his fingers pulling a moan from me. 

“Yes,” I mewl rocking my hips on his fingers. 

“You look so beautiful like this.” he starts to push his finger into me faster and I can’t contain the sounds coming out of me. “Come for me, Princess.” he murmurs into my neck before sinking his teeth into me. 

“Benji fuck,” I cling to him as I pulse around his ever moving fingers. “I need you in me, please,” my nails dig into his back. 

“You really want to marry me?” his voice low as he kneels up to push down his trousers. 

“I do,” I nod my head ignoring my ragged breathing.

“Do you want to have my children?” he slowly strokes himself and I open my legs wider for him. 

“Yes, Benji please,” I reach out to him.

“I’m going to fill you until my seed is seeping out of you and I’ll keep fucking and filling you until you’re swollen.” my body shudders at his words as he spreads my thighs. His tip slides around my wetness before he pushes into me. He rolls his hips into me and moans begin falling from my mouth. 

“So good, Benji fuck,” I whine as I feel my pleasure begin to wash through me. He leans down and kisses me fiercely as he pounds his hips into mine. I cling around him and I feel my stomach start to tighten. His thrusts get sloppier the more high pitched my whines are. He bursts inside me as my toes curl while I contract around him. 

“Taking it all so well,” he rasps as he continues to push his hips into mine. He dips down and licks across my lips. I open my mouth letting his tongue coax small gasps and moans from me. “When these fill with milk I’ll be tempted not to even let you leave our chambers.” he chuckles rolling my nipples. 

“Benji,” I move my hips and he pushes into me deeper. He shushes me as he continues to roll his hips into me. I writhe beneath him as he litters kisses and bites across my chest. I start to feel him harden the more he pumps into me. He brings a finger down to swirl against my bud and I come undone as he begins to start pushing into me. 

“Squeezing me so good.” his fingers dig into my sides as he makes my hips meet his. I wrap my legs around his waist and cry out as his hips snap into me. I feel my high approaching again and Benjis thrusts become more erratic. As he starts to fill me again I come crying out his name. He pulls out and looks down with pleasure glazed eyes. 

“Look at you dipping with my seed.” he slides two fingers around and starts pumping it back into me. My hips jerk at his touch as my legs shake. 

“Benji,” my voice cracks as his tongue licks against my bud. “I’m gunna-“ a cry tears from my throat as I come again with my eyes rolling back. 

“You’re perfect.” he hums laying down in the sand next to me. 

⊹˚₊‧꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

Six months after wedding 

I walk down the main steps of the Keep with Benji hovering around me keeping both hands on me at all times. Once we make it to the bottom I huff and bat his hands away. I should’ve know that since he was overbearing as my sworn protector he would be so much worse as I’m carrying his child. 

“You’re lucky I didn’t carry you down the stairs.” he says bringing a hand to my lower back and holding my arm with the other. 

“Benji I’m not going to break.” I sigh. “I just want to go for a walk around the grounds.” I pout looking up at him. 

“We are going for a walk.” he hums leading me out of the main doors. 

“I don’t need your hands guiding my every step.” I try not to snap. 

“I just want to help you and touch you. My beautiful wife.” he coos sliding a hand to my swollen bump. “Men need to know you’re mine.” his voice low.

“They know I’m yours, husband.” I look up to him and place my hand over his on my stomach. 

“I still see the way men look at you. Makes me want to take you in front of them.” he dips down to my ear. 

“Benji,” I breathe out. 

“Spread these beautiful thighs of yours and lick you until you cry.” his arms pull me closer. “And then-“ 

“Benji, please,” I mewl feeling my wetness pool between my legs. 

“Look at you all worked up.” he chuckles gazing down at me. “You wanted to go on a walk not come, so let’s go.” I follow after him with pink cheeks. I wrap my arm around his as he leads us through the gardens. 

“What else would you do?” I whisper and he turns to me with a smirk. 

“It might be too scandalous for the gardens.” his lips brush against my ear. 

“Tell me.” I whine breathlessly. 

“Let’s go back to our chambers.” I nod tugging him back to the main doors. 

Once we’re sealed in our chambers he starts to unlace my dress before sliding it down my body. He groans kneading the tender flesh of my breasts. I let out soft whimpers as he ghosts across my nipples. He pulls the slip off of me and brings his hands to my bump while pressing his lips against mine. I pull up on his shirt and he pulls it off and is stepping out of his trousers a moment later. I sigh feeling his skin on mine and his hands caressing my body. 

“Benji,” I whine against his lips as his fingers trail over my slit. 

“Yes, Princess?” his fingers spread into my wetness and swirl over my sensitive bud. 

“I’m gunna come,” I cling onto his arms getting lost in him.

“I just started touching you.” he chuckles speeding up his fingers. 

“Benji please,” I whine as my body goes taught coming undone. 

“Someone’s sensitive today.” he purrs backing me to the bed. “Sit on my face.” he lays out on the bed pulling me to him. 

“I’ll suffocate you.” my cheeks heat. 

“Then I’ll die happy. Let’s go.” he helps me straddle his face. He licks a long stripe up my center and my whole body trembles. My legs start to shake as I lean my head back letting the whimpers trickle out. I grind against his face as my pleasure starts to wash through me. He holds me closer as his tongue slips through my wetness before pushing into me. 

“Benji, it’s too much I’m gunna-“ I squeeze my legs around his face as he laps up my release. His tongue continues to lick sending aftershocks through me. He helps me off of him and lays me next to him on my back. 

“I just wanna keep making you come, my beautiful wife.” he kisses against my chest while trailing a hand down to my core. His tongue circles nipple and I squeeze my thighs shut before he can even reach my wetness. He chuckles against my nipple and I melt beneath him. He pulls his other hand up from my thighs and brings it to my neglected breast. He kneads into me softly as I mewl above him. 

“Yes,” I pant breathlessly holding him against me. His teeth graze against my peak while his fingers roll my other and I come undone. 

“I know you can give me more.” he purrs slipping his hand down to my core. 

⊹˚₊‧꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

Four years after wedding

I hold tightly to my daughter who’s clipped against me. My dragon soars through the clouds as she giggles wildly in my arms. Her baby dragon flies next to us crying out. I was absolutely terrified to bring her with on dragon back the first time but my dragon was calm and accommodating. As we land in the pits her dragon comes bounding in stumbling on his lengthy legs. We slide down off the side and I unclip her so she can run over to her dragon hugging him tightly. 

“She may steal your title for youngest dragon rider.” Benji kisses me before pulling me into a hug. 

“Her dragon has grown quite fast.” we look at our daughter playing with her dragon. “Did she show you which one she picked out?” I turn to him with a smile and he shakes his head no.

“Let’s go show daddy which egg you picked out for the babe.” I kneel down holding my arms out for her. She runs into my arms and I scoop her up. 

We travel down the incline and turn into the hot room where they house the clutches. Our daughter wiggles out of my arms before grabbing Benjis hand and dragging him to the back wall. 

“He’s gunna have this red one.” she lays her little palm on the egg. 

“He?” Benji turns to me with a smile. 

“She’s decided she’s having a brother.” I smile rubbing my bump. 

⊹˚₊‧꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

Just under five years after the wedding

“If the family tradition keeps up like this your grandchildren will come out on dragonback.” my mother chuckles next to me bouncing my son on her hip as we watch my daughter fly around the courtyard a couple moons shy of five. 

“Did you hear that his is already spitting fire.” I sigh brushing his hair back. 

“I wouldn’t expect anything else.” she smiles to me. “I’m happy to see you content.” 

“I am.” I smile as Benji scoops up our daughter before jogging over to us. My mother hands off my son to me before sweeping out of the courtyard. 

“My perfect family.” he showers all of us with kisses before pulling us into a hug. 

⊹˚₊‧꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

masterlist 🔌 

i’ve been neglecting the His Wife mini series but this def got the ball rolling again for me 

taglist ✍️ 

@clarityisnofun @callsignwidow @gabriella-aesthetic @llynx7 @violetiss3lfish @ka1afbr @akiko-oo @papichulo120627 @lizzylovebooks280501 @thatgirl101blog @ashovertheriver @zanygot7straykidsbonk @hueanhdang @malfoycassimalfoy @april-notthemonth69 @anaviieiraaa @p45510n4f4shin0n

[hollisxwrites]

Hiii!!! I was wondering if you could do a Percy x Reader, where it’s a friends to lovers kind of thing, they have kind of a childish relationship, and they confess their feelings towards each other when Percy gets a bit jealous of the reader and Grover being close? If not that’s 100% okay! And either way I hope you have a good day or night xx🤍

our goat man friend did the underwater jig

percy jackson x fem reader

word count: 1.6k maybe?

authors note: GUYS. i love you all. thank you for supporting me and my work, I have 3k notes now, and 70 followers. i owe this all to you, and i am so proud of the work that i have done so far. i think this is the most unserious fic i have written; i wrote this at one am, but i think it's cute and fluffy and silly. i hope you guys enjoy my dancing goat man that i love so much! also, so sorry if this is not exactly what you were looking for, anon, i just kind of took a silly idea and ran with it lol.

warnings: jealous percy!, curse words, a fish, this is so silly.

Percy Jackson was my best friend in the entire world, but he was also someone that I love more than my life itself. Ever since we met one faithful day in June, my first day of so-called summer camp, we became inseparable. The son of Poseidon was beautiful, to say the least, and he was endearing. Everyone in Camp loved him, which made everyone in Camp love me, as we were pretty much joined at the hip. Starting when we were thirteen, we would spend the night in his cabin together since we were both plagued by vivid nightmares that left us both restless. It started off as just sharing his cabin, but then it came to sharing a bed, and eventually, us holding each other for maximum nightmare prevention. We also trained together, more and more often the older we got, and we even broke the rules and ate every meal with each other. The young campers, once we turned seventeen and were seen as the ‘cool, older campers’ thought we were dating, and one of them went as far to say that we were married. I could see where someone young would assume that, but none of the older campers said anything…to our faces. I heard the rumors, but I chose to ignore them, Percy and I were just friends. We teased each other, of course, and made sex jokes to each other all of the time, but we were just friends, sadly.

I was in love with the Percy Jackson. He was everything I could ever want, but I blocked out my feeling in order to salvage our friendship that I held so dear. That didn’t stop me, however, from thinking about kissing him every time we laid in his bed together, every time his hand brushed against mine, and every time we spared, and he pinned me to the ground. We spent every single day together, and so, of course, his friends became my friends, and that includes his best friend, Grover.

Though Percy was always going to be my best friend, my home, I was quite the sociable person, and so I enjoyed spending time with everyone. Grover was hilarious, in a quiet way, and he kept me on my toes and my wit in tip top shape. I slowly began to start spending almost as much time with Grover as I did Percy, and nine times out of ten, Percy would tag along, making us a happy little trio that most definitely got along. This specific day, we were spending time at Percy’s favorite place on the Campgrounds, the lake.

I was chasing after Grover and Percy who had taken off spiriting through the woods after they heard some rustling in the trees that they thought was a monster, or even worse, Clarisse, but it just ended up being a cute little bunny. “Guys!” I panted out. “Wait up, please!”

Percy looked behind himself and at me. He gave me one of his award-winning smirks and said, “just run faster, bitch!”

Grover snorted rather unattractively at that, but the joke didn’t stop him from slowing his pace to let me catch up to him. “Don’t want you to get lost.” Grover winked, making me laugh at his comedic gesture.

