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ithebookhoarder · 6 months ago

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your Eloise fics have me in a chokehold! If you would I need an eloise and fem reader first kiss moment! friends to lovers type best

First Kiss (Eloise Bridgerton x F!Reader)

A/N: Well, I love me a good ol' 'friends to lovers' trope, so thank you for sending this in! I am in full S3 mode. 💕Also, side note, but I see this request existing in the same universe/as a prequel to my other piece 'This Love' - which you don't have to read to understand this but if you want to, then check it out.

Warnings: Beginnings of smut, implied homophobia, era-appropriate sexism (let me know if I missed any)

Masterlist

"What if the way you hold me is actually what's holy? If long-suffering propriety is what they want from me, They don't know how you've haunted me so stunningly, I choose you and me religiously..."

('Guilty as Sin' - Taylor Swift)

“I simply don’t see the appeal of such things.”

“You don’t?”

“No. What could be so appealing about kissing?” Eloise muttered, staring down at the couple on the other side of the library in which you had both hidden.

Fed up with ducking dance partners for one evening, you and the Bridgerton girl (who had been your closest friend since infancy) had escaped the ballroom of the Smith-Smyth family town house and the festivities being held there. Of course, like most nights spent trying to hide from the Ton and its never ending scrutiny of young females, the pair of you had sought refuge in the library of the home. After all, it was typically the room least likely to be occupied, and had more than enough dark, quiet corners for you two to hide in, curled up with a good book until it was time to go home.

It was far superior to being passed from one suitor to the next like some curiosity to be examined, admired, and appraised.

Tonight had been no different so far, with the pair of you taking the first opportunity to bolt and conceal yourselves on the upper gallery of the impressive library. However, you had only been alone maybe a handful of minutes when the door had burst open and a rather amorous young couple had staggered through, a tangle of limbs and lips.

Both you and Eloise had barely had time to even realise what had happened, let alone plan any kind of escape. Unfortunately, the upper level - whilst more private and out of sight - was only accessible via a spiral staircase. There was no way on earth either of you could make it down said staircase or all the way to the door without being seen.

You didn’t know who would be most embarrassed in that instance - you or the couple caught in a compromising position. That, and you’d also made the fundamental error of waiting too long to make such a decision and announce yourselves.

As such, you’d had no choice but to scamper back into the darkness and pray the couple either didn’t hear the hushed shuffling above them, or that they simply left … and soon. However, given the groans and moans coming from the pair as they pawed at one another, you didn’t think they were in any rush to return to the ballroom anytime soon.

“I mean… mama says it depends on the person you’re kissing,” Eloise continued, eyebrow raised quizzically as she leaned closer to the railings as if trying to get a better look. “That if you’re with the right one then it all just feels ...”

“Natural?”

The word fell from your lips easily without a second thought.

“Perhaps,” Eloise continued, tilting her head as the couple’s kisses began to move from their lips to other parts of their bodies.

The sight was enough to make you blush, a sudden ache awakening inside you. It was an ache that had become strangely familiar to you in the past months, even if you would never confess such a thing aloud. You were a woman after all. You weren’t supposed to feel such things, let alone share that fact with other people. Maybe your future husbands, but that was ‘simply not done’ as your mother had cautioned you, whilst giving a rather harrowing talk about ‘the facts of life’. Demure, reserved, and dignified - that was what husbands wanted.

Needless to say, none of those words could be used to describe you at present, nor your best friend. It was what had drawn you two together in the first place - a recognition of a kindred spirit, desperate to survive in a world that was clearly not designed for your kind.

For the first time in whole your life, you hadn’t felt so alone. She too loathed everything society said you were supposed to enjoy - sewing, the latest fashions, making oneself appealing to the other sex. Instead, she encouraged you and your passions, sending you new books she thought you’d like about topics that interested you. She also spoke to you like an equal and wasn’t afraid to debate current issues like politics, female rights, and science. Hell, she hadn’t laughed when you had confessed that you’d be perfectly content living a life that didn’t involve a man at all (let alone as a husband). If anything, she had encouraged it.

So, years later here you were, thick as thieves with Eloise Bridgerton and not the least bit interested in any kind of future that didn’t have her in it.

“I just can’t ever picture me being like that with another person,” she continued, staring at the couple with seeming disbelief. “Especially not one of these boys that peacock themselves about the place, acting like they’re anything other than children showing off for the air-headed debutantes. It’s embarrassing honestly.”

You tried not to laugh at your friend’s visible repulsion at the sight. She had never been one to hide her feelings and her expressive face gave their true nature away every time.

“Agreed,” you murmured, eyes still focused on the display despite vocalising your disapproval. “Oh. I… That hardly looks comfortable. In fact, she rather looks like she’s in pain.”

“Well, considering the fact that he looks like he’s trying to eat her, I’m not surprised.”

“El!”

“What?” she scoffed, sitting up and finally crawling back from the edge of the railings. You followed, shuffling backwards further into the shadows and safely out of sight. Anyone who dared look up would be unable to see you from this angle. “It’s the truth. I’m merely surprised he hasn’t dislocated his jaw yet like some python and simply swallowed her, and her fortune, whole. I merely wish I could understand what drives a person to do such a thing. It isn’t exactly like one can simply look it up in a book. They all simply say that a kiss has some divine power that makes a person lose all sense. That can’t be possible.”

“I don’t know. Maybe it is.”

“Oh, really? What could possibly make you think that?”

You froze.

How could you tell her the truth? That you knew it to be possible because every time you looked at her, what you wanted most in the world was to be able to pull her into your arms and kiss her like it was the last thing you would ever do in this lifetime? That, you had long known that your feelings towards her were well passed the point of friendly?

Even now, your heart raced in your chest in a way it only ever did when she was near. The faint traces of her orange blossom perfume made your head spin and you knew you'd be smelling it hours after she had gone as you always did.

“I don’t know.” You gulped, trying not to let your warming cheeks give away your sudden train of thought. However, your mouth and your brain had never been the most co-operative of organs. They often had a way of defying one another, just like now in fact, as you opened your mouth and the words simply came tumbling out. “Maybe that’s the problem… maybe we don’t know because we have no experience. Nothing to base it on. Maybe, it’s one of those things you have to try and see for yourself… ‘find out’ as it were.”

Eloise’s eyes looked like dinner plates, they became so wide.

“What? That’s… that’s a ridiculous proposition,” she choked, her voice raising dangerously loud. However, a well-timed moan from below brought her back to her senses as she remembered just where you were and what had brought you two into this situation in the first place.

Switching back to a frantic whisper, she continued. “I … I mean - who - what… no one would agree to such a foolish idea, not when they’d think I was trying to entrap them into a marriage-“

“El-”

“-and we all know they’d be desperate to brag about it to everyone. I would be dragged down the aisle by the end of the night, if my brothers didn’t drag them outside and shoot them first-“

“El!” You reached over and took her face in your hands. Holding her still seemed to do the trick as she instantly fell silent. “Breathe. Ok? I didn’t mean with a boy, or some stranger… I … I meant…”

The words died in your throat as your mind raced to maintain in control. There were a million reasons why this was a bad idea, the first and biggest being that your friendship was the most precious and treasured thing in your life. Risking it was beyond idiotic.

You knew that that was precisely what Eloise would tell you too, if she knew what you were about to say. However, you said it anyway.

“I meant someone you trusted. Someone you knew. Someone who cared about you.”

Eloise snorted. “And who would that be then? I don’t know if you’ve noticed but I hardly have a line of suitors waiting for me, let alone any that suit those criteria-“

That was it. You couldn’t wait any longer. You kissed her.

The kiss was everything you’d been brought up to fear and avoid, but you knew that nothing in your life had ever felt so right. You hadn’t been made to want anyone other than Eloise, and you’d spent too many years trying to force yourself to believe otherwise. To believe that your mother was right, that you’d find a suitable man and feelings would grow in time. To believe that you were wrong to imagine kissing a girl rather than a boy…

Well, it was happening. It was no longer just a fantasy and… in a word? It was thrilling. The entire world stopped. The moment was breathtaking… and then it was over.

You paused, waiting with bated breath for her to react. However, moments passed by and Eloise failed to say anything - which in itself was a signal something was wrong. It took a whole minute for her to even open her eyes, let alone look at you.

Ice cold fear spread through your veins and you felt the world crumbling around you.

“I- I'm so sorry,” you choked, hastily pulling away. “I’m so sorry, I … just … I shouldn't have done that, El. Please, if you don’t say a word about this then I’ll stay away from you and you’ll never have to see me again. I promise-"

“W- what?”

Eloise blinked, suddenly waking from her stupor as you began to scramble to your feet, desperate to make your escape - amorous couple, or no. However, her grip was tight as she grabbed your hand, refusing to let you go. She was surprisingly strong.

“No, wait,” she begged, her desperation clear by the way her voice broke. “Please, just - just wait. I … I just was surprised. That’s all, Y/N. I wasn’t expecting it or to… like it. Or at least, not that much.”

“You ... liked it?”

"Yes."

You could have been knocked over with a feather at that point. Instead of rejecting you, or rebuking you, or even feeling repulsed by what you had just done, Eloise seemed almost excited as the shock wore off.

She began to smile, making the tension simply evaporate between you two. Instead, she looked almost liberated, her cheeks flushed and her lips were plumped from where you had just pressed them against your own. Several strands of her hair had also come free from their perfect coiffeur throughout the evening and yet, Eloise had never looked more perfect in your eyes.

You’d have done anything to frame that moment to preserve it forever.

“I did," she murmured. "It seems you were right after all. Perhaps it was a matter of finding the right person to kiss.”

“I was?”

“Indeed,” Eloise purred, a newfound eagerness surging within her as she reached out and pulled you back into her arms. “But, maybe we should test it one more time? Just to be sure. Any sound scientific theory must be based on evidence, after all.”

Well, who were you to argue with that?

#ithebookhoarder #masterlist #thesilentmage #bridgerton x reader #eloise bridgerton #eloise bridgerton x reader #eloise bridgerton x you #eloise bridgerton x yn #Bridgerton

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aureatchi · 8 months ago

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⋆ ☽˚｡ 𓂃 ࣪˖ AND THAT DAY THAT WE’LL WATCH THE DEATH OF THE SUN . . . ft. FYODOR DOSTOEVSKY

⟢ PRÉCIS. restless at an hour far too late to be awake, you take a quest to the personal library lit only by warm-toned ambient lamps and candles. however, you are greeted by one who chastises you to rest, and despite his pretty face you remain stubborn. in turn, he takes up a mission on his own; one that he alone will always win: to coax you to sleep.

◞ OR fyodor knows time is limited. if only you realized this was his labyrintian way of saying au revoir for now.

ᡴꪫ a/n. it’s always his lap. been thinking about this scenario for awhile + re-inspired by the friends who played with my hair this week hehe. it makes me feel so sleepy. started to cope with ch113. :’) i hope this is decent ᡣ𐭩

ᡴꪫ info. fem!reader. fluff; sweetly suggestive in one part…and then hit with a train of angst; i warned u. soft fyodor. comfort/hurt ↻. religious imagery. it’s u trying to get him to sleep too. both poetic and shakespeare ramblings. bsd manga chapter 113 + s5 finale spoilers. russian may be incorrect. ﾉ wc. 3.1k+

“Is there anything you find more powerful than manipulation?”

Seated on the armchair across from yours, the ravenette took a sip of tea from his mug before setting it down. A bantering parley had taken place in between you two, filled with giggles and smiles, but in a moment without thought, you had brought up a more serious topic.