“Stop flirting and hurry up, don’t want anyone to have the same idea as us!” Percy, from about thirty feet away, yelled, a sour tone in his voice.

“Ew, we are not flirting, Perc!” I yelled back, in an equally disgusted tone.

Grover rolled his eyes at both of us and lowered his voice just to address me. “When are you going to tell him, girl?” He massaged his temples. “He is goo-goo eyed for you.”

It was my turn to roll my eyes. “Never. I love him, but he doesn’t love me like that.”

Grover nearly groaned in annoyance. “{Reader}, I’m saying this because I am your friend, but you are acting like a dumbass. I have told you he loves you, and you love him, and why don’t you just act on it?”

Grover had been my wingman this entire time, encouraging me to grow some balls and ask the man of my dreams out. It all started this one time where, on a dare, someone asked Percy to kiss me, and he obliged without any protest. Putting two and two together, Grover decided that I liked Percy, and he liked me, and so we needed to date. That was three years ago. Nothing anywhere close to that, except this one time he kissed me on the cheek because…that’s beside the point.

“I will, Grover. I just don’t want to…”

My thought was cut off by us approaching the clearing where the man of the hour, the beautiful, Perseus Jackson stood, his arms crossed, and cheeks flushed from overexertion. “Took you guys soon enough! Let’s swim!”

Percy tossed his orange t-shirt aside and it took everything in my power not to stare. He was just too stunning. I followed suit, pulling off my athletic shorts and matching orange Camp shirt to reveal a deep blue swimsuit that I think showed off figure that I had acquired from training.

I dove in the water after Percy, and he scooped me into his freckled arms. “I like the swimsuit.” He said with a sheepish smile on his face.

“Thank you, Perc.” I said, my face flushed, but I pretended it was from the bright sun that was baking us.

Our moment was interrupted by Grover cannonballing right into the middle of our little bubble of unconfessed feelings, sending a tidal wave of water over Percy and I.

I wiped the water from my eyes when all of the sudden, Percy pushed me under the water. In the moment, I started to panic, a little bit, because I couldn’t breathe, but all of the sudden, I could. Percy was protecting me. My initial thought was, poor Grover, we’re abandoning him, but then my second thought was, holy shit, I’m underwater alone, in a bubble, with Percy fucking Jackson.

Percy smiled at me and hurried me along when we were finally able to touch the floor of the lake. I could see Grovers little goat feet treading water from above us, and it made both me and Percy giggle a little bit. Percy finally stopped pushing me along in his little bubble when we reached a beautiful cove of water lilies. I smiled at the boy in front of me, and he smiled back, a little awkwardly.

“Soooo…{Reader}.” He said, rubbing the back of his neck. I giggled awkwardly. “Percy.”

“I see you and Grover have gotten…closer.” His eyes were unreadable, and I had no idea where this was going.

“He’s a twenty-something year old goat man who I see as more of a father figure than anything else, Percy. I am a seventeen-year-old demigod who has no father figure in her life. We may have gotten closer, but it’s nothing like that.” I said, a matter-of-fact tone in my voice.

Percy looked embarrassed at this, probably thinking about how he didn’t really think his accusation through. “That’s very true.” His eyes avoided meeting mine, and he seemed suddenly very interested in a fish swimming by me.

“Why do you care?” I asked, genuinely wondering. Percy shrugged at this, not confessing his real reason for dragging to the bottom of a dam lake. “Look at me, Perc, why do you care?”

His eyes finally met mine. “Because you’re mine, and I don’t want someone else to look at you the way I want to.”

I was…flabbergasted…to say the least. I was not expecting that. “Of course, I am yours, but to what extent? We can’t keep dancing around each other, waiting for someone to finally break the tension surrounding us.”

At this, Percy pulled us closer together, our faces inches apart. “This tension?”

My breath faltered. “This exactly.”

Percy let us linger on the feeling of closeness without pressing our lips together. Our eyes met, and our noses nearly touched, but neither of us took the next step. I could feel him breathing, and I was sure he could feel me, and the electric energy of love sparking between that I was sure the fishes around us could feel it. “Kiss me, asshole.” I mumbled against his lips, and his next movement made my head spin.

The kiss was…magical. I was unable to think of anything, not even how to breathe. Percy’s lips were everywhere and nowhere all at once, and my hands found his hair almost by instinct. Before things could get a little too far, both of us looked up and almost had a heart attack. Grover was right above us doing a little jig in the water, holding his nose, trying not to inhale water.

“What the fuck, Grover!” Percy exclaimed, laughing hysterically, his hands still around my waist. Grover floated back up to the surface, probably going back up for air, and Percy and I smiled at each other, laughter seizing our bodies.

We paddled back up to the surface. “Grover, I will slaughter you.” I said, the huge smile on my face telling him that my threat was empty.

“I win a bet! I win a bet!” Grover sang, doing his little jig on the beach now. “I am so glad I do not have to listen to you guys pine over each other anymore!”

I gasped and looked at Percy who froze beside me. “You pined over me?”

“That’s a story for another day.” Percy said, stifling back a laugh.

The rest of the day was bliss, my new boyfriend and annoying, jigging goat friend by my side, making that day a day that I would always remember.

[sitp-recs]

Hi! :)

Could you please do a funny/witty/bantery rec list?

Looking more so for writing tone, but dialogue would ofc also be okay!

Thank you so much x

Hi there! I have a reclist for witty!Draco, but here are some witty fics I really love. They are such fun reads I remember exactly which scenes made me laugh out loud. In terms of writing tone, 4 authors whose sense of humor always hit the mark for me are astolat, shiftylinguini, blamebrampton and iota. Enjoy!

Tense by Faith Wood (E, 3k)

Harry and Draco have sex. Very, very slowly. Seriously, this is, like, 3K of penetration.

Never Gonna Give You Up by InnerLilith (E, 5k)

Five times Harry rickrolls Draco and one time Draco gets him back.

Game On by @pennygalleon (T, 5k)

Draco blows Harry a kiss and the press goes nuts. Harry suggests they use this to their advantage.

Matched Set by astolat (E, 6k)

“No one asked you to look, did they?” Draco said, eyes glittering and intent on Harry’s face—like he’d just wiped off the years and turned back in time to when their greatest ambition in life had been to knock the other off his broom in front of the school and grab the Snitch first, before they’d both gone to war and come back with scars.

Up The by @shiftylinguini (E, 7k)

“I feel I need to point out,” Draco kissed gently over Harry’s Adam’s apple, “that this is the most Gryffindor approach to conception that could possibly exist.”

draco malfoy's substitute murder service by @oknowkiss (E, 10k)

When Harry joins the Curse Breakers shortly after his twenty-fifth birthday, he’s surprised to find himself assigned to the Department of Creatures, Cryptids, and Associated Calamities.

The Loathly Worm by Selden (E, 12k)

When Draco Malfoy is forced to go undercover among the remaining Death Eaters in the aftermath of the war, the last person he expects to find there is Harry Potter.

Party of Two by fireflavored (E, 13k)

Drinking, sex, and a total misreading of the concept of fuck buddies.

keep it down, orphaned (E, 13k)

Malfoy’s an inconsiderately loud roommate and Harry’s over it.

An Act of Kindness for One Harry Potter by a Sympathetic Draco Malfoy by 0idontknow0 (E, 15k)

As Draco leaned on the wall to wait for them to get dressed, he could not help feeling like he had done a very kind thing by disrupting them. Someone should give Potter a better rogering than that sorry sod had. The man had saved the bloody world—okay, mostly Europe—the least someone could do was give him a proper shag.

Stupid Love by @the-sinking-ship (E, 17k)

Harry Potter, how does Draco Malfoy hate thee? Let me count the ways.

Heartlines by @sorrybutblog (T, 22k)

Just as Draco Malfoy's life seems to be getting back on track, the magic at Malfoy Manor is spinning out of control. Auror partners Harry Potter and Angelina Johnson are assigned to the case and quickly find that nothing about the situation is obvious. The flare ups are unpredictable at best, downright dangerous at worst, and why has a Hogwarts first year gone missing at the same time?

Little Red Courgette by blamebrampton (T, 31k)

When this season's purple courgettes are woefully thin, Draco Malfoy thinks it amounts to small beans. Next thing he knows, the Department of Standards is over-run with leeks, Brussels sprouts all sorts of legislative difficulties, and somebody appears to have put a roquette under Harry Potter. Can Draco seize a marrow victory? Or will his plans for peas be squashed?

Clouds That Veil the Midnight Moon by @drarrytrash (E, 36k)

According to Harry’s personal narrative regarding the incident, he’d hooked up with Draco Malfoy for purely self-destructive reasons, or out of convenience, or by some unlucky accident. Looking at him, sprawled in the moonlight, Harry is devastated to recall that he’d hooked up with Draco Malfoy because he’s hot.

Bite Me, Hate Memes by pir8fancier (E, 44k)

Draco Malfoy is incensed to realize that someone is trying to usurp his position as the premier Harry Potter hater.

Rookie Moves by peu_a_peu (E, 75k)

Aurors Potter and Malfoy crack the case.

The Liars Department by @dorthyanndrarry (T, 103k)

This is a story about Harry meeting up with Draco Malfoy four years after the war. And a story about Harry, well, not hating his job per say, but it's not like he has much to compare it to and it seemed fine. His whole life seemed fine. Then Malfoy came along with and his flashy suits and fast car making everything seem dull in comparison, and Harry... Harry couldn't just leave well enough alone.

[sanjoongie]

βҽąʂէ ąղժ Ͳհҽ βҽąմէվ

🥀For the YOTV: Year of the Snake collab (ML) hosted by yours truly 🥀Pairing: The Beast! San x Belle! Reader (f) ft Shadow Men-at-Arms! YeoJoongMin 🥀Au: Beauty and The Beast Au, Fantasy au 🥀Genre: romance, smut, horror 🥀Trope: e2l 🥀Rated: 21+(very graphic, very dark), MINORS DO NOT FUCKING INTERACT 🥀Word Count: 14,814 🥀Summary: when your life is traded to a beast on a cursed winters night, you have no idea how exactly it is utter fate for a beast to fall in love with a beauty 🥀Soundtrack: enhypen's dark moon special album <memorabilia> the vibe is immaculate for this fic 🥀Beta's: @downtoamagicalland 🥀Author's Note: please note that the beginning of this fic starts out in 3rd person be reassured the majority of the fic is in 2nd pov!! Otherwise, i genuinely poured my heart and soul into this fic. I love Beauty and the Beast and it was so much fun to write a twisted version of it. Thank you to all my collab darlings who let me go on and on about it 💞 🥀Warnings below the cut!

🥀Warnings: insults, blood, death, violence/fighting, deception, mind games, manipulation, vomiting, threats of torture, taking one's life, choking, injuries from choking, intense descriptions of violence please be forewarned!!!, mental breakdown, vague mentions of nonconsensual touching, rape (not to reader)

🥀Kinks: dubcon, angry sex, predator/prey, scratch kink, bite kink, pet names (little one), public sex, size kink, dry grinding, dirty talk, choking kink, dumbification, praise kink, unprotected sex, creampie, oral (f), cum eating, blood kink

An open wagon chugs its way through a dark and foreboding forest. In the seat are two shrouded figures, a father and his daughter. The cart is being drawn by their faithful gelding through the moonlight filtered by bone-fingerling branches. Not a creature stirs and that should have been the first clue that nothing was right that eerie evening.

“Father, you should make Phillip gallop.” The daughter places a hesitant hand on her father’s bicep. “I feel uneasy riding this late at night. You heard what the village people say about the forest.”

The father’s eyes glance around as the ground raises on one side of the cart in a soft incline of a hill. It appears as if he is looking for any danger that his daughter senses. “Phillip has been going all day, Belle. He won’t survive a gallop. If we push just a little farther--”

A snap cuts off the father’s words. 

Belle’s shoulders square. “Just a quick gallop, Father, let’s go.”

The father raises his hands as if he’s going to snap the reins to indicate to the gelding that they should gallop, when a wolf launches itself into the back of the open wagon.

Belle spins around in the wagon, eyes wide with fear. She watches as the wolf braces itself to jump at Belle next, so she raises her arms to protect herself. 

“Belle, no!” The father shouts, throwing down the reins and intercepting the wolf.

“Father!” Belle yells as she watches in horror as the wolf and her father fall down the hill that the dirt road is built on. 

At the same unfortunate moment, one of the wagon’s wheels hits a pothole and one of the spokes breaks. Phillip whinnies, scared, and rears, pulling the reins from the wagon. With the jolt of the wood breaking, the cart slides to the side of the hill and tumbles with Belle in it. 

The last thing Belle sees as she lies on the ground is her father stretching his hand out to her as the wolf, and its now gathering pack, surrounds her father. Red covers her eyes and then her vision fades to black.

~~~

You regain consciousness but everything is fuzzy, only slowly coming into focus. The first thing that you realize is that your mouth tastes like blood. Then a roar attacks your eardrums. Were they both from the crash? 

You push a board off of you and groan. You feel various cuts and bruises along your body. Finally, you see why you hear roaring. It is not because your eardrums are slowly dying, but instead there is a great beast battling with wolves. 

All you can see is from behind, but it has a great hairy back. Claws extend from its hands and twisted horns from its head. It slashes downward and you watch as blood flies as the monster slashes open the belly of the wolf, innards spilling from the open wounds. Another wolf pounces on the monster’s back, and the monster roars. It reaches behind itself and throws the wolf with such force that you hear the wolf’s back crack with the force of hitting the ground. 

The monster turns around and bellows a roar of triumph and you realize that you had been mistaken. The hair back is in fact a fur coat. This monster was very humanoid. He still has the talons and the horns, and now that you could see his face you see he has fangs, but his visage is the most devastatingly handsome face you have ever had the pleasure of viewing.

Except now that the monster has finished with the wolves, his eyes are on you. They are dark and as he takes a step forward, the moonlight reflects back, and you find yourself having a hard time swallowing.

You look around wildly and your eyes land on your father’s body. You scramble towards your father, ignoring all the pain that racks through your body. 

“Father, Father,” You chant, bringing his head to your lap, looking for any signs of consciousness.

“He is dead,” the monster states from behind you.

You whip your head back in his direction but he’s simply taken only a few more steps towards you. “Did you kill him?” You accuse sharply.

The monster appears shocked for only a moment before tipping his head back and letting out a deep belly laugh. His fangs shine with his mouth open and your lips form a firm, stubborn line. 

“Why do you laugh?”

The monster threw his arms out wide. “Why, I’m your savior, that’s why.”

You threw a look of pure disbelief his way. “Why would you do such a thing?”

“I was hunting this pack of wolves on my land. I came across you as I finally caught up with them. Your father made a bargain with me and so I fought the wolves to save you. I was unable to save him but you live.”

“A likely story,” you grumble. “How do I not know you guided these rapid wolves to attack and this is not a scheme?”

“Believe me or not,” The monster shrugs his great shoulders. “I will have your side of the bargain held up.”

Your body curls around your father, tears hitting his pale face. “What side of the bargain? He is dead.”

“He didn’t bargain for his life. He bargained for yours.”

Your head snaps upwards to stare at the monster who has continued to approach you. “You are to come with me to my castle and live with me for the remainder of your life as my prisoner.”

Your body begins to tremble but you don’t dare break the gaze of the monster as his boots come abreast of your kneeling form on the ground. You have to crane your neck and you almost fall backwards if not for one great clawed hand catching you. 

“There’s no way that my father would have done this,” You whisper, unable to comprehend what was going on right now. 

“He wished for you to live,” the monster says stoically. “It was his final wish.”

You shook your head, in denial to your fate. “He would rather I die then live as the prisoner of some monster!” you shout. 

The monster snorts and turns around on his heel. “Come, Prisoner. I hope you have enough energy left in the night to drag your father’s corpse because I will not carry him for you.”

You let out a shout, that was part grief and part anger. To your surprise, the monster turns around, face eager and excited. You spit at his feet and grab both wrists of your father. 

You grunt and start to pull your father’s dead body. You pull up flush with the monster, who has not moved since you had shouted, you send him an expecting look. 

“Well? I do not very well know where my prison is, do I? I have a long night ahead of me if you are as dumb as a beast is!” You yell.

The monster growls. “Watch your tone.” 

Towering what you thought was seven feet, the monster has long strides and so you have a hard time keeping up. The forest itself attempts to slow your pace by putting rocks in your path and encouraging the branches to claw at your hair. Each pain-staken drag has you grunting and shouting. It seems like days before you approach your destination. 

“Welcome to your new home,” the monster announces to your back. 

You drop your father’s wrists and brush the sweat from your brow with your arm. You turn around to gaze at your new home.

The castle poses an intimidating figure in the night light. It’s bone-white stones cut into the dark sky. Cone tops and paired with gargolyed corners give it a mixture of fairy tale and imposing doom. You’re not sure if it’s luring victims to their deaths or warning all to stay far away. Either way, it suits your dark mood very well at the moment. 

A scared whinny breaks the silence. 

“Phillip!” You shout, cupping your mouth. “I’m here, Phillip!”

The faithful family gelding gallops towards you, through the forest and halts before you. Your eyes tear up again as your fist curls in Phillip’s mane. “At least you’re not dead.”

“Seems like a beast is smart enough to find its mistress,” the monster says beside you, sarcasm dripping from his fangs.

You shoot him a dirty look. “I don’t suppose you might help me put my father on Phillip’s back? Or would an act of kindness kill you?”

The monster folds his arms over his very broad chest. “I’ve done all the acts of kindness this evening I can afford. I spared your life; that’s enough.”

“Insufferable, barbaric, prick!” You squeal in anger.

You rip a piece from your cloak, tie it around your father’s wrists and manage to pull your father up and over Phillip’s back. You grab Phillip’s reins and drudge towards the castle. 

“Stables are over there.” 

The monster extends a talon towards a small building and you shudder.

“I know what a goddamn stable looks like,” you snap.

“There is feed and water for the horse. I will wait out here until you return.”

You tug Phillip towards the stable. You drop your father in one stall and open another for Phillip. 

“I’ll come back for you, Father,” you say to the night air. 

Phillip hangs his head over the bottom half of the door and nickers softly. 

You press your forehead to his forelock. “You should have run away. At least you wouldn’t have to suffer a monster as a master,” You whisper.

“Prisoner!” The monster yells.

“Coming, my lord,” you say with an insult in your tone.

“Do you curtsy pretty as well?” The monster mocks you back.

You make a mocking face and stride past him up, past a fountain that you don’t spare a glance at, and climb the stairs to the huge door. Even the doorknock is a snarling beast. 

“Fitting,” You mumble under your breath. 

“Out of the way, you thoughtless creature,” The monster growls, sweeping you out of the way easily.

You stumble and find your footing before he pushes open the door with all his weight, the wood separating into two doors. 

The lobby is shabby and not as rich as it should appear. It has the air of rot and musk. The carpet is threadbare and the curtain’s moth ridden. There isn’t a roaring fire in the grand fireplace, nor are there servants racing to take their master’s coat. 

He removes it and chucks it to the middle of a splitting, sweeping staircase. You can imagine there was once a coat rack there but no longer. Instead, the coat catches the outstretched arm of a statue. 

The removal of his coat reveals a tattoo down his spine. The phases of the moon are painted there and you have a hard time not starring. 

“This way!” The monster snaps his fingers and summons you to follow him up the stairs.

“What, no cell in the dungeons?” You mince.

“No,” the monster states. “The dungeons would be too cozy for you. A nice room in a tower, where the wind can keep you company sounds perfect for you.”

You stop in your tracks. Surely he wasn’t serious. You began to look around at your broken surroundings, sure you could find a table leg to stab the monster in the back.

The monster chuckles. “Don’t think about trying to escape. I’ll be on top of you before you can scream in terror.”

“I’m not scared of you,” You deny immediately.

“No?”

The monster strides towards you and looms over you. His eyes are hooded as he stares down at you. “I could tear you limb from limb.”

“But you won’t. You made a bargain.”

The monster's eyes narrow down on you. “I am still capable.” To prove his point, he snaps his teeth a hair’s breadth from your nose.

You blink but remain steadfast. “Of course, my lord.”

“Come, let’s get you freezing to death. Perhaps you’ll show some proper deference when you want to be warm.”

The monster veers east and he almost disappears in the shadowed hallway. Almost.

You are indeed given a room at the top of a perilous tower. The wind whistles through the cracks of the stone, making a tapestry on the wall flutter. A broken window has heaps of snow along the shards of glass. There is a bed and a wardrobe and a vanity. At least there’s that.

You wriggle past the great shape of the monster and then stand in the middle of the room. You didn’t plan on showing an ounce of weakness to your captor. You pull the skirt of your dress to your sides and you bend your knees into a curtsy.

“Thank you for the roof over my head, my lord,” You simper. 

The monster roars back and slams the door. You run towards it and then stop as you hear a lock turn in place. You are truly trapped here as a prisoner of a cruel monster.

“Is this the one?”

“Not much to look at, is she?”

“Are you sure she’s not…”

You feel something cold and fluttering against your side and frown. You curl further around yourself, in an attempt to keep your body warm. 

“Well, she’s still moving. You don’t suppose…?”

“Nah, there’s no way.”

“Did you check it?”

“Course I didn’t! He doesn’t let anyone near it!”

“Would be nice to know. I haven’t felt a tit since--”

You sat up quickly, now convinced the voices were not in your head. 

“What the hell?” You shout.

Three shadows flicker before you, on each side of the tattered bed you fell asleep on. Shadows, you decide, are a much vaguer description than what they actually are. The complicated version was that they seemed human, their faces, hands and feet human skin but the remainder of their bodies clothed in shadow. One is reaching out towards you and you slap his ‘hand’ but your own just passes through it. 

That particular shadow drops his hand back to his side. “No tits for me, I guess.”

“Be calm,” another informs you coolly. “We aren’t here to hurt you.”

“Yet,” the third adds.

“We can’t harm her anyways, what’s the point of threatening her?”

You lift a pillow and throw it through the abdomen of one of the shadow men. “Just leave me alone!”

One of them sighs. “We’re here to bring you to San. He says it's time for you to grovel. If you beg and plead him enough, he might feed you.”

You look at the deliverer of that message like he grew a second head. “I don’t think so.”

He shrugs his shoulders. “Your funeral.”

“Oh wait, didn’t he say to deliver a message? If she says no?”