“Actually, yes,” he responded.

“A woman’s intuition.” You didn’t miss how his gaze slightly lowered. “The woman’s gut feeling is superior. If a man were to try manipulating her, she would know. No matter how naïve she was, the body would give her a single signal that could unravel his entire disposition at the fingertips.”

You discreetly smiled, looking down at the mug. You knew Fyodor was referring to his experience with you. At one point in time, he tried to finesse you in schemes of calamity. But in response, you ruined him—he would dare not admit out loud that you had forcefully taken whatever mess his heart was and sewed it back together with the strings of your own soul. You did so without ever realizing either. After so many years on this earth, even he did not know how to mend himself.

Now, he could only look at you as being the single thing that didn’t go wrong in the wasteland of the world. The ravenette almost considered you not of the world—you were as divine as the angels, after all. Perhaps it was his excuse to add along another duty the Father had commissioned to him—Fyodor would assure your safety and happiness through the rest of time—even once he got his hands on that book.

Because if not plans that surged through his mind, it was his most cherished memories of you.

…

Even though the room wasn’t too hot and the bed wasn’t uncomfortable, you could not go to sleep. You had tried counting sheep in your head for hours, but you still ended up awake well past midnight and had enough sheep for dozens of herds.

You turned over in annoyance before you finally sat up. You didn’t understand why you felt such unease—maybe you drank your coffee too late in the day. A bad decision at that.

You tapped the other side of the bed for a final check. Empty. Fyodor was still up. You would visit him in the office later, but for now, you’d give him the privilege of being unbothered. You decided on another place to visit—somewhere that would calm you down so perhaps you could finally catch slumber.

The personal library.

It was the coziest place, especially during the late hours of the evening, where the lights were warm and dim, not too hard on the eyes. Where the shelves were packed with literature and knowledge permeated the room with its philosophy. Fyodor annotated everything—so most books were scribbled in almost illegible cursive Russian. You always told yourself if you didn’t start to learn his lingo, you would be locked away from the library’s secrets forever.

You tiptoed down the hallway until you reached the door at the end. You were thinking of picking up one of William Shakespeare’s tragedies and reading until either you fell asleep or the sun rose. You prayed it wasn’t the latter—though restless, you were exhausted too. And you didn’t want to suffer the consequences the next day.

However, you were surprised to see the door already narrowly open. The lights were on and the candles were lit, too—was Fyodor not in his office? He seldom worked anywhere else and would always go to you as soon as he finished.

You peeked through the slight crack in the door. He was indeed there—your lover’s back turned towards you, capturing all his charming enigma. How the man carried himself with the poise and elegance of a white dove, despite starting wars among nations. His mouth spoke of divinity while he ravaged the harmony of life with his hands. It was fitting; Fyodor was a juxtaposition in himself—you knew this, and so did he.

“You can come in.” A second of pure silence passed before you opened the door to step inside. Not even a single noise was made, and yet, he recognized your presence.

Almost shyly, you shuffled towards him. You did not plan for Fyodor to catch you—you were still in between deciding whether going inside was worth his lecture.

Because although the handsome workaholic stayed up until absurd hours of the night, he did not want you following his ways.

You circled the lounging area until you were in front of him, who closed the journal he was writing in.

“Lyubov, why are you still awake?” he asked.

Usually, you only stayed up out of anticipation in waiting for his return—whether from a mission or just to the bed. You were so stubborn that Fyodor would actually halt his work for a few days after being gone for awhile to sleep with you so that he was sure you were resting properly.

It was different this time. He had been home for the whole month, and despite being in his office for the majority of this week, you didn’t have any problem with going to bed without him until now.

You shrugged with a quiet, “I’m not sure.” You eyed the unfamiliar journal. “Are you still working?”

“Sort of,” Fyodor replied. “Would you like some chamomile tea? That will help.”

You shook your head. “What do you mean ‘sort of?’ Last time I checked, you were either working or not.”

“It’s not any more important than addressing the current problem at hand,” he calmly dejected the topic, leaving you confused.

“What’s the current problem?”

“You’re awake. You shouldn’t be at this hour.”

“Well, now that I’ve found you here, I don’t think I can return to bed unless you come with me.” You dramatically yawned before stepping closer to him.

“Let’s go sleep, Fedya.” You tried dragging him up by the arm, but he stayed sat on the armchair, much to your disdain.

“I cannot, I’m not done yet,” Fyodor replied. As you froze, he took your hand in his and brought you to his lap.

“However, you must sleep.” He let you shift so that you were comfortable. “You came here to read?”

“Yeah,” you replied as he handed you a book. What a mind reader Fyodor was—you were presented with The Tragedy of Hamlet, Prince of Denmark. It would be the perfect reread.

“Why this play?” you tested.

“The pile of books you never put back on the shelves over there shows you’ve been reading a lot of tragedies lately,” he nodded towards the stack of books you read this week. “I thought you’d probably be in the mood for one by none other than the master of catastrophe.

“Plus, it’s fitting for you, too,” he added, voice a bit lower as he fidgeted with the hem of your shirt. “You’re so dramatic.”

“Hey!” You pouted, moving away from him, pretending you were insulted. Though you knew too that further proved his point.

“Maybe we should act it out,” you joked as you scanned through the pages to find a poem you were familiar with. “Act two, scene two.”

“Hamlet’s letter to Ophelia,” Fyodor recalled.

“Doubt thou the stars are fire;

“doubt that the sun doth move;

“doubt truth to be a liar;

“but never doubt I love.”

“Dlya neye, v iskrennosti,” you squinted, reading the little note by the quote you did not understand. The Russian laughed at your terrible pronunciation.

“Some scholars say that Hamlet used his words toward Ophelia as a manipulation tactic,” he stated. “He had a larger strategy at hand, and he rarely mentioned her unless she was on stage, with the exception of her death. If he harbored such a profound love for her, would Shakespeare not make it more direct? What do you think?”

You contemplated for a few seconds, eyes drifting amongst the shelves of books as you felt your lover behind you gently run his fingers through your hair.

“I think Shakespeare didn’t give us clarity for a reason. I’d like to believe Hamlet did love Ophelia. The story does not revolve around romance, after all—it revolves around revenge. A man with ambitious plans would not have love at the forefront of his head. Or, he wouldn’t speak aloud about it, at the least. Perhaps he was more reserved about that aspect of his life, too—he could’ve been shy to speak about it in front of all aristocracy—like you, for example.”

You giggled with a shrug, expressing your last phrase as lighthearted, but you still earned a slight frown from him. It was amusing that the nationwide terrorist was timid in everything concerning his love life.

“Obviously, it could be taken as manipulation, too,” you continued. “But again, it’s not stated upfront for a reason. Shakespeare mirrors the complexities of a person in real life. You never quite know the truth of other people, no matter how much you think you know them.”

Fyodor nodded, satisfied with your interpretation. “I wholly agree. It is why Shakespeare is enticing to many—he creates characters that simulate life’s universal themes and relatable human emotions when reacting to those situations. I only disagree with one point you made.”

“Which one? You being shy?” you asked. He shook his head with a smile.

“Perhaps I will reward you with that knowledge if you sleep.” He chuckled when you groaned in disappointment.

“How about you just do your work while I read? Then, when you finish, we can leave together.”

“If it were that easy. You’re a distraction, milaya.”

You rolled your eyes. “No, I promise! I originally came here to read anyway—I won’t distract you this time.” You moved to one side of Fyodor’s lap so he would have space to do what he wanted.

He did not answer you, instead making a quiet “tsk” when his fingers caught on a tangle in your hair. Fyodor worked to gently separate the knot. The terrorist was a perfectionist, but the mindset further stemmed past reaching twisted goals to create a world without flaws. Three spoons of jam in his tea, faint scratches on a deck of cards, and ensuring he had the satisfaction of reaching the ends of your hair with his fingertips were a few details he keenly paid mind to.

You took his silence as a comply, and started to play out the tragedy of the Danish prince in your head while your lover brushed through your locks. Eventually, he picked his journal back up and continued to write information you paid no mind to.

…

You did not know how much time passed before you felt your eyes grow heavy. The faint ticks of the clock on the wall combined with the warm candlelight’s glow drew you to slumber. You closed Hamlet and shifted positions until you ended up straddling Fyodor. You buried your face in the crook of his neck until you could see nothing but dark.

“Sonnyy?”

He started stroking his fingers through your hair again, relaxing you even more.

“Lublu tebya, kak angel boga, kak roso lyubit solovey. S toboy vremya ostanavlivaetsya, yi ya zhivu lish mgnoveniam ryadom s toboy.”

However, the sounds of seconds passing by and intimate lighting adorning the room could not compare to the persuasion of your lover’s voice in his mother tongue. Foreign words spilled from his lips as rich as velvet, as soothing as a lullaby. If his voice, in general could put you in a trance, here he harbored the garden serpent’s master of temptation itself. Even if you did not understand him. Worst of all, he knew this. You had fallen into his trap long ago.

“Ya boudou skucha—what are you doing?”

You were drowsily planting kisses on his neck. You stopped once the room became silent and looked up, catching his half-lidded amethyst gaze. The conjurer’s expression was for once softened—or perhaps it had been the entire time you were with him. It was a gift only you were blessed with.

You smiled, a tad smugness in your look, before sitting up and giving him a shy peck on his lips.

For a few seconds, you were both frosted in that moment of time—his hands wrapped around your waist, massaging circles onto your skin under your shirt as you straddled his own, your eyes fixated on his almost surprised, slightly flustered violet stare. The candles illuminated the room in such a way that made you think it was really only you two who existed in the world—your two souls someplace faraway where nothing else mattered but the sounds of your heartbeats and what you would do next after his mouth slightly parted. You were the most beautiful thing Fyodor had laid eyes on, throughout eras of people.

You kissed him for the first time that night, and the ravenette kissed you back. It escalated to become sloppy—you were both too exhausted to care whether your lips were on his or if they instead trailed down to trace his jawline as sharp as those of the greek gods. Or when you were back on your lover’s neck—however, this time almost sucking, mesmerized by how easily you could bruise him. You did not need to wear lipstick to create deep red marks on Fyodor’s pale skin.

“I told you that you’d end up being a distraction.”

You shivered at cold fingertips dancing across your lower abdomen, though they were still quite far from anywhere you wished. You winced when Fyodor bounced you up in order to fix your position, but it offered a different effect.

“Careful,” he warned. “That spot is visible to others.”

Being the leader of the Rats in the House of the Dead and member of organization Decay of Angels placed the Russian at a high status in the underground world. He always restricted the places you could leave visible traces of affection on him whenever he had a new operation in front of him—Fyodor was one to uphold modesty.

You sighed softly before disconnecting your mouth from his neck, only to unbutton the top half of his shirt.

Like his hands, the demon’s heart was cold. He bore at least some sense of insensitivity to death—he had to; granting silence was part of his duty. However, something about you ignited a fire in him out of nothing, out of no help amidst ice—you were not given a flame nor torch to aid you.

If he was the one to destroy the world to pay the price of ridding sin, you were the one who rebuilt creation from the ground and up. You were unfazed by the city ruins; you were unfazed by Fyodor Dostoevsky, the man most feared in the world. A duality: to them, his hands soaked in crimson blood, but to you, they clasped around yours in adoration.

And since he’d met you, his heart was filled with the foreign warmth of love. Accompanied were trust, vulnerability, and your sweet, honey-like kisses that you littered all over his broad shoulders and chest, because he deserved love everywhere.

He whispered against your ear, promising he would indulge you more another day, when you weren’t so sleepy. When both he and the moon had a little more time in the sky, was what he didn’t say. At the same time, he took a free hand to slowly guide your eyes to close, hovering barely above your eyelashes.

You complied, with no more complaints, as he kissed you on the forehead.

…

As Fyodor carried you down the hallway to the bedroom bridal-style about half an hour later, you dozed into dazy consciousness once again.

“You have…another mission, hm?” you whispered, recalling the preceding hints he had given you.

“Yes,” he quietly replied, walking into the dark bedroom. He tucked you under the covers before getting in right beside you.

“Truly, why were you in the library?” you asked, getting out your final curiosity before you fell back to dream.

“I did have a ‘sort-of’ job,” Fyodor replied. “Taking care of you. I was aware you’d show up.”

“Please stay safe, Fedya.”

…

You knew something was off with the thunderstorm that came several weeks later. A vampire apocalypse—however fictitious that sounded—was happening back in Japan, but Fyodor kept you overseas at where you two stayed before departing.

You didn’t ever touch his plans, but your mind finally processed how every event leading up until now seemed so wrong. The month-long stay—Fyodor had never done that before. The week you decided to read tragedies—you felt one even worse than those acted out in the theatre was coming. That night you stayed up—your gut was already screaming that he was about to depart again.

And how this time would be different than before. Your intuition had warned you, yet you still fell asleep and let him leave. You stood before the journal the conjurer made sure caught your eye that night. With shaky hands and heavy rain beating down on the windows, you flipped through the pages. Confusion and tears formed in your eyes at the vague implication of what was written.

Do not worry yourself with the death of all things that are seen and unseen by you. It is not an end, but the start of all things that are left to do.

Rodnaya, you asked what I did not agree with concerning your thoughts about Hamlet loving Ophelia. Have you ever considered a man having both love and ideals at the forefront of his mind? Isn’t love a dream itself?

…

Fyodor swore this when he judged how all could go wrong in the next step of his plan. Prior to meeting you, the calculating, confident smirk he always had on his face was authentic, and he simply assumed he would never fall to a mistake.

But now the plans were adjusted to work around you; the schemes all ended to benefit you, too. If he misjudged something, not only would it fail the perfect world God deemed it to be, but it would also affect you through and through.

Perhaps that was why he only almost saw you as an angel no matter how much you resembled one—no, you were far more glorious than one. You were human—so human that instead of looking down at him from above, you came down onto tainted soil and blessed him with a piece of heaven. Real empathy that now made him think of you as he sat with a rod pierced through his torso in the escape helicopter, doomed to death.

You truly did ruin him.

…

“Is there anything you find more powerful than manipulation?”

And Sigma wondered how such a man so immoral and cruel actually loved someone else. As he searched through the demon's memories, he realized he must go much further back in time to find any helpful information for the brunette ability-nullifier who assigned him.

Because if it was not anything relating to his plans that showed up through his search, it was every memory of you.

translations: (please pardon me if they’re bad, :’) correct me if you are fluent and would like to!)

dlya neye, v iskrennost : for her, in sincerity

sonnyy : sleepy

lublu tebya, kak angel boga, kak roso lyubit solovey. : i love you like an angel loves God, like a nightingale loves a dew.

s toboy vremya ostanavlivaetsya, yi ya zhivu lish mgnoveniam ryadom s toboy. : with you, time stops, and i live only for moments next to you.

ya boudou skucha[t po tebe] : i will miss you.

i heard if you rb, fyodor will come back to life. :’) reblogs are cherished; they are what support me the most. <3

someone should’ve warned me about hozier. only started listening to him last month and i…can’t stop.

#₊ ⊹˚✉︎𑁤 with love; reverie #𐙚 𖥔 ˖ fedya must be fancied .ᐟ #fyodor x reader #fyodor x you #fyodor dostoevsky x reader #fyodor fluff #bsd fyodor #fyodor angst #bsd fluff #bungo stray dogs x reader #bsd x reader #bungo stray dogs #fyodor fanfic #fyodor imagines #fyodor headcanons #bsd x you #fyodor dostoevsky #fyodor bsd #aureatchi

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aestheticpebbles · 2 months ago

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Servus Dei

Pairing: Priest!AU Aegon II Targaryen x reader

Warnings: NSFW/18+ ONLY! MINORS WILL BE BLOCKED, MDNI!, swearing, violence, murder, smut, religious/catholicism imagery/mentions/themes, priest+nun power dynamic abuse, dirty talking, light dubcon if you squint, fluff if you squint harder, use of alcohol, porn with plot, fingering, overstimulation, choking, oral (f receiving), p in v intercourse.

Summary: Father Aegon arrived at your convent, but things become alarming once you realize he isn’t the priest he appears to be.

Word Count: 8.1k

A/N: fic below the cut! not religious at all so please correct me if I messed anything up! also, not proofread… but enjoy! inspo from his cunty hair serving from s1.ep.8.

1548. Somewhere outside of Florence, Italy.

“Our Father, Who art in Heaven, hallowed be Thy name; Thy Kingdom come, Thy will be done on earth as it is in Heaven. Give us this day our daily bread; and forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us; and lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil. Amen.“

The rosary beads clenched tightly laced around your slender fingers nearly gave way to a pinching sensation between your knuckles as you prayed under your breath, reciting ‘Our Father’ as you do every morning upon dressing into your white habits and joining the nuns and sisters at the first morning service of your convent.

However, you weren’t sent here upon your own bidding, rather than fulfilling the wish of your parents after they sought to nip your rebellious streak of your late teenage years in the bud after you expressed during a drunken fit that you instead wished to dance and drink until you dropped before marrying off to some Lord.

You knew your parents did this to reduce any scandalous likelihood of you, an unwed daughter of a newer-money noble family, boring a bastard, but you still did not forgive them for your new life of chastity and divine mercy worship. Yawn.

You were still considered to be relatively new to the convent as you were just beginning your second year of working towards your devotion to God and being tested on your postulancy, so you still wore white robes and veils rather than black. You felt as though you had done well in your studies of the faith thus far considering the circumstances in which you were brought here upon.

“Good morning sister,” Sister Hilda, another white-robed sister about a year older than you, smiled once the first service ended and you found a place next to her side while making your way to the dining hall for breakfast.

The sun’s morning rays that began to peek over the horizon illuminated the dining hall with a dim, blue hue as the world awakened. You both made yourselves plates of bread and cheeses before sitting down together. Talk was kept small and hushed between the two of you while discussing various scriptures and chores needed to be done.

“I heard the new priest is arriving this morning,” Sister Hilda suddenly whispered under her breath, my eyes flickering up to meet her gaze upon the sudden topic of a conversation that could be considered borderline gossip and would serve much to the dismay of any superiors if anyone would overhear the two white-robed and veiled young women conversing over such a topic.

Instead of scolding Sister Hilda once your gazes met, you proved your nature of still wearing the white fabrics rather than blacks by leaning in as well about an inch or so, quickly looking around to see if anyone was lingering nearby to eavesdrop before responding to her.

“Is that so?” Your eyebrow cocked up in surprise. There had been talks of a new priest that had recently left from an abbey outside of London, and was continuing his preach of faith now here with us at our nunnery as our current priest was, well, he was old, “have you…?”

“Within the hour, I heard,” Sister Hilda’s eyes lit up with excitement, proving her own nature as she still struggled with her own inner turmoil with such activities. You found the vow of celibacy at first to be something that you wouldn’t have to think twice about while you devoted yourself, but as time went on, you found yourself seeking repentance and trying to pray away the gnawing feeling you felt bubbling within sometimes that made you doubt your own worth in the eyes of the faith.

You nodded once, acknowledging her words carefully with a playful side smirk. Though gossip was highly discouraged, word still had many opportunities to be carried by the wind throughout the dormitories of your convent.

“Il suo nome?” Your voice dropped down low once more after a few moments, switching from English to Italian just to be safe when you asked Hilda ‘his name?’, but she only shrugged in response, unsure of the answer either.

After breakfast, like usual, you found yourself in the library as you were one of the few sisters who, thanks to your upbringing in a decently noble family, had been taught Latin. You often found means of completing your daily chores by aiding in the translation of Holy passages and texts.

Today, you had been handed a scripture to be translated by an older nun who always wore a signature grouch, so there wasn’t much to be said when you were given the dusty book made of animal skin and thick, waxy lacing that secured the spine.

A relic of the sort lost to at least 300 years, resurfaced once more only to become your problem to deal with when you immediately find yourself scowling under your veil at the faded ink on the ancient pages. You stood up and found yourself a dictionary in Latin just in case whoever wrote that damn pitiful book didn’t know what they were saying, much to the older nun’s dismay but you didn’t care as you sat back down with a murmured ‘God help me’ under your breath.

Dipping your feather quill into a small jar of black ink, you began your day’s work of translating the pages that were practically threatening to fall apart as you delicately turned over each one.

It possibly would have felt odd for another white-veiled sister like yourself to have been tasked with translating such an eerie text of those who wore multiple, yet all beautiful faces and how to ward them off, but like it was just another day, it was just another book of Latin words that you were tasked to translate into fresh ink of English literature between your obligatory meetings for daily prayers and masses with the others, and you’ve read worse.

Your legs were itching to stand after sitting down for an extended period of time, nearly a static-like burn radiating deep as you leaned back in your chair from your upright posture, slouching your shoulder forward for a grace moment with an exhale before standing upright once more properly in case the Abbess, Mother Esther, walked by.

Afternoon sunlight beams shone through a nearby window that you now stood in front of trying to warm yourself up from the cooler temperature of the library, your muscles easing against the windowsill as your wrists and fingers had ached for a little while as well.

Being on the 2nd floor of the building meant having a lovely view of the convent’s architectural layout and the courtyard within the open holdfast of about an acre or so. A few young black locust trees littered the acre, creating enjoyable spots for shaded rest you occasionally found yourself under, almost smiling to yourself when thinking about better times than translating 300+ year old scriptures from Latin to English about an ill-satiable apparition—it’s biblical name, Agneo, one who shapeshifts and requires to feeds from the sins of its prey. A book of complete lunacy that was a blessing in disguise as it gave you something to do.

However, the momentary bliss of recounting suddenly soured once you realized you were about to miss the 4th prayer service mass of the day when you looked down from the window and saw a huddle of those remaining outside waiting to file along inside in orderly fashion across the courtyard of your convent.

It was no use to try to rush out and attempt to make it, so you hesitantly let out a tense sigh and leaned against the window still, your eyes moving to ground below until you saw mainly atop skulls of Mother Esther dressed in her finest– and in tow, a man that nearly made your lips part upon the sight of his features after the involuntary oath of celibacy you took on.

Broad shouldered, his face even from above was sharp-featured, straight nosed, and platinum blond hair as could be neatly combed and parted down the middle. He is, undeniably, the most beautiful man you have ever laid your wretched eyes on, and the sight made your legs press together as you watched the two of them below you.

Once seeing him, you were desperate to see Sister Hilda to willingly break your vows of what your new lifestyle meant to share the gossip of sin, to gossip silly words that meant plenty well beneath the surface that meant for yourself at least to have plenty of reason to seek confession and repentance from His mercy in the foreseeable future.

During your brief moment of pure sin, or what sin at least means to you at the time, you let out a small gasp and moved away from the glass realizing the neat head of hair was slowly tilting upwards in an almost premeditated manner, and from the 2nd floor, his ice blue eyes burned scorching hot daggers like the gates of hell straight into your soul for the mere seconds that you held his sudden eye contact.