“That’s right.” One of them clears their throat. “If you don’t come down to eat, you won’t eat until you do.”

“Fine, I’ll starve.” You grab another pillow and wrap your arms around it. “I’ve dined on dreams and depression before. It’s not half bad once you get used to it.”

“This is about to get goooood,” one of them says, rubbing his hands together in anticipation.

“I wonder if he’ll let us watch.”

“Might be able to convince him that it’s more humiliation for her if he does.”

The three shadow men leave your room, not bothering with the door as they have no corporeal form to speak of. But you can still hear their cruel laughter as they poof through the walls. 

What other form of torture was your life to endure?

In the end, it is not your hunger that pushes you to fold but the necessity of burying your father. 

You learn that the shadows' names are Hongjoong, Mingi and Yeosang. You don’t understand much about this castle but you learn that San’s fate and theirs are tied together. All of them blame San for their shadow state but depend on him, so it’s a twisted version of life, much like your own. You owe San your life but you also despise him.

“Well?” San broke through your deep thoughts.

The beast was sitting on a high back chair in front of the cold but beautiful fireplace. You had been staring listlessly at the carvings in the stone on the mantle, trying to find your words.

“Please, my lord. Will you allow me to bury my father?”

San is silent for a few minutes and it causes you to turn your gaze to your captor. He’s leaning forward, elbows bracing on his knees and his fingers curling around his sharp jaw to contemplate you. “You starve for days, refusing to bend the knee to me for anything I demand of you, yet this is what you’re willing to break for?”

You swallow nervously but raise your chin stubbornly. “He was the only thing that mattered in the world to me. He--” Your throat tightens as grief runs through you. “He was the only one in this world who cared for me, genuinely. So I must give him a proper bur--”

“It’s the middle of winter,” San cuts you off. “You won’t be able to break ground until spring.”

“I can--”

San throws a tin cup at you and it dings pitifully against the mantle next to your head. The mixture of a foul-smelling brew splashes you but you are unharmed by his temper. “By the time you manage to make a hole, it will be spring.”

“You would deny me even this?” You whisper hoarsely. “You truly are a beast.”

“Crawl and beg me for it.”

Your hands curl into fists, your nails digging into your palms. You have to curb any instinct to slap him across the face. You knew he could break you in a second. You flirt with the idea of letting him snap your neck but you have to honor your father’s dying wish. You can't follow him so quickly into the afterlife. 

So you descend to your knees slowly. 

San sits back in his chair, arms bracing against the armrests. A small, satisfied smile pulls one corner of his lip. “Much better.”

“Please…my lord…” You say with stilted words. “Please let me bury my father.”

San’s eyes become hooded as you move closer to him. “Lick my boot.”

You fought with your emotions and your pride; perseverance and grief won. 

You lean down, bringing your face close to San’s boot. You open your mouth hesitantly, especially as your peripherals pick up flickers of black. Mingi, Hongjoong and Yeosang are here to view your embarrassment, of course. Tears prick at the corner of your eyes, humiliation poking at you. Still, your tongue finds San’s boot. You watch in horror as a strip of spit appears on the beast’s boot. 

“Smart girl,” San purrs above you.

Mingi clears his throat. “Was it just me, or could you feel--”

“Shut up, Mingi” Hongjoong hushes his companion. 

“I could feel it,” Yeosang agrees, despite Hongjoong’s death glare. 

You raise to sit on your haunches, unsure how much subservience San needs for you to get what you want. “So, you’ll allow me to bury my father?”

“No, are you stupid?” San rolls his eyes. “I told you, the ground is too hard.”

“You treacherous curr,” You snarl. You grab his legs, pushing yourself up, and dig your fingers into his thighs. “You said--”

“I didn’t say I’d help you. I didn’t even say I’d agree to this farce. I simply instructed you to crawl and beg me for permission.”

“I will--”

One, sharp talon rests on your jugular. The sharp tip pushes against your skin but doesn’t break it. “Choose your next words carefully, Prisoner.”

“I will go back to my room now.” You swallow your anger but it gets stuck in your throat. You loathe yourself more than you loathe the monster you live with right now. 

“Hongjoong, take her.”

A toothy grin appears on San’s face. You wish nothing more than to kick that smug look off his face but, for now, you will settle with curling up in your musty bed. 

“Come on,” Hongjoong makes a shooing motion as he herds you towards the stairs.

“You are a coward!” You shout over your shoulder but stomp towards the staircase.

“Excuse me?”San growls behind you. 

“Oh shit,” Mingi whispers.

“I know you heard me. You're a beast after all, most beasts have good hearing. Or are you both dumb and deaf?”

A roar sends warning signals to your brain and you barely register the blur of gold along the railing until San is standing in front of you, shoulders heaving as he breathes heavy. 

“What did you just say?”

“I said--”

“Must you test my ability to keep you alive every day?” San snarls in your face.

“I just finished licking your boot for your evil little shadow servants’ entertainment and you dare wonder why I push your limits?” You say as you poke his chest with your forefinger.

“We're not his servants!” Hongjoong protests.

“More like men-at-arms!” Yeosang insists.

“You will eat today at my table or so help me.” San reaches out with a taloned hand but ultimately clenches his fist instead of wrapping it around your neck. “Today,” he emphasizes.

“Or so help you what, San?”

“Or I will leave your father's body for the wolves.”

“You wouldn't dare.”

But as you search his face, you only find firm resolve. He would. San would toss your father’s body to be torn apart by the beasts that had killed him. 

“Your heart is as black as your hair,” You spit.

“Dinner. In an hour. Mingi will bring you something to wear.”

“Something to wear? Do you just so happen to keep women's clothing lying around in this accursed castle?” You demand.

With a whirl of his favorite fur coat, San breezes past you. “And if you refuse to wear what Mingi brings you, you will come naked.”

You are silent as you walk up the winding staircase that takes you up through the narrow tower. 

Hongjoong isn’t silent, however. “You sure do know how to wind him up,” Hongjoong comments.

“Well, it’s not like he’s providing a precedent for being nice,” You mumble.

Hongjoong hums in agreement but casts a look over his shoulder. “You know, he hardly ever speaks to us.”

You roll your eyes. “I wish he’d do the same with me.”

Hongjoong shook his head. “You don’t get it.”

“Then make me get it, Hongjoong,” You snap.

By now, you are in front of the door of your bedroom. Hongjoong stands with his arms folded over his chest. “It’s not my place.”

“Then stop hinting at something you can’t talk about.” 

You breeze by the shadow man and slam your door. Not that that would stop him from coming inside.

Mingi comes in minutes later, a dress swishing in his arms. You are sitting at the vanity with its cracked mirror. It’s flowy, if not a bit worn around the edges. It's as if time itself has eaten away at it. He offers you the dress, his face curious.

“Will you go?” 

“I have no choice,” You say bitterly. “My father deserves better than being ripped apart by wolves.”

Mingi shrugs and then tosses the dress to you. When he doesn’t leave, you send him a glare.

Mingi leers. “It’s not like I haven’t peeked already.”

Your eyes hurt from the amount of eye rolling you’ve been doing lately. “Fine, ogle all you want. It’s not like I have any other freedoms.”

You discard your current dress, dirty and torn when you fell from the cart tumbling down the cliff, and slip into the one Mingi brought. There’s two layers: the underneath is white and the overdress blue.

You rub the fabric between your hands. “Why would he have something like this?”

Mingi’s face blanks. “We should get down there.”

Mingi disappears somewhere between you going back down the stairs in your new dress and arriving at the door to the dining hall. You say hall because it is exactly that: the room echoes as you open the door and you take in the decaying decadence of the room. San is sitting at the head of the table and you walk in hesitantly.

“You will sit here,” San commands.

The sharp noise of a chair scraping the bare floor makes you wince. You pick up your skirts and begin to make your way to the chair that San has pulled out for you. Once you sit down, San’s taloned hand sweeps behind the chair and pushes you in so tightly; you’re practically trapped against the table.

The table is empty, and just as you’re about to inquire if you must pretend to eat as well, San claps, and food magically appears along the table. It is filled to the brim and your mouth drops open. Nothing made sense in this cursed castle.

“Don’t ask,” San growls. “Just eat.”

You had never known a life of elevation. Your father was an inventor and was only able to keep you fed and clothed because of his ability to make complex clocks and sell them. Later on in life, you also grew to adore the complexity of putting a clock together, with its charm of ringing and making a dramatic scene. So when the food from the table melts in your mouth with the taste of spices you were not familiar with, you practically moan.

San tears into a turkey leg he unceremoniously rips from the turkey itself, and watches you closely. “Interesting, watching a peasant eat her first sumptuous meal ever.”

You can feel the heat of embarrassment climb up your neck but still you eat. Now that you were consuming food, you did not wish to be banished from it. Because you knew that was what would happen next if you opened your mouth.

When silence continues to greet San, he continues to fill it. You are reminded of the fact that Hongjoong had said that San rarely spoke to the shadow men. You wondered why that was?

“I will make a pyre for your father. You can find something to put his ashes in. Then we can put this whole matter behind us,” San says gruffly.

You drop the fork you had been using and it clunks against your porcelain plate. “What?”

San continues to consume his turkey leg and then throws the bone towards the dark wall of the dining hall. “A pyre. For your father’s dead body. I told you, you cannot break ground in the winter.”

“So…before? You weren’t trying to…” The words die in your mouth. 

“Trying to do what?” San raises his eyebrows in question.

You shake your head. “Nothing. Nevermind. Thank you.”

“I do not want a body rotting in my stables,” San says gruffly.

“May I…begin to come out of my room now?” You ask hesitantly.

“Have you learned to behave yourself?” San shoots back at you.

You feel embarrassment twist in your gut once again, recalling only an hour ago that you were licking San’s boots. “Do you require me to debase myself for you any longer?”

“I could.”

Your head shoots up to meet San’s eyes. His face is blank, haughty, typical from what you’ve seen of the beast. “You must lead a boring life if you’ve got nothing better to do that torture me.”

San’s eyes crackle with anger. “We are all prisoners to this estate. Including you.”

Hongjoong burst into the hall, not bothering with a door, like always. “My Lord, I have the--”

“Nevermind, Hongjoong. Our prisoner will be going back to her room.”

Hongjoong halts in his tracks. “My Lord?”

San jerks his chin in the direction of the exit. “Put everything back. Yeosang can escort her to her room. We are done.”

“You’re done, you mean,” You grumble.

San launches over the table and grips your jaw severely. “Do you know what you just ate?”

You frown up at him, your jaw aching from how San is clenching it. “Food?”

San practically drags you out of your chair, towards a floor length mirror in the hall. “Look in the mirror.”

You almost didn’t recognize yourself. Your hands were covered in blood and more blood dribbles down your chin and neck. You look like a deranged woman in the mirror. But San, he looks normal. His horns and taloned hands are gone. The look on his face, however, is not normal. His grin is maniacal as he stares into your eyes through the mirror. 

“Did you enjoy wolf meat? Did it satisfy your need for blood?”

“You are a monster,” You whisper. 

“Takes one to know one,” San whispers back.

You break the grip he has on your jaw and run out of the room. 

Why was it your lot in life to live with this monster?

You barely make it to the outside before your stomach heaves up everything you have eaten. The bile burns your throat and angry tears threaten to escape your eyes. You refuse, however, dashing them away, and you wipe your face with your dress. 

“He’s got a face anyone could love and yet his heart is blacker than coal,” a voice comes from the darkness of the night.

“Who’s there?”

“A ghost.”