As if he knew you were standing there above him and Mother Esther, as if he knew you had been leaning against the edge of the windowsill with your legs crossed and your thighs pressed together at the perfect angle while you watched them when you were supposed to be in the 4th prayer service.

Your heart was pounding in a mixture of adrenaline, anticipation, and … excitement. A certain feeling you haven’t felt since before being sent here. Desire.

Despite shifting away from your original stance next to the window, your vision couldn’t move away any further out of sight from him as the two of you kept your eyes locked.

Within that brief moment that felt like eternity and despite the temptation that threatened to fester within your neglected core now reigniting, the hairs on the back of your neck standing up as your instincts inside your mind began screaming ‘flight’ but your feet were cemented in place while looking down into his cold, dead eyes.

Behind the decrepit Mother Esther’s back, the new priest held his eye contact with you with a stone-like expression of almost disgust until the corners of his lips tugged and curled upright into a smirk. One side of his lips tugged higher than the other side and it made your blood run cold despite the heat pooling between your legs.

You exhaled once his head turned to meet Mother Esther’s as she turned back around to him to point out the library, and the two of them continued on and you were finally able to move from the frozen stance you held.

You had managed to avoid the new priest, his name quickly learned by you through Sister Hilda to be Father Aegon—until you found yourself kneeling before him at the altar rails while he wore the same disgustedly amused expression while placing the communion bread into your cupped palms sitting upright.

“Amen,” you murmured softly, placing the wafer into your mouth as he extended his other hand and brought the cup of wine in front of you as you swallowed thickly.

“The blood of Christ, shed for you,” Father Aegon nearly purred, the sound of his voice speaking directly to you for the first time was intimidating enough, let alone the manner in which it rolled off of his tongue was enough to catch you off guard and leave you stunned at such a vocal display during a Holy service.

Your lips had parted a few centimeters due to your shock and your bottom lip quivered as you barely choked out another ‘amen’ in response while he pressed the rim of the chalice against the pillowed flesh.

Maybe it was the way he spoke, or the way he wears devilish tight-lipped smiles like he knows he's fluffing up another chicken house with unpreened, unruffled hens who live among cobwebs, or maybe it’s the way you can feel him staring straight down into your soul as you took a sip of the wine while holding eye contact with him up through your eyelashes.

After drinking the same wine since the day you first arrived and you had returned to your seat, you realized on your tongue that the aftertaste of the once bitter representation of the Blood of Christ was now sweet. Too sweet.

The type of sweet that makes the feeling of temptation to yearn for more not sound half bad even though you still found shame while you prayed in your seat until the end of the communion, even more so in the hours that followed when nobody else seemed to comment on the wine. As if the taste was unchanged to the rest.

You actually managed well to avoid Father Aegon as he settled in and slowly took over hosting more and more masses and prayers over the next fortnight, though it was absolute agony that was slowly chipping away at your sanity.

No matter the distance between the two of you, an unnerving fear always found you when in his presence and even more so if it was without your knowledge on a passing occasion or he could see you but you couldn’t see him. Since the day he arrived, you felt like you were no longer alone at any moment, always holding your breath to turn a corner like an accidental dance of cat and mouse for no real reason.

You’d be shunned if you dared speak the reason of your maintained distance being temptation, even if you were going such lengths avoiding him to resist such.

Father Aegon’s piercing gaze alone sent chills down your spine, enough to rattle the assembled vertebrae within the confines of your habits just like the one that coursed through you while you browsed the shelves of the library looking for works regarding astronomy to keep you company in the late hours after the Midnight Mass.

You didn’t need to see him to know he was likely stalking nearby, whispering with that strangely enticing demeanor he holds himself up with, and the way his perfectly plump lips were always cocked in some purse of amusement to offset the dark purple, sunken look to his eyes as if he hadn’t slept in days, weeks.

Your own eyes had begun to mirror Father Aegon’s sullen look as well during your descent into the madness occurring within your mind when you started to lose sleep because of him sinking his claws into you even in your dreams filled with imagery of sin beyond your comprehension. The more time you spent trying to avoid him, the more he encroached upon every aspect of your life and you hadn’t so much but exchange momentary glances and proper greetings spoken hushed on your part.

After all, anyone would find holding eye contact difficult with one whom they have carnal, perverse dreams about, waking up panting in the middle of the night covered in sweat and an agonizing pool between your legs. Even after waking up you could still feel his touch on your skin.

Though what terrified you the most was the eventual visible appearance that left residual memory fragments from the vivid dreams, as if they themselves were distant memories, real memories, from the past. Gripping bruises protected by layers were littered around your wrists, arms, thighs, breasts, small bite marks and scratches even as well. Some even would remain red, or pink as if they had just occurred moments or hours prior, but that couldn’t be possible.

You’ve been alone all these nights… right?

“What could possibly interest you at such an hour, sister?” The voice of the dreaded priest you desperately sought to avoid drew out from behind you, causing your shoulders to roll back into a stiffened posture to play off the chill that threatened to visibly shake you. You closed your eyes for a moment while goosebumps broke out across your skin hidden beneath the white fabrics before quickly reaching up to grasp the book you intended to grab and pulled it close to your chest before turning around to face him.

“Astronomy, Father,” you answered without nearly half a spine, mentally cursing yourself at your inability to hold yourself with dignity when subject to his commanding gaze.

Father Aegon never failed to not wear his smug grin that seemed to compliment the sullen orbs that were half-lidded in what could only be described by a blind person as being a seductive manner. When you finished answering him and his smirk grew, you didn’t miss his tongue swiping across his pillowy bottom lip— both stained red… and the smell that belonged to that of alcohol.

You swallowed thickly once putting the puzzle pieces in place and your fingers gripped the corners of the book tighter and the edges dug into the creases of your fingers creating a pleasant stinging sensation to help stay grounded. The priest, he who is supposed to live and serve to proclaim the word of God, stood here before you with sweet wine coating his wicked tongue with practiced precision.

Father Aegon had sin written all over his cruelly beautiful face. Certainly not to be trusted at any given second.

Father Aegon’s smug half-smirk was still etched on his mouth that sent another chill down your spine when his irises unmistakably fell from holding your gaze down to your own lips with those lazily-hooded blue eyes swirling with emotions beyond your somewhat innocent comprehension.

Father Aegon was absolutely terrifying to be around, but although your fear didn’t directly come from him, your own body produces enough cortisol and epinephrine for an entire herd of corralled sheep waiting to be slaughtered by just being around him. Afraid of the fact that if he touched you right now, you know you wouldn’t be able to stop. Afraid of the fact that you know he may know how you truly feel deep down by just looking at you with those eyes that appear to be hiding an inferno from within himself.

“Copernicus…” Father Aegon suddenly murmured with a cock of his eyebrow as if he had posed the single word as a question rather than the affirmative tone he used when referencing the Polish astronomer whose works had caught your interest when accessible, “you like him, Sister?”

“He’s an accomplished astronomer and a fine mathematician,” you responded carefully, unsure of the waters of the moment and feeling the bile threatening to rise and expel which prompted you to kindly dismiss yourself wishing to depart to rest for the evening until he suddenly reached out as you turned to walk. His taut grip around your dainty wrist in comparison to his large hand was daunting and was an unexpected rush of surprise-horror when you were practically yanked back where you stood before him.

“Hm,” Father Aegon hummed in amusement, a flash of something eerie glazing over his lazily hooded eyes while his strong grip on your wrist loosened slightly, but not without his calloused thumbpad grazing gently across the delicate skin of the underside of your wrist, “why don’t you come by my office tomorrow evening? I have a piece that would interest you… brought it with me from when I met him briefly at Oxford.”

Your own eyebrow cocked at his words, nearly-half bewildered that a man like him went from such a prestigious place like the Oxford society to… priesthood in Florence where he, in the middle of the night, now was intoxicated and having you cornered like a rat subject to his mercy while his thumb caressed your wrist like a coveted lover.

Your eyes flickered down to the tight grip he held on your arm and you dared to pull once more, and much to your surprise he let go. Looking back up at him, he was amused with a strange sense of triumph like he could already foresee the internal turmoil you would be rolling in all day tomorrow until you would eventually cave in within yourself to give in and seek him out for the sake of knowledge.

Wasn’t that the sin of Eve? Coaxed by the snake, the devil, to taste the forbidden apple of knowledge?

Father Aegon wouldn’t taste half as sweet as an apple, but a part of you knew deep down that with dealing with a man like him and his caliber comes with knowing the venom from his fanged canines would likely sting twice as bad in the days to come if you did not seek him out.

So like the loyal hound you were, there weren’t many inhibitions that stopped your fingers from clasping the golden ring hanging from a matching golden lion’s head mounted on the wooden door and knocking twice. You knew you had no business being here at this hour. You had stopped by this very office twice today, once before dinner, and again afterwards but left both times with only pursed lips and heightened anxiety. Evening. Evening. Evening.

“Sister…” Father Aegon grinned upon seeing the sweet lamb standing there outside of his door waiting so patiently for him like the good girl that he knew she is even if she couldn’t muster any words to properly greet him. He stepped out of your way with an outstretched palm directed towards an empty chair sitting on the other side of his desk, the open hand gesturing to you to sit, “please, come in.”

Shame and humility fueled the pace that drove your footsteps from the corridor and into his working office in a scurry, the fuel most delectable for sin to fester within and grow necrotic while Father Aegon shut the door behind you. You couldn’t miss the sound of the lock turning over as you focused on your breathing pattern and your fumbling fingertips toying with one another as you sat down and silently pulled your chair in under yourself.

It wasn’t the locking of the door that made your eyes widen, but watching him pick up a golden, jeweled chalice that sat on the edge of his desk with matching rings adorning his thick digits, taking a hearty swig while sauntering behind you and over to a large bookshelf on the left wall that likely carried prized works both owned by the convent and his finest pieces.

You kept your head straight for the most part, only tilting it slightly to be able to keep an eye on him in the corner of your peripheral and through the thin white veil head covering, watching his ringed finger reach up to one of the shelves while the other hand held the chalice. The way he moved so freely was almost sensual in a way, his fingertip grazing the spines of the prized collection of knowledge as he searched using the dim orange glow emanating from the roaring hearth that danced as the flames waved.

“Tell me, sweet girl, what is it about the stars that calls to you… draws your attention so?” Father Aegon suddenly broke the silence that only hosted the soft crackling of the embers causing your head to angle slightly more in his direction. You swallowed thickly again, inhaling through your nose while watching his index finger curl around a medium-sized book and gently tug it free from the confines of the neat shelf.

“One can’t help but wonder who they are,” you answered shakily, referring to the stars themselves, the subconscious anxious habit of your fingertips toying with one another going full blast in your lap that had sparked back to life hearing the previous words of endearment he must addressed you with as if he was toying with you too, “what are they… what are they made of?”

Father Aegon nodded slowly with another hum of acknowledgment as he turned on his heel with his chin cockily angled, walking back over to where you sat on the other side of his desk and stepped next to your chair. He held out the book for you to take and you did after a moment of hesitation, taking the book delicately from him as your eyes danced over the intricate stitching and adhesives carefully applied that held the valuable text together.

He stood over you for a moment with one hand on the back of your chair, the other bringing the rim to his lips for another swig before he let go, much to your approval as you let out an exhale you didn’t realize you were holding, and stepped away to sit down in his own chair on the other side of the desk while you admired and he purred out, “the book… Copernicus’ heliocentric theories. One of the first copies given to me from Nicolaus himself. I’ll let you borrow it for the evening...”

You couldn’t hide the spark of interest that illuminated behind your eyes at the topic that you had been wishing to learn more about as the theories were still considered recent developments. A small smile crept onto your face but you quickly pursed your lips together to swallow your pride and triumph– something that didn’t pass by Aegon, but the suggestive tone towards the end of his final words didn’t pass by you either.

“Thank you Father,” you murmured softly, your thumbs grazing over the pressed letters of the title embossed and sealed by gold leaflets, “you are very gracious.”

Father Aegon only chuckled darkly, something you hadn’t heard yet until now and it was scarier to experience first hand than his empty, soul-piercing glare.

He took another sip of his wine before setting the chalice down on the desktop and leaning forward on his forearms with intertwined fingers and an unmistakable gleam in his wicked eyes, “I’ll tell you what Sister. I have heard nothing but good remarks regarding your performance… I’ll let you have it if you promise to take good care of it.”

Your eyebrows shot up in surprise and your forehead scrunched in confusion, lips parting in shock but quickly stammering out a response to his words while gently placing the book down on the desk with a forced smile. A part of joining sisterhood was an oath of poverty despite your aversion to the lifestyle but your conditioning was taking over your frazzled mindset, and a book of that value had no business being in your possession good marks or not.

“Father I-I apologize, I can’t accept such a gift, you honor me but-I,” your tongue and lips failed to coordinate without an exasperated stutter while your brain misfired, only making Father Aegon’s lips curl further upwards in a devious smile.

“Call it a favor then,” Father Aegon replied with a low purr, his half-lidded eyes missing any trace of the blue pigment against the orange hue of the fire and the darkness of the world as he stood up, slowly stalking back around to where he stood behind your chair again.

“A…favor?” Your eyebrows dropped from the cocked expression of shock into one of weary alert as you tried to read him as best as you could, holding eye contact with him until he eventually always won with the inferno that reflected in his black holes for dilated irises while he walked to your most vulnerable side.

“A favor,” Father Aegon sluggishly murmured in response, his teeth baring in his amused grin when you flinched feeling the topside of the joints of his fingers reach up from behind you and brush against your cheek.

Your eyelids fluttered under his delicate brushing touch against your cheek, unable to comprehend a single thought in regard to how to react to such inappropriate behavior and gestures being exchanged, but after involuntary celibacy and conditioned shame, it only drove you further mad yearning for the touch of a skilled lover after being denied such pleasures for so long.

It wasn’t until his index finger pressed against the underside of your chin to lift your head up and his thumb curling up to press against your bottom lip that you were violently dragged back to reality. Looking up at him while fidgeting with your fingers absentmindedly in your lap, he smiled deviously as if he was a child with free reign in a candy shop.

He stepped in front of you to enter the small space available between you sitting in the chair and his desk, leaning against the edge as he twisted and reached back to grab the chalice he’d left behind, turning back to you. Your heart pounded in your chest watching him extend his hand, guiding the rim to your lips and raising the cup for gravity to let the rich, deep red juice funnel into your mouth as if you were kneeling at the altar and had already received your tasteless communion wafer.

Eyes widening, you realized he wasn’t relenting until you finished off the remnants of the chalice when he kept tilting the cup’s stem and you having to swallow in faster lapses than expected to keep up with his antics causing you to choke softly.

You pursed your lips shut tightly with a bemused expression on your face between his actions and the sweet red wine, unable to save the small bead that gathered and trickled down from your lip to your chin, but Aegon was there to spare your white habits from any stains with a brush of his thumb collecting the alcoholic nectar and bringing it to his own lips to suck clean off.

“Tell me… why are you really here?” Father Aegon slurred out between tipsy snickers after releasing his thumb with a sickly sweet suckle like he knew exactly the effect he had on you and the reactions you were willing to give back with a little shove.

“My parents wished not for scandal,” you blurted out, almost like not caring how sloppy you spoke for the sake of your own honorable presentation.

“So, you liked to get around. You liked to have fun… you were a whore?” Father Aegon’s grin was wicked and curled up with a sense of malice as he gently caressed your cheek while you shared details about yourself to him. You knew he found some sort of satisfaction with your words by the way his teeth clenched like he was thinking hard through the intoxicated haze of his own mind.

“Um-,” your eyebrows furrowed again, a streak of anger shooting through you causing you to flinch again away from his hand, pulling out of his grasp on your chin as you stood up, not willing to explain to him that laying with two men that you had possibly seen as prospective husbands doesn’t make a young lady… a whore, “I apologize Father this is highly inappropriate. I should go.”

Your abrupt reaction to his words seemed to replace the playful gleam in his eyes with one that teetered on the edge of malice and danger, one that made your blood run cold. Panic flared through you when he dropped the golden chalice without care, and grabbing your wrist with one hand, yanking you back down to sit again.

“We are not done talking, Sister,” Father Aegon snarled out, a sinister gleam in his eyes while he stood up straight, letting go of your wrist only to take a hold of your chin once more, your lips slightly smushed between his fingers, “I haven’t given you permission to dismiss yourself.”

“I-I am sorry, Father,” you sputtered out, unsure of how to respond to him and his firm, calculated grip that always reminded you he was one step ahead at any given point. Aegon only hummed in amusement, his moist tongue darting out to swipe across his bottom lip as he turned your head in his grip from side to side, studying the details of your face against the orange glow from the inferno of the fireplace.

“Let me see you show it…Prove it,” Father Aegon’s eyes lit up in deranged excitement while yours glossed over in confused horror, sitting frozen in shock while he kept his grip on your chin with one hand, the other reaching up seemly to lovingly caress your cheek only to fist a palm full of your white veil, forcefully undressing your dreadful headdress and revealing one of your secrets you hid from your other Sisters. Instead of cutting your hair short like the rest, you kept yours braided and secured beneath your headdress, the same one Aegon pulled off without hesitation that made your jaw drop in disbelief.

“I don’t understa-,” you cried out in a sudden frustration, angered that he was abusing the power dynamic he knew he held, then still having enough fuel inside him when daring to lay a hand on you in such an inappropriate manner and revealing your hair.

If your Sisters found out you hid your hair, you could suffer greatly socially, and Aegon just paved his way straight over without any second thoughts. Your words though were cut off when his fingers clutched your braids and yanked you back to your feet.

“Understand this, doll. I see the way you look at me, how you scurry away from me like a mouse, there’s nowhere you can hide from me,” Father Aegon taunted, his dilated pupils laced with delirium and sin as he maniacally giggled, “I know everything.”

Any protests or shrill shrieks that could have escaped your mouth would be forced to be made straight into Father Aegon’s mouth that nearly swallowed your face whole when his lips came colliding down on yours in a pre-established sloppy, yet demanding kiss.

You wished to want the will to release a frightful scream against his lips, to cry out in disgust, to thrash around violently in his concrete hold on you while he forced his tongue into your mouth after letting go of your chin and dropping down to your hip.

His grip quickly moved from squeezing your hip around to your backside, grabbing a fistful of your buttock and his other hand still holding and tugging on your hair to elicit a gasp while your palms were outstretched when pressing back against his firm chest, but you did none of those things as your mind began buzzing softly, signaling the beginning the swirling descent into a tipsy haze from the amount of alcohol he had you consume in one sitting.

In fact, you did the opposite once the taste of him resonated with you when you found yourself sucking back on his tongue instead of screaming and crying about your dignity, your outstretched palms bundling up the fabric of his neat, black collar between your fingers like a deserted whore needy for more. Because that’s exactly what you felt like, and the realization made you sick when you suddenly were spun around in his groping embrace to be lifted onto the desktop.

Father Aegon wasted no time shoving his knee between your legs and parting them to situate himself between your legs without breaking the heated exchange between your lips that caused soft groans to escape from the both of you.

His hand that held your buttock again wasted no time reaching under your skirts, hiking the fabric up while he held your whimpering skull in place by your hair as he kissed down your jawline, panting heavily in your ear when he traced up your inner thigh.

He smiled wickedly against the shell of your ear while you managed to let out a stifled moan feeling his fingertips slither their way past your small clothes dampened by your arousal, massaging agonizingly slow circles against your clothed clit, sending ripples of electricity through your body. a soft, humiliating ‘there she is’ was murmured into the cartilage that echoed down to your eardrum once your lips parted with your surrender and giving into his touch, your cheeks shamefully burning red hot.

“For someone who took a vow of chastity, your cunt weeps like a virgin,” Father Aegon nibbled softly on your earlobe while your face contorted in pent-up pleasure and your mind swirled. In truth, you hadn’t truly consumed that much alcohol, but the effect he had on your mind caused the effect to feel 10-fold from the scent of his musk and the wine on his lips, his wretched tongue and damned touch assaulting all of your senses out of nowhere.

Your fingers clutching onto his black button up gripped on for dear life feeling his fingers begin to variate their course from rubbing circles to teasing your slit before dropping down, his middle finger breaching fully past your entrance coaxing a shrill gasp from your throat that his lips were licking and placing open-mouthed kissing down. One of your hands jumped from his shirt to his bicep, wincing from the sudden scissoring penetration as he got to work establishing a pace.

“Fuck, your pussy is so tight,” Aegon murmured quietly through a groan against your skin, your entrance clamping down almost painfully around the 2nd digit he teased your tight hole with for a moment before adding it in, his middle and ring finger moving in and out of you in overwhelming patterns that made you look at the back of your skull doubled with the feeling of his free hand suddenly groping your breast through your robes, pinching and rolling your clothed nipple between his fingertips, “this pussy ever been fucked?”

Your eyes rolled back straight and snapped wide open at the vulgarity of his words, your lips parted further in sheer shock that those words could at all even be used together in a sentence, but your body was still betraying you as you ground your hips against his hand that was fucking you mercilessly. How this man became a priest was beyond you at this point, barely choking out a ‘yes’, his gaze darkening as if that wasn’t what he wanted to hear and he let go of your breast, reaching up behind the nape of your neck again.

Aegon’s hand found a hold your braided hair and twisted once more, a pained cry leaving your lips and your eyes screwing shut in another wince while his own lips were curled upwards. His eyes bright with a sinister intent, his other hand still pumping his two fingers in and out and you panted with a heaving chest.

“My name, sweet girl, say it right,” Aegon purred with an underlying, dangerous tone of voice that hid the true intentions that he was only giving you one chance to say it right despite multiple answers being applicable to stroke his ego while his fingers repetitively curling a ‘come hither’ motion within you.

“Yes sir,” you finally cried out, his chest emanating a grunt of acceptance meanwhile your spine arching as the coil deep within you threatened to build up. As if Aegon could read you like the back of his hand, he let go of your hair and reached around you as he swiped everything, including the prized book, clear from off of his desk.

He withdrew his fingers from your weeping cunt much to your dismay, only to be rendered speechless when he used both of his hands to grab and move you by your hips to the side of the desk, using one to shove your back down to lay on the surface and the other to hastily hiked up the skirt of your habits as his head dipped down, his lips kissing and his teeth nipping up your inner thighs.

You prayed that nobody was walking by Father Aegon’s office as they’d receive earfuls of lewd cries that fumbled from your throat in wails after he practically dove headfirst, your legs on his shoulders and his hands holding you in place by your thighs as his lips and tongue got to work swirling and sucking on your clit.

His platinum silver curls that were neatly parted down the middle, combed and slicked back behind his ears was disheveled within seconds as you reached down and carded through his hair, crying out in pleasure and awe at his ability to seem like he already knew every inch of you by heart.