You scoff. “Monsters, ghosts, shadow men. What doesn’t this castle have?”

“Love.”

You purse your lips together. “You won’t reveal yourself?”

“All you need to know is that you’re going to fail.”

“Fail at living here? I don’t doubt it. If not for my father’s dying wish being to live, I’d throw myself out of my tower window right now.”

“Don’t!” The ghost hisses. “You don’t want to be trapped here in the afterlife as well.”

You open your mouth to pose another question but Yeosang finds you outside. 

“Come on, Belle, better get you back up to your room.”

“Worried for my safety?” You say blithely. 

Yeosang chuckles. “If San kills you, where’s the fun in that?”

You roll your eyes heavily. “Torture seems to be in all your souls, huh?”

“You could say that.”

You stand in one of the many dead gardens around the castle. In the centre of what used to be a well-manicured lawn, a pyre is roughly built. The old, dry logs look more wild than you prefer. Then again, everything on this estate is twisted, isn't it?

The heat of the fire puffs against your face, reminding you that you haven’t said a word about your father.

“Maurice was a man whose brain was bigger than his thoughts. My father dreamed of creations that could only live out in his mind. Even given a thousand years, I don’t believe mechanics could catch up to his ideas. He loved my mother until the moment he died, never remarrying, despite bringing up a little girl. There was nothing my father wouldn’t do for me.”

You pause, needing to swallow down the pain that was bubbling back up in your throat. You push down the random thought bubble that your current situation was because of him. Your father simply did what he could for the sake of you. There was nothing wrong with that.

“This man--”

You throw your arm to dispel another hot gust blown towards you. The smoke from the wood should cover the smell of the burning corpse, but when a whiff of burning hair comes your way, you have to turn away completely.

“Did you bring something for him?”

San’s voice comes from behind you. You turn around to find his large form shielding you from the pyre. His face is devoid of any emotion. You should have known that words never swayed the beast. 

You raise a cerulean, cracked vase for your lord’s approval. “This is okay?”

San grunts and turns around. You can see how the light of the flame flickers across his face, as if any light is fruitless in its attempt to touch him. 

“You said your words. Leave the vase with me.”

Your eyebrows furrow in worry. “It should be me--”

“You’re too weak.” San cuts you off. “Go back inside.”

You feel the backlash of hurt and take a step back. “Fine,” You say with a chill to your tone. 

You stomp back the castle. You feel as if San’s words are stuck in your throat, choking you, filling you with distaste for yourself. Weak? You were surviving him, weren’t you?

You circle around the unattended-to paths until you find the fountain and the front of the castle. Once inside, you toss off your mink cloak, throwing it to the back of one of the upholstered coaches. You have no idea where your clothes are coming from but you hardly care for the fur San insists on the both of you donning, even if it does keep you warm. 

Now that you are free to roam the castle, no longer a prisoner to your tower room, you’ve come across many rooms and items that make your blood curl. It’s a game of chance of what you’ll find. Sometimes you find pity in your gut. This castle had clearly been the epitome of posh. It was sad to see it so ripped up.

Today, however, instead of turning east and exploring outwards from your tower, you choose to take a left at the top of the stairs. You know San disappears into this wing of the castle sometimes. Did he sleep down here?

Yeosang appears in front of you, his arms crossed across his chest. “You shouldn’t be here, Belle.”

You walk right through the shadow man, his form swallowing you up momentarily and then you come out the other side of him. “Stop me then.”

Mingi pulls from the shadows of the high ceiling-ed hallway. “You know we can’t physically, that’s rude.”

You raise a corner of your lip in derision. The way your hatred for the trio of shadow men nearly eclipses that of your spite towards San. “So sorry for your situation.”

“He can’t hurt us but he can hurt you.” Hongjoong’s form drips from the ceiling in one long line until it fully forms in front of you. 

“He’ll hurt me whether I go this way or not,” You scoff, unwilling to relive the few moments before the pyre for your father.

“You will know no anger like this one if he finds you down here, however,” Yeosang reaches out but his hand passes through your arm.

You shrug, the lingering coolness of his shadow giving you goosebumps. “He’s either a man of his word and keeps me alive or he doesn’t. I don’t care.”

The further into the wing you travel, the more torn up the entire place feels. You can imagine the temper tantrums San’s taloned hands and large shoulders is capable of wreaking havoc. He truly is a beast; no human would continue to make their surroundings this ripped up.

You follow the destruction until you come across a wide set of doors. It feels forbidden and you feel a jolt of excitement travel through you. You’ve had so little to be happy about these days. Perhaps this is exactly what you need.

“Belle.”

You turn around swiftly to see that the three shadowmen have not left you alone quite yet.

“Listen to me. I don’t care what you have to say. You’ve been nothing but little shits, no, worse, assistants in torture, to that beast you call lord. Either shut up or leave me be! I’m doing this.”

You hold your breath as you push the door open and take in what’s in front of you: a grand room with a balcony and large glass doors. A huge canopied bed sits on one side, while an entire sitting room is across it. You can spot the opulence of a lordling. San’s bad attitude definitely began from being spoiled and entitled. 

There’s a table near the glass doors and it seems to be calling for you. The closer you get, lifting your skirt to step over a broken mirror on the floor, you feel a pain in your chest. Absent-mindedly, you rub your chest, right above your heart, and approach the table.

There is a singular plant in the middle with a glass cover. Your pain only escalates but you have to see what the hell is being kept alive in San’s room. There is something small at the top of the clay pot. The pot itself is modeled after a rose in bloom. Odd. 

“What in the world?” You wonder out loud. 

You lean over the plant, reaching out a finger to dig into the soil and poke at the plant. 

“Uh oh,” Mingi whispers and that’s the only warning you get before San lets out a roar behind you.

“What do you think you’re doing?” San snarls and strides to where you are.

“What is that, San?” You demand.

You do not get an answer, for San wraps his taloned hand around your neck and slams you into the glass doors that lead to the balcony. The glass cracks and you feel your vision sparkle.

“You should not be here!”

You gasp as you attempt to inhale air but your windpipe is nearly cut off from how tight San’s hand is around your neck. It’s sad you can’t spit out your own poison but you find yourself getting giddy as your vision continues to narrow. Squeaky, croaking, creepy giggles escape your lips. 

“My lord!” Hongjoong appears at San’s elbow. “You need to let her go.”

“Where were you when she was scampering off into my rooms?” San demands.

His nails dig into the back of your neck, unrelentless, as Hongjoong answers. “We can hardly stop her! She can’t breathe!”

“What’s one more?” San whispers to himself.

Hongjoong’s hands wrap around San’s arm, despite not truly being able to hold on. “You said you liked this one! You know what’s at stake! My lord!”

Your vision has almost come down to a pinprick before San finally lets go of you and you fall to the floor. You cough and gasp as air finally enters your lungs. You bring your hands up to your neck. You wince, unsure if you can even speak. 

“Belle?” Mingi’s big eyes peer into your face. 

You held up a hand to indicate you’re alive. Yeosang lets out a sigh of relief. 

“You are allowed anywhere but here.” The beast stands in front of you, scowling down on your pitiful body. 

You take great joy in pushing your tongue out at him. Hongjoong snorts and then blanks his face. 

“You’ll need some cool water. Come on, Little Miss Curious. You’ve got your other seven lives, don’t you?”

You crawl around San and somehow manage to stand up but you need help from one of the posts on San's bed. 

The beast must be watching you, for he says next, “He’s in your room, if you were wondering.”

At least your father was put to rest now.

You can’t speak for weeks. The damage San did to you was almost irreparable. The magic table somehow managed to make meals that you could swallow, but that was the only reprieve you are given.

Unable to even speak to entertain yourself, you explore more of the east wing. Eventually, you find the remains of a library. The first day you struggle to even open a heavy curtain so that you can see what is in the library. The second day you almost die because of all the dust that’s accumulated. By the third day, you manage to haul a chair that’s not broken towards the large windows and find some books. By day four, you’re practically in heaven.

Day five is when your happiness breaks, however.

“So this is where you’ve buried yourself.”

You squeak and fall out of the chair where you had been laying across instead of properly sitting upright. Your book sprawls in front of you and you snatch it up. You dust off its cover and put it on the table, only for it to fall again.

You groan and then wince at the pain from your throat.

“What are you?--”

You begin to back away as San moves towards you. His fur coat sweeps along the floor, making a trail through the thick dust.

You hold up your hands in defense of yourself. “I--”

Your voice sounds like a rake over rocks and you swallow hard. San stares at you, his face blank.

You shuffle, giving San a wide berth. This causes him to lift an eyebrow at you. “Why are you acting like a skittish horse?”

You pull a face and point at your throat. You knew he wasn’t truly dumb.

San scratches the back of his neck. “Ah. About that. You see…”

You maneuver to San’s back, not interested in hearing how you were stupid, and bolt out of the library. You wish you had snatched a book but you think that might further prompt San to get angry at you.

You’re not so lucky.

“Hey, where are you going?” San shouts after you.

Your soft slippers have no grip and you are only able to slide shuffle along the floor to flee the library and the beast behind you. You can hear him pursuing you. His boots are squeaking across the worn wood of the floor.

It hurts like hell when you let out a noise of fear and slam into a wall, unable to halt your skittering. You shoot a look down the hallway and see that San is bounding down the hallway after you still.

“Wait!”

You push forward. If you make it outside, perhaps he’ll stop pursuing you?

You take the steps of the spiral dual staircase two at a time. How you manage to not trip and break your own neck is beyond you, but still you have hope as the doors are getting closer and closer.

“What is wrong with you?!”

San’s hand slams down on your shoulder and your feet shoot out in front of you as the momentum of your run looks to carry your limbs forward. You slam down on your ass and let out a squeal. You wiggle, desperate to get out of his hold. You know you’ll never win if he truly doesn’t want to let you go, but it seems you don’t want to die after all.

Your struggling only ensures that San clamps down on you more. You let out a noise of pain as his talons prick your collarbone and sternum.

San lets go of you immediately. Your hands find purchase and you push yourself up and scramble towards the doors to the outside. You think if you can make it past the fountain, you might lose yourself in one of the gardens. San usually bores of you quickly, seeing as how easy he dismisses you from dinners.

You know you’re wrong when you eat dirt. San’s body covers yours. He must have jumped on you to plant you into the ground. It’s cold and hard and you regret all your life choices that has brought you here to this moment. Mostly because you’re sure San has a weapon on him, because what was that hard thing near his hip?

“Stupid human, what are you running from?” San shouts.

All you can manage is a garbled yell in response. Your throat is burning; this is the most noise you’ve made in the weeks following your incident in the west wing.

San lets out a noise of frustration from the back of his throat and turns you around. He grabs both your wrists and pins you beneath him.

“Will you listen to me?” He snarls.

You stubbornly turn your head to the side with a huff. Hongjoong, Mingi and Yeosang come into your vision. Great, of course those three were here to see your demise at San’s hands once again.

“Perhaps if you strangle her again, she might be more inclined to listen!” Yeosang observes.

“She hasn’t gone back to the west wing since then, he’s got a point,” Mingi agrees.