“O-Oh my,” you squeaked out, your jaw agape as you tried to grind your hips against his face as he groaned delicious vibrations against your core, his tongue in place of his fingers greedily drawing your essence from your walls in filthy slurps that had you sobbing praises in a pleading mantra as you writhed in place.

“That’s it, good girl,” Aegon praised between quiet growls, kitten-licking your tented and overstimulated bud leaving you whining and yearning for more. The coil had begun to wind up tightly in your lower belly creating a burning sensation that threatened to snap like a taut rubber band.

“I’m gonna’ come,” you cried out softly and he chuckled darkly, nipping your sensitive flesh before suckling harshly that elicited a sharp yelp from your throat that quickly morphed into a wail of surprise as you flew headfirst into your first orgasm in almost two years. Aegon feasted and slurped every drop that expelled from your contracting cunt like a starved man, groaning in delight when your evidence of ecstasy from his touch spilled from your aching core and into his greedy mouth that caused your toes to curl painfully.

Father Aegon quickly stood up, not bothering to wipe his fingers and chin that were still glistening with the residue of your orgasm causing a deep blush to form on your flushed cheeks as you slowly came back to reality from the sound of his belt unbuckling.

Aegon hastily reached into his pants and pulled his throbbing cock free from the confines of his black dress trousers, watching his beautifully plump lips parting when he slapped the angrily flushed head against your weeping cunt a few times. His vile actions were so bewildering you were rendered speechless once more, unable to formulate words when looking up at him with bleary eyes as he fondled your folds for a few seconds, gathering your slick and smearing it across his tip and down his thick shaft waiting impatiently to fuck you in half.

“This is wrong. I-We shouldn’t do this. I don’t want this. God for-,” you managed to blurt out in soft whimpers, lying to yourself to try to hold onto the last shred of dignity you had while shaking your head only earning a sadistic smile in response from Father Aegon as he cut you off.

“You don’t want this? You weren’t the same girl watching me, pressing her thighs together as she hid in the library? Stupid girl, you’re so desperate and touch-starved, I could smell your cunt from outside. Your False God isn’t here. He can’t save you,” Aegon cooed softly, shutting you up immediately as you were left staring at him like he sprouted three-heads. You wouldn’t be surprised at this lint though. A priest using the words ‘False God’— how ironic.

Despite his cruel words, his tone of voice was almost sickly sweet if his hand wasn’t guiding the head of his cock back to your entrance and you braced yourself with a shrill gasp while he leaned forward, his lips brushing against yours while he giggled maniacally under his breath sending chills of fear down your spine.

Father Aegon whispered in a taunting sneer as he continued to threaten you in a gravelly voice under his breath, the stench of wine still lingering on his tongue mixed with your release, “oh, pretty girl, the only God here is me,” and with that, he pistoned his hips forward.

A sharp hissing cry fell from your lips feeling the tip of his cock parting your neglected walls, splitting you from the inside out as your jaw hung agape and his eyes were wide– almost deliriously so as his own jaw hung agape too as if he was breathing out the energy of the cries carried out by your exhales while it seemed as though your body was losing energy as the seconds passed on. Like his hand, his hips made work establishing a steady pace as he fucked you open for him, drawing raw shrieks from your diaphram that forced him to clamp his hand down over your mouth.

“Shut the fuck up,” Aegon snarled against the back of his hand as your eyes rolled back, his lips kissing the corner of your parted lips when he finally let go of your mouth after the initial burn within your core dissolved and your sobs died down. His plump lips continued to kiss down your jaw, suckling and nibbling up and down your neck as you moaned and cried out shamelessly.

His words were absolutely vile and defiling and he knew it only spurred your innocent heart further, his hand that was pressed against your mouth dropping back down to grope your breast as he fucked you deeply, “God your cunt was made for my cock. Fuck it’s so fuckin’ tight– you like it when I talk to you like that? You like being fucked like some needy slut? ‘Course you do. What would your Sisters think if they found out what their whore pupil was doing in here?”

“I can’t, I can’t,” you suddenly started blabbering out in response despite your own legs hiking up around his hips to draw him in closer, your hands reaching up and gripping onto whatever you could while you rocked back and forth to his merciless motions.

“Yes you can,” Aegon panted breathlessly against your skin, his tongue swiping across your collarbone as he grunted over and over in his own world of desire, the lewd sound of skin slapping and your cunt squelching was foul in harmony with the considerably romantic blazing of the fireplace while he kissed his way back up your neck and caught your lips in another fiery, sloppy kiss between grunts and moans and cries of pleasure.

He murmured against your lips and his free hand not holding you down against the desktop in place by your breast being kneaded between his fingers, reaching between the two of you with his other hand and rubbing furious circles on your overstimulated clit, “say my fuckin’ name. give it all to me.”

“Aeg- I’m,” you cried out against his lips trying to obey his command to use his name while feeling the coil quickly wind tight once more as he effortlessly fucked you apart. As you came, stars littered your blacked out vision as you trembled and writhed, your spine arching pathetically trying to gather as much friction as possible while you shook in pleasure. Aegon moaned lowly feeling your walls contract and squeeze his cock as he continued without stopping, fucking you straight through the waves of ecstasy that left you feeling as though you had to piss everywhere, but that wasn’t what it was.

You could not have cared any less about any repercussions of your undoing with this man tonight— until he pulled out, flipped you around and bent you over the desk, plunging back inside of your cunt from a new angle causing a mewl to rip through you, and even more so when your walls fluttered down and you practically squirted back, coating both his legs and yours from your newfound experience of being overstimulated.

But as Aegon was turning you around, you suddenly had the perfect view of Father Aegon in the reflection of a mirror that had been hanging on the wall behind you, now seeing him in a full display in a reflection for the first time and took in the image that could have fueled your nightmares for the rest of eternity.

His shadow was cast up against the ceiling from the flames of the hearth illuminated, except two massive wings stood above Aegon and joined his body’s shadow as you mewled out incomprehensible words of confusion through the haze of pleasure that wracked your mind.

“Aegon,” your voice cracked, your eyes flickering to the mirror hanging on the wall dead ahead of the two of you, finally seeing Father Aegon for who he was finally through another lense and the sight alone made a scream of fear tear through you, but once more his hand came clasping down on your mouth and another sharp cursed reprimand dripping in poison was hurled at you from behind. The reflection of the man that had you bent over like a plaything, pistoning his thick cock roughly in and out of your aching cunt in the reflection of the mirror was unlike any creature you’d ever laid eyes on before.

In the reflection, while your face was streaked with tears and flushed in terror, his face looked nothing like what you saw with your own eyes, his reflection having beady black eyes, almost paper white skin, teeth long and sharp like fanged razors and his hands with long, clawed digits. You couldn’t miss the tall, pointed and curly black horns and the almost impressive black feathered wings that slowly rose and outstretched in the air after you said his name.

You couldn’t pull your eyes from the mirror even after he said your name, his hand eventually let go of your mouth and roughly grabbed your jaw, holding your head steady. Tears flowed hot from your eyes as you tried to thrash in his hold but it was no use as he chuckled wickedly above you, his pupils blown wide but it was no comparison to the dark, gaping holes you saw in the reflection of the mirror.

Father Aegon was no Father, no priest at all, learning within seconds that life was in fact cruel like that. Was there truly a God now realizing you had the entire situation practically spelt out for you when you translated that ancient scripture in the library, but you were too naive to realize the foreshadowing. The name of the shapeshifting apparatus isnt Agneo. It’s fucking Aegon.

This revelation truly meant only one thing: Aegon was a demon, and you, by saying his name, sealed off the deal and selling him your soul, his hand angling your chin up and to the side to press his lips down on yours, his tongue working your mouth apart once more, grunting against your lips when his pace faltered.

You felt your womb grow heavy while he panted and mewled, his wretched seed spurting from the head of his cock as his hips twitched between stilled moments, painting your walls as he moaned into the crook of your neck. You thought it’d be the end of the night, your mind too frazzled to even comprehend what to do next as your blurry eyes cracked open from being scrunched shut.

But Aegon’s nightmarish reflection remained the same, his smile sinister and evil as his snakelike tongue sharp and black as could be trailed up the side of your cheek as his hand kept its tight grip on your chin to hold you steady while he collected your salty tears on his tastebuds.

“Aegon…Please don’t hurt me,” you whispered pathetically, trying to claw at his taloned grip on your face and it almost struck a chord within his despicable body as he chuckled darkly, placing a soft kiss on your trembling cheekbone.

“I think it’s too late for that, sweet girl, you taste too divine,” Aegon purred softly, your doe eyes wide with horror watching in the reflection of his other hand reaching up, his clawed talon delicately moving a stray lock of hair from your face. He actually admired you, pleading through tears and drool and all, but the moment had to end at some point as his clawed hand caressed your temple and he murmured softly against the apple of your cheek.

“Just know this though, so far, I think you were my favorite. I might actually miss you,” Aegon kissed your pillowed flesh for the last time after vocalizing his odd apology that almost felt genuinely sentimental before his talons dug into your chin and your temple to hold you steady as you cried out in protest, then silenced for eternity after his wrists rolled and snapped your neck.

His deflating cock was still buried to the hilt within you as you dropped lifelessly against the desk, and the demon removed himself from his latest victim with a triumphant smile. He hastily readjusted himself and your skirt to cover your modesty, not that you were alive anyway to care, as he sat back down in his seat.

Father Aegon kicked up and crossed his legs on the desk while pouring himself another chalice of wine, continuing to admire your lifeless expression of shock while your pupils slowly dilated, and the blood that slowly dribbled out of your nostrils and out from your lips onto the desk. The blood dripped down onto the floor while your lost soul descended to the pits of Hell with that same sinister smirk he wore the first time he laid his eyes on you.

#house of the dragon #aegon targaryen x reader #tom glynn carney #aegon targaryen ii #tomglynncarney #aegon targaryen smut #aegon ii fanfic #aegon ii targaryen x reader #tom glynn carney x reader #tom glynn carney smut #hotd #targtowers #hotd smut #alternate universe

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queersatanic · 2 months ago

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We fuckin' won, y'all

It hasn't fully sunk in yet, but we did just get some truly joyful news.

The Satanic Temple lost AGAIN, and ours is a full victory here

The King County Superior Court just granted our motion for summary judgment in full, dismissing all claims with prejudice and ruling on our declaratory judgment counterclaim we have the right to use "the Memes Page".

facebook.com/queersatanic

It has been 1635 DAYS since The Satanic Temple filed their case against us in federal district court. We got it dismissed there once in February 2021; we got it dismissed again in January 2023 after TST re-filed.

The Satanic Temple appealed the second loss to the Ninth Circuit and also re-filed part of the case in state court in April 2023 — notably after the three-year statute of limitations had run out.

The Ninth Circuit affirmed most of the lower federal court decision but allowed TST to revive their defamation claims if they could specify what exactly had been said about them that was false and defamatory.

Apparently unable to do so, The Satanic Temple voluntarily dismissed the federal case against us.

Meanwhile, in 2022, TST sued Newsweek for writing about our case back in October 2021. The Satanic Temple dragged us into those proceedings to give depositions, but Newsweek seems to be prevailing with just one claim remaining and a bunch of embarrassing stuff coming out about TST.

TST sued a woman in Texas for making TikTok videos critical of them, after first forcing her to record a pretty upsetting retraction. This is despite the fact that she was right.

TST has threatened more people than we can make a reliable count of with litigation both before and after us.