“Will you two shut up?” Hongjoong commands.

“You can go in the library,” San says and your head snaps back to his face. His eyes widen for a moment and then he’s the one to avoid your gaze. “It’s not like anyone else is using it.”

You move beneath him again, attempting to raise your arms up but are unable to push back far before his hands push your arms against the ground again.

“Stop moving!” San hisses at you.

“Let…me…go!” You croak.

San presses his lips together. “I will. I will. Just. Stop. Struggling.”

You become limp like a dead fish. If that’s all it took to get him off you then you’d comply. It was cold on the ground.

San stands up, wrapping his coat around him, as if it was his comfort. What a weird gesture. You are certain he’s never cold. Otherwise, why would he walk around with just that damn jacket and no shirt under?

“I’m almost kinda sad she can’t speak any more. I miss their arguments,” Yeosang says in a stage whisper.

San turns around on his heel and is back up the stairs before Mingi can agree with Yeosang. Hongjoong, however, is staring right at you. You throw your hands up in a gesture that wonders what he’s thinking.

“Your horse is getting antsy. You should consider going on a walk with him,” Hongjoong says, completely surprising you.

Your head swivels towards where the stables are as you sit up. You're happy to see that your wrists don’t provide a matching look with your neck.

Your head turns back towards San’s back, fading into the darkness of the castle. Would he let you ride Phillip?

Hongjoong follows your gaze and clears his throat. “My lord?"

“What do you want, Hongjoong?” San’s voice is heard from the lobby.

“If Belle wishes to go on a short walk with her horse--”

“Where?” San snarls.

“Well, my lord, if you accompany her--”

“Fine!” San snaps. “Later, after dinner.”

A faint, conspiratory smile pulls at the corners of Hongjoong’s lips. “There you have it.”

You have a feeling in your gut that Hongjoong is up to something but you have no idea. Perhaps he wishes for another near-death incident to send you towards complete servitude of his lord?

And so begins another ritual of your day. As you dine in silence with San, ever unsure as to what exactly you’re eating, you go for walks with Phillipe and the beast. Even after your throat heals, you remain in silence the entire time, other than for a soft word to the only tie to your old life.

So you almost fall off Phillipe when San says he had a horse like Phillipe before.

San purses his lip to the side, unimpressed by your inability to keep your cool around him any longer.

“Wha--what was their name?” You ask.

“Her name was Beauty. She was black as night--”

You snort at the absurdity.

“...what?”

You send him a long look. “Of course your horse was black.”

“She was of the most expensive stock!” San protests.

“Of course, nothing less for our lord,” You reply.

“She was loyal to a fault. You’re lucky to have him,” San continues.

“You have the others,” you point out.

“They are not loyal,” San disagrees. “They do what I say because that is their place.”

“Well.” you lean down to pat Phillipe’s neck. “Phillipe will flee if it saves his own neck. Sometimes we’re all just scared.”

“Are you?” San asks. He reaches and grabs Phillipe’s reins, halting your walk. He stares up at you, waiting for your answer.

“I don’t want to be,” You choose to respond. “Should I be?”

“I am a beast,” San replies, as if that’s an answer in itself.

You tilt your head. “You certainly act like it.”

“I…” San falters with his words. “I haven’t had a reason to act like anything else but.”

You both remain in silence until you finish your circuit and arrive back at the castle. You wiggle off of Phillipe and are about to lead him back into the stable when San speaks up again.

“If I…act less like a beast…will you begin to speak again at dinner?”

You arrange Phillipe’s forelock. “Why would I do that?”

“Because the silence is insufferable!” San protests.

“It’s fine for me,” You reply.

“You are--” San lets out a noise of frustration. The hair on the back of your neck is the only warning you get before San grabs your arm and pulls you away from Phillipe. “I cannot kill you!”

“You have a funny way of showing it!” You shout up at him. “Let go of me!”

“No!” San shakes his head. “You only seem to listen to me if my hands are on you!”

You raise your head stubbornly but also to show your neck. “Go on then! Give me another beautiful bruise along my neck!”

San’s eyes narrow down at you. “I don’t want to strangle you.”

“Well, I want to!” You yell.

“Fine.”

You squeak as San falls to his knees. He grabs your hands and brings them to his neck. “We’ll be even, then.”

“Like I could harm you,” you mumble under your breath. “Your neck is like a tree trunk.”

“Do it,” San commands you softly.

You think about when San made you lick his boots and your hands unconsciously tighten around his throat. A sweet, soft whimper comes from San and something twists in your gut. You like it, you realize, and that makes you let him go.

As your hands drop to your sides, a slow, arrogant, crooked grin appears on San’s face. “Liked it, didn't you?”

“I am not a monster like you,” You scoff.

“Not yet,” San says.

You jolt upwards in your bed, wrapping your arms around yourself for warmth. Something had woken you out of a deep sleep. You hear a loud roar again and smash. What was going on?

You grab your fur coat, wrapping it around you tightly, and make your way down the tower’s winding staircase. You find San in front of the lobby’s main fireplace. His jacket is shrugged off, on the floor like a discarded skin. He’s brought one of the highback chairs close to the fire. You see his face wince as he pokes at--

“What happened?” You demand.

“More damn wolves,” San snarls. “They think they can just sweep into my territory even though I don’t mark every damn tree.”

Your bare feet move closer towards the monster that was your captor. “Are you…hurt?”

“Of course I’m hurt!” San shouts. 

He pokes at five deep gouges on his arm and then hisses at the pain it produces. 

You move to stand in front of him and see that the damage is even worse. There are bite marks on his shoulder too. “I can help--”

San’s head snaps upwards to meet your gaze with a fiery one of his own. “Why would you want to do that?”

You wave one of your hands to indicate somewhere around here were his men-at-arms. “They can fetch you the supplies but they can’t touch you, San.”

San begins to grumble under his breath. “You’ll only make it worse.”

“Then consider it… repayment,” You attempt again.

“Repayment for what?” San narrows his eyes at you.

“For…my father,” You swallow down the emotion that’s constricting your throat.

“Ah.” San’s face is unreadable. “Fine.”

“My lord,” Yeosang appears from the flickering shadows. 

“Get something to boil water in,” You recommend. “And some rags. We can boil them too. Is there some alcohol?”

Whatever you ask for, Mingi delivers swiftly. The three shadowmen watch you in silence as you prepare everything you need. You take a swig of the clear alcohol first, however, and then offer it to San. The fire only highlights San’s jawline as he tips his head back and drinks down the beverage. Some rivulets spill down both sides of his mouth and trail down his neck. 

“Leave some alcohol so we can clean your wounds,” You murmur.

San lets out a lusty ‘ah!’ as he finishes drinking. “Since when are you a nurse?”

You shake your head. “I’m not. Father was just a little clumsy with his tools. I used to patch him up. Nothing worse than a finger caught in between two cogs.”

Hongjoong squeezes and dries some of the boiled rags and offers them to you when you reach out. You grab the rag with one hand and then drench San’s arm with the alcohol.

San roars in pain and snatches his arm back. “That hurt!"

“Did you expect it to feel good?” You hiss back to him.

The alcohol that spilled into the rag is used to dab at the gouges on his arm. He flinches at the pain but he keeps his mouth shut. His eyes are on you, however, you can feel them burn into you.

“Why do you hunt the wolves?” You wonder.

“Because I am a monster,” San says with arrogance. 

You tsk at him. “That’s not an answer.”

“It’s the only answer you--are you enjoying inflicting pain on me?” He yells.

“No, I do not,” You reply in a clipped tone. “You better stay still. I have yet to get that bite on your shoulder.”

Methodically, you wrap another clean rag that’s passed to you by Mingi this time around San’s wounded arm. The shadowmen are abnormally quiet for some reason. 

“They used to scare me. As a child,” San says in such a low tone, you almost don’t catch it.

Shock runs through you but you try not to show it. Odd to think of the monster before you as a small child. Instead, you lean over San and pat at the bite marks on his shoulder. 

“So you hunt them down?” You ask.

“I show them that they do not scare me any longer,” San allows. 

Hongjoong gives you the final rag that you wrap around San’s torso. You grab his opposite shoulder to make him lean forward so you can do your work. San is being awfully docile. You’re not sure exactly what’s going on. 

“There. You’re all set.” You clap your hands in finality. 

San’s silent and now you know why he’s being so docile. The entire time you weren’t working on wrapping his shoulder up, slanting the rag from shoulder to rib cage, he was staring down your dressing gown. 

“Get a good eyeful like Mingi, hmm?” You say, nonplussed.

San’s head jerks towards Mingi, who holds his hands up in defense. “Have you been staring at her naked form Song?” he growls.

“Of course not, my lord!” Mingi protests. “I wouldn’t even think of such a thing.”

You snort at the lie. San gets up out of the chair, a growl vibrating from his lips. “If I find out you’re lying to me…”

“Mingi’s stupid, but he’s not an idiot!” Yeosang protests. “We’ll leave you two to your evening, let's go.”

The three shadowmen melt into the shadows and then it’s just you and the beast. 

“I suppose a thank you is in order,” San says gruffly. 

You shake your head. “An eye for an eye. We are balanced now, you and I.”

San tilts his head. His skin appears even more bronze in the firelight. “I would not describe us as balanced, Belle.”

Your whole body rocks backwards. You were sure that was the first time San had referred to you by your first name. Not human. Not prisoner. But Belle.

You press your lips into a thin line. “No, I don’t suppose so.”

San offers you a clawed hand and you stare at it like it’s foreign. “Come with me.”

“I just patched you up! Surely you don’t intend to throw me back into my tower! Let me warm up by the fire for a bit at least!” You protest.

San shakes his head and his hair falls in his eyes. “No, we’re going to the west wing.”

You begin to back away slowly. “San, I haven’t gone back there. I swear.”

“Just take my damn hand!” San loses his temper again.

Trembling, you place your hand in his and then he’s suddenly dragging you into the darkness. 

Your heart is in your throat. You can hardly see anything, and so you trip and almost fall, if not for the firm grip San has of your hand. He doesn’t say a word, although he does growl a few times when he has to tug you forward. 

At last, you realize he’s taken you to his room. San doesn’t let go of your hand, even as he drags you over to the small table where the rose pottery is. You peer around San’s body, the moon phases barely visible along his spine, and you see the black thing that was in the middle of the table has grown. 

You try to move forward to examine it further but San jerks you back. “Wait.”

You wait, looking at him expectantly. His face is hard, not softening his sharp features one bit. 

“There is a curse on this estate. It stems from me. I once messed with the wrong woman. This plant is my only salvation.”

“What does it mean?” You ask.

“If the plant grows--if I right my wrong--I will be broken of this curse. The land will be restored. Mingi, Yeosang and Hongjoong will be human again.”

You remember the image of San in the mirror. Without his horns and taloned hands, he looked like… You gasp and bring one of your hands to your mouth. “Then you’ll no longer be a monster?”

San shakes his head. “You don’t understand.”

“Didn’t you bring me here to try to explain?” You’re confused.

“Belle…”

“Will I be free if the curse is broken?” You wonder next.

“Free?” San turns his head towards you, his eyes unreadable. “No. Your life is tied to mine.”

“Why?!” You shout at him. “I have done absolutely nothing to you! Nothing to deserve this! I freeze every night in that tower. I have to endure your mental and physical torture. So what if you feed me and take me for walks. Am I a pet to you?”

“I--” San’s jaw snaps shut and a muscle there tenses. “You will understand eventually.”

“Well, if you don’t explain it to me, how am I to get it?” You yell. “Never mind.” 

You tear your hand out of San’s grasp and stomp out of his room. That was the last time you showed an ounce of compassion to that beast!

The next day you sequester yourself in the library. You do whatever you can to escape your current reality. You read about a woman trapped in a tower but that’s too close to your current situation. You try for another but it’s two star crossed lovers. You close the book loudly and sigh. What was with your state of mind today?

Your stomach growls but you ignore it. You refuse to do anything that would make San’s life better. You won’t give him the satisfaction of eating with him or going on a walk with Phillipe or--

The library doors burst open, bouncing off the walls with the force they are pushed open with. “What are you doing in here?” San demands, walking straight to your spot in the chair.

“You said I could be in here!” You protest.

San runs a hand through his hair in frustration. “Yes I did. But what about dinner?”

“I’m not going anymore.”

San’s mouth opens and closes and then he’s scowling at you. “Yes, you are.”

You don’t know what you were thinking, but the next thing you know, you throw your book at San. It lands with a thwap on his chest and falls to the floor. “Stay away from me.”

“Belle,” San held his hands out as if to say he was harmless; as if he didn’t have claws that you’ve seen tore out wolf’s stomachs. 

“Don’t you ‘Belle’ me!” You shout at him. You try to put the chair between you and him. “I’m not going to dinner. And you can’t make me.”

“I can throw you over my shoulder and slap your ass if I so choose.” San folded his arms across his chest. “So either you get to that dining hall or I will make you.”

“No.”

“No?”

“No.”

“Fine. I gave you a choice.”

San lunges for you and you squeal. San’s body is cutting off your escape route to the exit so you run further into the library instead. 

San’s belly chuckle chases after you. “You wanna play this game again?”

“It’s not a game!” You shout over your shoulder. 

You begin to eye the ladders to the second level. Perhaps you might be able to clamber up before San catches up with you. You quickly grab a rung and start to haul yourself up. 

Unfortunately for you, San’s advantage in height means he’s able to grab your waist and pull you down easily. 

“Got you!” San announces triumphantly. 

Just one of his arms wrapped around you is all he needs to do to keep your arms to yourself. Except that allows you to throw everything into your leg movement. You try to drive your heel into a very sensitive area but you only manage to dig into his inner thigh. San’s singular grunt is the only acknowledgment you’re even doing anything. 

“Now, let’s get back to the dining hall,” San says.

“Let go of me!” You insist. “I will bite you.”

San chuckles under his breath. “Don’t promise me a good time.”

Despite his clear warning, the only thing in your mind is to escape San’s confines. So you lower your head as far as you can and you bite into his arm. San hisses and then he begins to cackle. “Little one, you do not know what you’re getting into.”

“I will bite a chunk out of your arm if you don’t let me go--San!”

You’re pinned against a bookshelf but it’s not like the time San slammed you against the glass door. This time one hand is splayed along your chest to keep you there and his leg is in between yours. 

Your hands grab his bicep and dig your nails into the skin there, close to where your bite marks are. When San moans, you freeze in place.

That cruel, crooked smile that blooms on his face makes your face drain of blood. 

“I’m a beast, am I not? What better to get my blood pumping than with a chase and a bite.” You swallow hard but your mouth is devoid of any moisture when San leans in close so that one of his teeth skims your ear. “What would your little talons feel as they dug into my back, Little One?”

“What are you doing?” You whisper. 

“You know the best way to help with boiling over tempers?” San purrs.

“No.”

San leans back so that he can get a good look at your face. His thigh flexes and he pushes you higher up his leg. “No?”

“You let go of me right now,” You command.

You’re scared shitless of what is happening right now. When had the thin edge of anger and spite turned over into this…?

“Are you scared?” San tilts his head. “Your heartbeat is going wild in your chest.”

“I’m not scared!” You lie through your teeth. “I want you to leave me alone!”

San shakes his head. “I can’t do that.”

“Yes you can, you great, hulking beast! Let me go right now!” You struggle and then let out a whimper as your lower half grinds against San’s leg.

San’s eyes are dark with lust. “Will you use me for your pleasure? Is that how this will work? Get yourself worked up and then I can slide between your plump thighs--”

“Stop that! No! I’m not--!” You only manage to rub yourself further against San’s thigh. You clamp your teeth down on your treacherous lips. “Remove your thigh from between my legs. You are only proving how much of a beast you truly are.”

“Then you won’t be surprised when I don’t change my tune, will you?” San murmurs before his head dips and he tilts his head.

His nails only slightly prick into your skin, almost as if he’s a cat kneading his claws into you. “Let me taste your poisonous lips.”

“San.”

“Yes?” San’s lips hover over yours. You can feel his moist breath on your lips. If you even push out your lips too far, you’ll meet his.

“I hate you.”

“I hate you too,” San agrees and then presses his lips to yours.

He’s very careful with his fangs but that doesn’t stop him from playing his tongue against yours. He’s almost hungry for the kiss but you don’t have any thoughts to spare towards the why of this. It’s all you can do to keep up with his pace, unsure why exactly this feels so perfect. 

San breaks the kiss, his tongue remaining out of his mouth, and a string of spit breaks between the two of you. “I will have you, here and now.”

“You will not!” You squeal. 

San grabs one of your hands and presses it against his pelvis. He is throbbing under his thin pants, twitching in your hand. You cast aside the feeling of empowerment it gives you immediately. “I will.”

“We can’t--you are--the others--” 

Your mind races but you can’t settle on a good and true reason as to why this can’t happen. Who was going to walk in on you? The shadowmen? They wouldn’t dare, with the way San threw a fit when he heard about Mingi spying on you. By the feeling of your lower half, you knew that you weren’t opposed to it. But this beast was--you hated him! Didn’t you?

“Throw your anger at me, Little One. I can take it.”

San tilts his head in the opposite direction and tempts you with another kiss. This time he carefully nips your lower lip and when you gasp as he fully grips it between his teeth and pulls slightly. 

Your hand, still pressing against San’s erection, pushes harder against his length and he groans for you. 

“Wrap your legs around my waist,” San instructs you. 

Against your better judgement, you do exactly that. Your skirts push over your hips and it’s simply your hose and garter and nothing else in view. 

San’s fevered brow presses against yours as he takes it in. “You’re so tiny.”

“I…” You gulp and say more to yourself than anyone. “Babies come from there. Surely you’ll fit.”

San lets out a laugh that reverberates through his chest. “I have a feeling it will be a perfect fit for you.”

Before you can ask him what the hell he’s talking about, his taloned hands deftly undo the buttons to his pants and he pushes them down to his knees. He’s straining against his stomach. You can practically see the veins pulsing with need along his shaft. His cockhead is angry and red. He’s nothing like the arrogant Jongho that fucked you in your village. 

San takes a step back, if only to press both of his hands to your lower back. Your cunt lips press against his cock shaft with a very embarrassing, wet noise. It only entices San to look down at you with hooded eyes. “How delicious will the press of my cock be to your cunt?”

“Only one time, San,” You say as you lick your lips. 

San laughs deep in his throat. It almost sounds pained to your ears. “I have a feeling I won’t be able to quit you after one time.”

You flex your thighs so that you can hover over San’s mushroom cockhead. It splits you easily enough but it’s a stretch. He’s just so thick. His thumbs brush over the dimples in your back, soothing you. 

“Take your time.”

How you manage to endure sinking down on him, inch by inch, blows your mind. But you do it and soon your body adjusts to his thickness. “I--San--be careful.”

“Like fine china,” San murmurs under his breath. 

With one hand braced against the bookcase, he crooks his hips and you whimper. He takes his time with you but it quickly goes from worry to frustration. Your cunt is aching and he seems to be torturing and tempting you, as if he wants you to commit to memory how he feels inside of you; every damn inch of him. 

“You!” You gasp and start to roll your hips.

“Too much?” San smirks at you.

“Not. Enough.”

San's hand moves to squeeze your waist. “You said to be careful.”

“I need more,” You growl.

“I don't think you can handle more.”

You both watch as San pulls out, your inner lips gliding along as if beckoning his cock to not leave. 

“Faster,” You urge, wrapping your legs more firmly to get leverage. “Harder.”

“But you're such a fragile human.”

San eyes roll wildly. The whites of his eyes flash and you hold your breath as his hand finds your neck again. You squeeze your eyes shut and for a moment, you think, this will be the end of you. San's hand squeezes but you are still able to breathe. Each whistle of air into your lungs was sweet and lovely. But your end never came.

San's hips slam into you and you let out a choked cry. You're stuffed, truly fully stuffed and it feels like heaven.

Your air starts to come out in hammered puffs because of the way San is thrusting into you. Your brain goes blank and all you can focus on is the pending pleasure pouring through you. 

San lets go of your throat, if only to lean in to bury his face in the crook of your neck. His fangs play along the thin skin of your neck and you gasp. The lack of air seems to have heightened your senses. Everything feels more. 

“You're doing so well,” San praises you. “I told you; we’re a perfect fit.”

“San,” You moan his name. It's the only word you can form.

“Are you ready, Little One? You had better be coming because after I unload in you, I don't think I'll be able to stop,” San admits in a husky tone.

“In me?” You say in alarm.

“You needn't worry,” San hums. “I'm infertile for a human.”

You whimper as your climax builds. You wrap your arms behind San’s neck. “I need to come.”

San’s hands curl around your ass and legs from behind you and he untangles your legs around his waist. Your back scrapes the spines of some books as your body weight is forced back so that San can focus on pounding into you.

Your cries come out more urgently. Your climax is coming. You begin to chant San’s name, each single syllable coming out more whiny than the last. And when it finally bursts over you, you hold in your breath. 

Your walls fluttering around San is all he needs to ram into you with one swift thrust and twitch inside of you. You know you're in trouble when you can feel him dripping out of you--quickly and in copious amounts. He's dripping sweat onto your dress and he blinks hard like there's a threat of his soaked hair going to blind him. His lips are pink and plush. His eyes are dark but clear. You’ve never beheld him so…unguarded but also so natural. It was as if all his walls were down and after sex, he was in his true form.

“You're not leaving my bed for anything,” San pants.

“We're not in your bed right now, San,” You deadpan.

“Not yet.”

San pulls you off of him and sets you down. You can feel your face heat up as his cum dribbles down your thighs. Thank god for your dress settling down otherwise you were sure the sight of it would send you to an early grave. 

Once the beast does up his pants, he sweeps you up into his arms. “Your tiny legs can’t keep up with mine,” He growls and then he’s leaving the library and moving down the hallway toward the west wing.

Was he truly bringing you to his bed? This beast, that was so hot and cold with you, so careful to feed you crumbs of his life, was taking you to his inner sanctum…again? What was it that he was so sure you needed to know but also wanted to keep you away from?

Your inner thoughts come to a halt as San closes the doors to his room and he carefully dispatches you to his bed. It’s a bundle of worn blankets but it’s almost cozy in its chaos.

One of his claws catches on your dress to draw it upwards and he groans at the sight of his cum running down your legs. Before you can stop him, his tongue is cleaning you up. Your thighs are now wet with his saliva and he dives head first into your cunt.

“S-san!” You protest. You’re still sensitive from your orgasm and besides, his fangs!!

It was a mistake to call his name while he was between your thighs. His dark eyes roll up to meet yours but his tongue doesn’t stop. No, the beast continues to push in and out of your hole, his own cum seeping onto his pink tongue. 

You whimper at the sight and swallow to no avail. “You are disgusting.”

San only stops tongue-fucking you to say, “You just fucked a beast, what else would you expect?”