The Satanic Temple's agents have stalked and harassed us and our loved ones, and there have been long periods of misery and where it seemed like the courts would let them keep doing this sort of thing indefinitely.

But today we won.

The Satanic Temple has lost every step of the way and shown themselves to be a toxic, abusive religious organization to everyone who has bothered to pay attention — tho unfortunately, too few people have.

Thank you all for your support over these long 4+ years.

Based on their pattern of behavior, The Satanic Temple is likely to appeal this loss or perhaps invent a new pretext to continue this SLAPP in a new venue. We know that.

The Satanic Temple, its owners, and lawyers have had had no argument justifying the last 1635 days beyond their wealth and desire to hurt and intimidate people. But TST also should have much bigger issues to deal with than lighting money on fire by continuing to come after us.

So, maybe The Satanic Temple will finally walk away now. They're definitely more vulnerable now than they have been in a long time.

Please let people know what The Satanic Temple is and how they behave, and also that however scary they seem, if you stand up to them you can win.

When it comes to The Satanic Temple, there's always more, and it's always worse, but they are at least as incompetent as they are malicious. They are ghouls, to be sure, but not ones who can survive any light on their actions.

So Ave Satanas, and Hail Lucifer the Lightbringer

#the satanic temple #satanism #satanic temple #queer satanic #queersatanic #SLAPP #lawsuits #hail lucifer

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risuola · 3 months ago

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𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐈𝐈 ⋯ now you are my favorite.

contents ✤ archangel!satoru x demon!reader, religious topics mentioned, blood and slight violence, wc. 2649 ⋯ reader discretion is advised series masterlist

“What’s on your mind, angel?” Your voice is gentle and yet it cuts through the silence like a knife. There’s a taunt hidden wrapped tenderly into a silky sound leaving your mouth right before it presses against Satoru’s spine – he feels the words on his skin, they’re warm and right between two marks gracing his scapulae.

He watches you in the mirror, your long-clawed hand snaking around his torso, touching his body, prodding his flesh. There’s something possessive in a way you hold him each time and yet, he feels good. It’s unfamiliar, he’s still getting used to being graced so intimately, to feel things so intensely but he likes it. And it scares him too — how easily he accepted the sin once the stains of it sunk into the pure canvas of his soul.

“Nothing,” he lies and the corner of his mouth twitches upwards when he catches himself lying again. Is that what he became? A liar? You hum, giving him time, and move your lips along his shoulder blade, paying special attention to the sensitive spots from which his wings come out. Shiver runs down Satoru’s spine as you kiss the proof of his heavenly heritage and then, he sees more of you when you slowly shift to press your lips to the peak of his shoulder. “I’m still struggling.”

“I know,” you make your way between his body and the bathroom counter, he feels your hot breath fanning over his throat and you kiss him again, your mouth tracing the arcs and edges of his collar bones and neck. You need to encourage him, place his hands on the curve of your waistline before he allows himself to touch you. You feel the squeeze and then he lifts you onto the cold marble, sitting you at the edge of the sink and you purr when his large palms brush along your spine and sides.

Satoru’s eyes are glued to the mirror, he sees your back — bare and silky underneath his fingertips. He sees the scars that adorn the peaks of your shoulder blades, two vertical lines that slice cleanly through your flesh, surrounded by a dark pattern of veins. It’s smooth when he touches it and you like when he does, it makes you tremble.

“Let’s get you to bed,” he breathes in the scent of your hair and you hum. Your thighs wrap around his hips and he lifts you again, you feel his strong arms around you as he carries you towards the bedroom.

Seconds, and your back meets the bouncy mattress. “So,” you muse, invading Satoru’s personal space as much as possible the moment he lays beside you. “How it went? Will you tell me?” You’re curious, you’re right up his business and he hums. What else is new?

“How what went?” He looks at you, the eyes filled with heaven itself focus solely on your pretty face and he swears silently, that you will, one day, be the end of him. A demon beautiful enough to turn even the greatest believers into sinners. First time Satoru heard one of his brothers say this about you, he scoffed, brushing it off as if his own nature was superior to everything else what’s prone to your influence.

“You know what,” you smirk, running the tip of your nose along the column of his neck — he feels your breath fanning over his sensitive skin and your warmth seeping through his bones.

“It went… alright.” It didn’t. The angel lets out a deep exhale as his eyelids drop.

It didn’t go well at all.

In all honesty, Satoru didn’t expect to see God at all after he has decided to stay with you. Truth is, he didn’t want to, ashamed of his own body, he wished for nothing else but to hide from His sight forever. ‘You have fallen, my son’ — father told him before he managed to scramble a word out of his mouth. Maybe abandonment wasn’t the cause of his dread after all. ‘You’ve fallen so miserably, it’s a shame.’ He felt ashamed, that’s for sure. Satoru has never known a feeling such as this one, a poisonous mixture of regret and… was is really regret? But the look of disappointment stung deeply into his very existence, it brought tears to his eyes and made his head hang low.

And his brothers, the archangels, were present too, watching his misery without a word of support and with disapprobation. There was a volume to it, so thick in the air, Satoru thought he’ll suffocate from the sheer pressure of it. ‘An angel stained with disgrace no longer has a place in Heaven.’ And he cried. Down on his knees, he cried from remorse, his pristine white hair covering his watery eyes and his knuckles white from the force with which his fists were clenching against dirt. ‘The devil tarnished your pure soul. You’re damaged, Satoru, stained.’ It felt like punches to his gut. “I have given you everything and look what you’ve become.” Was he truly damaged? You surely aimed to break him, but did he feel broken?

“Did it?” Your soft voice feels like balm on his troubled mind. A velvety embrace grasping all of him, piecing him back into one. You are the gold that for centuries held shattered porcelain together. His mouth open, but you’re quick to shut him, running the pad of your thumb across his lower lip. It’s dry, you know he’s been crying a lot lately. “Seems like you shed some tears.”

“Can’t hide anything from you, can I?” He turns his head towards you and there’s a smile dancing on his lips. It’s soft and barely reaches his eyes, but it’s enough. You cup his cheek with your hand and he sighs again, savoring the cold feeling of your palm against his delicate skin. It’s soothing, like aloe on a burn.

“You were not made to lie, Satoru.”

“I know I wasn’t,” he whispers, closing his eyes. You watch his white eyelashes flatten against the very tops of his cheeks, contrasting with the reddened, rough skin over there. “Sometimes it feels easier to lie than to say the truth.”

“I might not understand what you’re going through, but I will try,” you promise, meeting your forehead with his. He looks so broken in your palms, you wish to put him back together and keep him safe. "Did you cry for forgiveness?"

"I don’t know.” Maybe it was relief? Satoru couldn’t tell if what he felt was just fear of judgement. The moment he faced God, after being so thoroughly involved with you, the angel didn’t fully understand what the feelings bubbling inside him were. “Part of me wished for His blessing. But then, I thought of you and caught myself wondering what if God decided to forgive me? Would I break his trust again and go back to you?” His words are quiet, but you hear every sound. His shaky breath, the pauses between syllables, the uncertainty. “I think I would.”

‘You are naïve,’ God was accusing him, displeased eyes looking down at the angel’s curled form. ‘It’s not love, demons don’t have feelings. They have urges, they want to break, they want you to sin. And you have sinned.’ But you didn’t seem to be an emotionless monster his Father was describing you as. What you showed him was real, it felt real. Every caress of your hands, the warmth he shared with you at nights, when tangled together you slept through the darkness — all of it was natural. It didn’t feel staged, it didn’t feel forced. It felt real. ‘Nothing about that demon is real.’

“Do you still pray to him?”

“Sometimes. Not often.” The response is a little distant, but a soft smile dance on the angelic features. He has to admit to himself that the prayers he’s been directing at the Lord weren’t hundred percent honest. He didn’t mean to ask for forgiveness, he didn’t mean to apologize and there was no going around the fact that you were at the back of his mind every time he tried to cancel it. God knows he craves your closeness more than he craves flying back to Heaven.

“You hope he’d take you back?”

“I’m curious if he’d still listen. I was his favorite,” he turns and looks towards the window lightheartedly. The dark sky holds the city captive in the shades of night and Satoru finds it ironic how humans tend to confuse the space above them with Heaven. Now he looks up whenever he thinks of his past life too.

You hum, “of course you were,” and you run your long, clawed finger down the curve of his bicep. “Now you are my favorite.”

“I can live with that,” he breathes out, tightening his hold around you and everything feels right again.

“Are you struggling too?”

The question catches you off guard few weeks later. You look up from the plate of nothing but chocolate pieces and once your eyes find the angel, they settle on his face. Satoru moves slowly, pushing the chair next to you a little to the side and sitting on top of the table. It forces you to tilt your head back.

You scoff. “With what?” And you’re reaching for another bonbon when his fingers grab the side of the plate.

“With everything,” he says, calmly but you can tell he tensed. You can tell he’s nervous because you feel it. It’s warm in your hand, scented like iron, you can almost taste it on your tongue. You’re tensed too, you realize, a little too late, when your eyes fall down to where you keep a hold on his forearm. Your long, sharp nails dig into his skin with force enough to break it, you watch for a moment how the crimson drops follow the pale contours of his wrist.

He bleeds again. Your angel bleeds again. You hurt him.

Again.

Your fingers snap open and you allow him to take away the plate of treats.

“I’m not struggling,” you mutter, scanning the lines of your palm, now accentuated by the drying red.

“You are,” he’s persistent. “You were not made for loyalty and happiness. Your soul craves evil and you compensate it to yourself by being gluttonous. Lustful. Insatiable,” he points, and your eyes roll in annoyance. “You’re angry. Too prideful to admit that you’re checking the capital vices off the list like tasks. Look at me,” his tone softens and you smell his blood again when he reaches to your chin, grabbing it gently and pulling it upwards. “Being with me is against your nature too. It’s okay to struggle—”

“Spare me,” you snap, springing up from the chair. Wood falls to the ground and bounces with impact, the dull sound hanging in the thick atmosphere between you and the creature made by God himself. “I’m not struggling.” Too prideful. “Fuck.” Angry. “Fuck…”

And you take few steps back. He’s right and you hate that he’s right. You crave him, your very soul craves him, aching for each and every second of time and attention he’s willing to give you but it fails to conceal what’s underneath the sheer desire. You want him but you also want to sin. The joy of turning believers into religious weeds has run dry, leaving an empty shell pestering for something, anything. But you can’t have him and the misdeeds. You can’t cause mischief so freely as you used to do and then expect his arms to be open to hold you.

“Seems like you are, demon,” he calls you by the name and it makes you chuckle. You can’t tell how many times you teased him in the very same manner, replacing his name with a playfully mocking angel when you watched his breakdowns and savored his tears. But his words are not taunting. There’s care in them, and warmth and love that you know there’s no lifetime and universe that you would deserve. No one deserves to have an archangel to themselves.

He’s moving towards you and you flinch. “Stay back,” you warn but he’s deaf. “I will hurt you.” You try, but he shakes his head before his hands find yours. Your clenched fists rest on top of his open palms like heavy rocks on clouds and he hums, coaxing your grips open enough so that he can slide his long fingers in the spaces between yours, threading himself within your lines.

“If blood is what you crave, take mine. You always tell me how sweet it tastes,” he’s calm and you hate the way his scent fills in your nostrils. The muscle inside your chest races uncontrollably, you’re mad at it, it won’t listen.

“I will hurt you.” You growl. It’s low, it’s threatening. Your eyes glint with red as they burn holes in his beautiful face and it hurts you to keep your own hands loose enough to not squeeze his too tightly.