Your hands dive into his hair when his tongue finds your clit. He flattens his tongue and worries back and forth on your clit. Your legs close around his head but he patiently pushes your legs back to be spread on the bed. Your hands migrate to his horns. You wrap each hand around the twisted, obsidian horns and push him further into you. 

“San, San,” You whimper his name, bucking your hips up into his face. 

“Stay still, you’re going to--” San begins to growl but is interrupted by a sharp gasp from yourself. 

One of his fangs catches on your sensitive flesh. You watch as San’s pupils blow, seeing the blood on your cunt. And he dives right back in to lick it up. Soon, you forget the pain as he begins to suck on your clit eagerly. You whine because you can’t rock up against his face but your climax comes again, bursting through you like fireworks. 

You pant as the beast climbs up your body. His face is covered in your cum, and it’s tinged rose with your blood, and still he kisses you. His tongue tangles with yours, your cum rubbing onto your face. You grab the back of his head and return the kiss. You feel utterly debauched but you can’t help the fire that’s burning in your stomach. It’s not even quenched after two orgasms, in fact, it’s inflamed for more.

“I--I haven’t eaten all day, we can’t--”

San presses his hand to your chest and pins you back to the bed. “I will get you something. You stay here.”

“Nonsense! Two arms can carry back more--” You push upwards but San only pushes you back again. 

“I told you that you wouldn’t leave my bed for anything and I meant it,” San growls. 

“You…you trust me alone here?” You can’t help but ask.

San’s eyes flit around, suddenly unable to meet your gaze. “It’s fine.”

You send him a look of disbelief. “Are you kidding me? You almost killed me for the same thing months ago!”

“It’s--”

“No!” You shout at him. “You’re not allowed to do this anymore. You can’t keep letting me in and then telling me that there’s a closet that I can’t open. I won’t do this anymore, San.”

San settles onto the side of the bed, his back to you. He turns his head to speak over his shoulder. “I can’t tell you. It’s not that I don’t want to. I can’t. It’ll ruin everything. Be angry all you want. I can’t risk it all.”

And for once, you feel like he’s genuinely telling you the truth. As vague as it was. 

“Is it the curse?” You ask, putting a hand on his shoulder. Which draws your attention to his tattoo that runs the length of his spine. You trace the trail down his skin and his back muscles tense. “What does it all mean? And what does it have to do with me? And what about the ghost?”

San spins around and grabs your hand. “What ghost?”

You smile briefly and then shake your head. “I was delusional. It’s nothing.”

“Stay in my bed. I will bring you food. Then I will devour you some more.” You swear you see an excited smile on his face but San is gone from the room before you can confirm.

True to his word, you remain in San’s room--and his bed--for three whole days. He can only endure you to leave to relieve yourself and even then, he barely lets you take one step into the room before he’s carrying you back to his bed and slotting his body between your legs. 

You’ve lost the sense of where you end and San begins. All you know is the feeling of his hands on your body. You only know the scent of his musk as your face is buried into his muscular shoulder. The taste of his cum is the only flavor you know, no matter how much water you drink. He is the only thing you know, utterly and truly. 

Then, on the fourth day, something miraculous happens.

“San, your plant.” You point a finger to the rose pottery on the singular table by the balcony.

San launches himself out of bed and bounds towards the table. His eyes widen in extreme disbelief and he falls to his knees. 

“You’ve done it,” he whispers.

You crawl towards the foot of the bed, drawing a blanket over your naked body. There is a full rose that has bloomed from the pot. You aren’t certain but you are pretty sure roses don’t grow that quickly. And besides… why was this one black?

“I’ve done nothing but fuck you for the past three days, San. What are you talking about?”

“Get dressed,” San says excitedly. “We have to gather the others.”

“With what clothes, San, you keep ripping them off me,” You grumble. 

San grins and then he’s out the door, hollering for his shadow men.

“What’s got him so… what in the nine hells?” Mingi’s eyebrows are furrowed in utter confusion. “When did that happen?”

San is back with Yeosang on his heels. San has what looks like a dress in one hand, which he throws to the bed. “Mingi, Yeosang, go find Hongjoong and go to the ballroom. Belle, get dressed. Quickly!”

The shadow men are gone upon command and you quickly pull the dress over your head. “Why the ballroom?”

“Because that’s where it all began.” San’s face is pinched with past pain. 

The dress you wear is wonderous canary yellow, one that seems orange and red depending on where the sun hits. “San, what’s going on?”

San pulls you in for a tight hug and you freeze in his embrace, stiff and unsure. “All your questions will be answered. It’s finally happening.”

The five of you stand apace in the ballroom. San encapsulates your head in between his huge hands. Your whole world narrows down to just him, once again. 

“You have accepted me completely. For that, I can only repay you by committing my life to you.”

“San, what--”

“Once upon a time there was a beast who was cruel and handsome. He loved the power he held as a beast,” San murmurs to you.

“You… you were born like this?”

“The beast lived as he pleased. He wooed anyone and anything. He played with their hearts and bodies. And when he was bored of them, he discarded them.”

You knew San was cruel, you had been subject to such cruelty. But the way he was telling this story was making you feel uneasy.

“One day, his lover whom he had passed amongst his subordinates, revealed she was a witch. With her heartbroken, and her body used, she cursed the four men. The men at arms would become shadowmen, never able to touch another human ever again. And the beast…”

San’s eyes are dark and unreadable. They are like pools of water that never end, the deep dark water that never sees the light of day. 

“The beast had a very special curse placed on him. Every generation his soulmate would be born. And every time they were destined to cross paths. But if he was unable to woo her, to truly love her, to let her take his heart in return, then the curse would remain. The beast would never leave his estate. The men at arms would never know another’s touch. And some poor soul would be born over and over again, at the mercy of a beast’s black heart.”

“Are you saying I’m your soulmate? How did you know?”

A slow, crooked smile grows on San’s face. He appears… crazed, like he had been in the library. “Your father brought you to me.”

You deny this immediately. “My father would never!”

“Why do you think the sudden trip to sell his clocks came to be, Belle?”

“My father is scatter brained, San, he does this all the time. All of sudden he’ll decide to sell all his clocks. There’s hardly a pattern.”

“I’ll tell you why your father brought you to me.” San’s grin is stretched from ear to ear. He is maniacal. “You killed your lover. Your father saw your true form. He knew of the myth of the cursed beast. He was bringing you to me when the wolves attacked. The attack triggered your other form. You killed almost everyone and everything. I couldn't save your father. But he made me promise to keep you confined to the estate so you wouldn’t hurt anyone else. And it worked. For a time.”

There’s a small buzzing in your ear and you feel like you’re about to faint.

“See, I’m impatient to see my soulmate’s true form become her permanent form. So I provoked you. Treated you like horse manure on my boot. Ordered the others to do the same. The mirror  that first dinner showed you the truth: that you were a true monster. It’s why I cancelled the dance to woo you. You are not like the other ones. My true soulmate is connected with me. I am a beast. And so are you. ”

You shook your head. “You lie.”

“I…I thought you might risk the curse, might find a way to fuck it up. I let my anger get to me that night I almost killed you. I regretted that. Immensely. No other soulmate transformed before coming to me. You were the first. So, instead of attempting to provoke the beast side of you, I decided to learn who you were. The reading took me by surprise but you seemed to find solace in that room. But you triggered the beast side of me once again. Running away like a little white rabbit that is great prey? Writhing that sweet body of yours against mine as I pinned you to the ground?” San licks his lips lecherously. “You were tempting me.”

“But you still had to fall in love with me, the beast. The walks with your horse were good days for me. You reminded me of what life was like before this curse. The difference was that I wanted that life… with you. I provoked your other form again when I prompted you to choke me. That night you fixed me up? That wasn’t the wolves, my darling, that was you. You in your glorious form, rising from her slumber. We fought and it was grand. You won though. I may have been a little frustrated that you took me. But that’s when I decided that perhaps if I told you just the little of the curse that I could, that perhaps… perhaps everything might swing my way.”

San runs a taloned hand through his hair and completes the motion by curling them around his horn as well. He laughs to himself. “I should have known our bodies becoming one was the final key. What better truth exists than when two bodies join? There are no secrets then.”

“I see I was wrong.”

The ghost from before appears before you. You’ve already guessed it, she was the witch, trapped in her own curse on these lands. 

“Your heart is blacker than San’s. Bravo.”

You feel wetness on your face and you realize that you’re crying. It was like your body knew the truth already. Everything San said fit in place, like clockwork inside the creations your father made. The father you killed. You killed Jongho too. You were a monster. No wonder San was your soulmate. 

The rose that Hongjoong holds bursts and a wave of black passes through everyone and everything in the room. The ghost disappears. The air feels different.

“Yeosang!” Mingi shouts.

The shadowman is losing his shadow. Yeosang lifts his arms and watches in wonder as his clothes appear back on his body. The same happens to Mingi and Hongjoong. With a trembling hand, Mingi reaches out and puts his hand on Hongjoong’s chest. 

“We’re free,” Hongjoong whispers in disbelief. 

San pulls off his fur jacket and looks over his shoulder. The moon phase tattoo is fading as well. He lets the jacket drop to the floor and looks at you expectantly. 

“Wha--?” 

You suddenly scream in pain. Your skull feels like it’s going to split in two. Just as you bring your hands to your face, you gaze in horror as your nails lengthen and sharpen. You reach upwards to your head, already aware of what you’ll find. You choke on a sob when your fingers find horns sprouting from your head.

“There she is, my soulmate,” San announces. 

“I’m a monster,” You repeat to yourself.

Suddenly, everything clicks into place and you feel a new self settle over your shoulders.

“We can never repay you, Belle,” Mingi admits wistfully. “Maybe now--”

Your claw rips Mingi’s face off his skull. It flaps uselessly in your hand and you let it drop to the floor. 

“You’ll be the first to die, you horrible peeping tom,” You promise. 

You punch your hand through Mingi’s stomach, grab his spine and rip it out from his body. Mingi is dead instantly. It’s a pity, he should have suffered longer.

So you don’t make the same mistake with Hongjoong. You cut off Hongjoong’s balls and feed it to him. You make him chew each one and swallow them as he bleeds out. He cries soundlessly to himself and it makes your heart soar.

Yeosang appears mentally broken. Perhaps too much change at once? Either way, you decide to break his limbs inch by inch until he is simply a soggy sack of pebbles. You wish he screamed; you had a feeling you were missing out on the screams. 

And through it all, San stands there, and lets you have your fun. 

You point your finger at your soulmate. “You get in our bed right now. I will fuck you with the blood of my enemies on my skin.”

“What is my punishment, my love?” San appears eager and insane and nothing has appealed to you more in your entire life. 

You wrap your hands around San’s neck, still thick as a tree, but now with your talons and your monstrous strength, he’s a tree that could snap for you. You feel power throughout your body and you know what you’re capable of doing. 

“Your punishment is to know that I’ll be a better monster than you ever could be. You’ll always play second fiddle to me, San. Now and forever.”

“Yes, Love.”

San follows you as you stalk back towards the bedroom you proclaimed as yours like an eager puppy. What you saw in the mirror was the utter truth: you were the beast and San was the beauty.

How ironic.