“Then hurt me,” he whispers, inching even closer. He’s tempting, you feel the warmth of his chest against you, his quickened breath. It’s odd, it’s not in his nature to entice. “Feed off my pain. Feed the evil inside you before it gets out of hand.”

“I can fucking control myself,” you’re sneering and as you roar, the walls tremble. It feels hotter, you’re tensing as you look up into his eyes — the blue doing nothing to calm the storm raging inside you. You hate it, it hurts, it eats you from the inside out. It burns as if the flames of hell had suddenly exploded inside every cell of your very being, bubbling with wrath and boiling.

“Clearly you can’t.”

And you’re pushing him away, taking another step back but he’s right after you. Your arm swing, the claws slide across his chest leaving long marks that open in an instant. The light fabrics of Satoru’s clothes, now cut into pieces, quickly soak the blood that’s oozing from the wounds. Red doesn’t suit him.

He winces, it hurts him, you know it hurts him, but he doesn’t fight it. And it feels good. You hate it, you hate how good it feels. The sweet, delicious scent of pain breaking through the metallic smell of blood, the way you can see his heart struggles to keep up with what’s happening. You take a deep breath, it fills your lungs, shots through your spine. Not a thousand of sinners could match the intensity of an archangel breaking. It’s ecstatic.

But then, you’re on your knees. The sweetness turns bitter as your lips press tender kisses to the angel’s knuckles. The taste of iron coats your tongue, it’s no longer hot as it dries against his skin. The euphoria of what just happened lasts no longer than seconds before it catches up to you that you hurt him. Again.

“Forgive me,” you ask and the words feel foreign in your mouth. Apologizing is as against your own as kindness and love would ever be, yet you find yourself muttering quiet sorry’s into his stained skin. But he knows that it’s not an angel that you’re addressing, absolution is not a thing you wish for. So he kneels down himself, wrapping an arm around your trembling form and pulling you flush to his wounded chest.

“Is it better now?” He asks, his voice soft and caring right at your earlobe. You’re nuzzling his neck, hiding in the safe space between his ear and shoulder as his fingers trace idle circles at the expanse of your back.

“Yes,” you whisper and hold onto him. You melt, molding yourself to the curves and edges of his shape, letting his kindness envelop and calm you. “But your pain wasn’t what I wished for.”

“I asked you to hurt me,” he coos. “It will heal. It’s fine.”

taglist: @dcvilxswish @erenjvegerrr @crywolfix @wildheart03-blog @elliotsbeigeguitar @mi-mosaa @miizuzu @shvnkaidou @kirashuu @nanasukii28 @tojideckmuncher @madaqueue @wisteriaflowersss @nerdiel-has-no-braincells @li7wakwnsekzebby @vanshoe @myahfig4 @suguruscousin @ressyshi @ay-hazie @lryvttbnc @rosso-seta @soyalovestoyap @shuuji71 @nishloves

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evilbihan · 10 months ago

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This is probably the most unpopular of all unpopular opinions out there, but hear me out for just a second:

Can we please start to acknowledge Kuai Liang's flaws? It's perfectly fine to like a character while also acknowledging their negative traits and the bad things they've done. I'm genuinely confused by the whole "aww Kuai Liang is so nice :)" thing the fandom has going on. I understand that, being a Bi-Han fan, I might sound biased, but I promise this is coming from a completely neutral standpoint.

I don't see how any of the positive traits fans associate with Kuai Liang (kindness, selflessness, a caring nature) are backed up by any canon material we know of. Those traits belong to Tomas, not Kuai Liang. The version of Kuai Liang that is a loving brother to Tomas and the prime example of a good man only exists in fanon.

Vengeful, short-tempered, regressive — those are Kuai Liang's actual traits.

May I remind you, the real Kuai Liang looks like this.

His face expresses arrogance, he's looking down on whoever is in front of him. He doesn't smile, doesn't display any expression that one could interpret for kindness. He looks cold. Does that arrogance and coldness look familiar at all?

It's the same expression as this one. Bi-Han is also shown looking down on others, with the exact same confidence stemming from the idea that he is superior to others. Kuai Liang mirrors that expression perfectly. They're brothers, they're similar in the way they act and think, in the way they were raised. Let's not forget that Kuai Liang was second in line for the grandmaster title while with the Lin Kuei. He is grandmaster of the Shirai Ryu now. They are both arrogant.

Tomas is the only one of the three who smiles and has a warm, kind aura to him. I'm not saying he's a perfect ray of sunshine, he's certainly capable of being ruthless just like his brothers, but he doesn't share their overwhelmingly negative traits.

There is no warmth to Kuai Liang at all, which is ironic given that his element is fire. Kuai Liang's fire, however, burns cold to match Bi-Han's ice. They are not opposites, they are the same.

Hanzo as Scorpion was driven by grief and ultimately love for his family, Kuai Liang's fire is only fueled by hatred for his brother.

While Bi-Han is obsessed with power, Kuai Liang's obsession with honor and tradition is crossing the line to fanaticism. Am I the only one to find it concerning how he worships his father and his father's ideals almost religiously? It's pretty much all he ever talks about at any given chance.

to Bi-Han: "His teachings did not pass with him. They should still guide us." to Bi-Han: "Father would turn in his grave if he saw this." to Smoke: "We must chart a new course. One that both honors our Father's legacy and serves Earthrealm." to Kitana: "Death before dishonor." to Smoke: "Only if we honor tradition."

Is this how a normal person talks? I don't think so. Admittedly, Bi-Han's methods are wrong, but since when is it a good thing to be completely against progress? Kuai Liang is stuck holding onto outdated traditions that don't allow for growth. It's not necessarily a bad thing that he looks up to his father, but idolizing someone to the point of never questioning anything they do or say and giving up any critical thinking is dangerous.

There's plenty more examples in the story mode and intros where Kuai Liang brings up honor and tradition, but this post is going to be long enough as it is so I only named a few.

I want to focus more on how Kuai Liang treats other characters throughout the story.

Tomas:

Why does the fandom claim he's such a good brother to Tomas when this is the only scene in the story mode where Kuai Liang expresses any sort of care towards Tomas — in a moment where he needs Tomas on his side?

Oddly enough, he's playing at Tomas' vulnerability here by bringing up family and reassuring him that they're brothers even if they don't share blood, in direct contrast to how Bi-Han said Tomas' blood was not Lin Kuei earlier. Words he chose carefully and deliberately, not out of the goodness of his heart because he wanted to comfort Tomas, but to achieve the desired effect: to sway Tomas to his side.

Similar to Bi-Han, Kuai Liang is a manipulative and calculating character. I would even dare to go as far as to say he's even more manipulative since Bi-Han lacks the charisma and patience to be a successful manipulator. Bi-Han makes no effort to convince Tomas to join him. He can't even keep up the lie he told Kuai Liang for very long. Bi-Han's actions are impulsive and poorly planned out, he's the naive one being manipulated by characters like Shang Tsung while Kuai Liang makes smart, calculated moves. He knew exactly what he was doing when speaking to Tomas.

I don't see how that was even necessary since Tomas would have picked Kuai Liang's side regardless simply because it's the one aligning with his own beliefs, but Kuai Liang's words were a subtle "Hey, remember that I'm the one who considers you part of this family and he does not. If you don't side with me, you're going to betray your own brother."

One of the key signs to recognize a manipulator by is how they try and convince a person close to them that it's "the two of them against everyone else" or in this case "them against their older brother". Manipulators know someone's weaknesses (Tomas' desire to be a part of their family) and how to exploit them to get what they want.

There was never even the slightest chance that Tomas would have sided with Bi-Han in that fight anyway, but he also appears way more passive in it as opposed to Kuai Liang. Tomas doesn't want to fight his own brother, but at the end of the day he cares more about doing the right thing and saving innocent lives than about his inner conflict. For Kuai Liang, it's a quest for vengeance and the pursue of his own goals above all else.

I also think it's interesting that Tomas looks slightly surprised/ confused at the hand being placed on his arm by Kuai Liang. It's almost like he's not used to being reassured like this which makes you wonder how often Kuai Liang really comforted Tomas or showed any support towards him. Like Liu Kang and everyone else, Kuai Liang barely acknowledged Smoke's presence before. They're only seen exchanging occasional glances.

What has me doubt the sincerety of Kuai Liang's words even more is this scene.

Personally, I don't believe that Bi-Han has ever snapped at Tomas like that before this incident here, but I know the fandom likes to think otherwise so just for this take let's go with the wrong assumption that Bi-Han used to put Tomas down like that regularly.

Why did Kuai Liang not step in to defend Tomas in this scene? If he knew where this was going why did he let Bi-Han finish his sentence? It's certainly not out of respect or because Bi-Han is their grandmaster. Kuai Liang has no issue talking back to him and contradicting him in other situations but he was surprisingly silent when this whole thing went down.

He was either just as surprised as Tomas that Bi-Han would snap at their brother like that because it hasn't happened before or because he simply didn't care to interrupt since he had nothing to gain from it, unlike later when he wanted Tomas' loyalty for himself.

Kuai Liang could have been standing up for Tomas in this situation if he was the good brother everyone sees him as, but for some reason he didn't. Make of that what you will.

As for the intros between them, there's only one where Kuai Liang asks about Tomas' family. In every other intro with Tomas he only speaks of his own goals. Honor, tradition, training the Shirai Ryu, defeating the Lin Kuei... At one point he praises Tomas for his loyalty towards him, only to question said loyalty later on.

Scorpion: Our resolve cannot waver, brother. Smoke: I'm offended that you think mine has.

If I'm not mistaken, that's a prime example of manipulation right here. Guilt tripping/shaming someone into doing something they don't even want to do.

Kuai Liang seems to always be working an angle with Tomas. Why is he suddenly doubting him? Because he knows Tomas wants peace, not war between the brothers?

Ultimately, it seems he doesn't care about what Tomas wants. We know that Tomas is torn in this conflict, he resents Bi-Han, but he also doesn't want his brothers to fight. Otherwise, he wouldn't have asked for Liu Kang to reunite them.

Tomas' intros are a whole paradox of their own.

Smoke: Are we to be enemies for life? Sub-Zero: Unless you submit, Tomas.

Smoke: I'll never forgive Bi-Han. Scorpion: His betrayal has seared both our hearts.

Scorpion: We'll soon meet the Lin Kuei in battle. Smoke: It will be our last with them. Smoke: For Earthrealm's sake, my brothers must reunite. Raiden: There's little hope for that, Tomas.

Smoke: Can I get the brothers to reconcile? Liu Kang: They must choose their own path, Tomas.

What Tomas says to other characters contradicts everything he says to Kuai Liang. But why? Why does he never tell Kuai Liang directly that he'd just wish him and Bi-Han would stop fighting? Why if not because he's afraid of Kuai Liang's reaction and that he will lose him as a brother unless he agrees with everything Kuai Liang says?

SPOILERS: It's interesting how Kuai Liang in this scene asks Tomas to help him bring Bi-Han back with them so he won't be able to aid Shang Tsung, but according to leaks he's going to leave Bi-Han behind with Havik in the dlc, not even caring about the consequences that might have for Bi-Han or for Earthrealm. Now that Tomas isn't there he no longer has to keep up the facade. Tomas' absence also makes me wonder if he maybe got tired of Kuai Liang's spitefulness and blind hatred.

To sum it up, here's what we know about how Kuai Liang treats Tomas:

Kuai Liang initialy doesn't defend Tomas against Bi-Han's harsh words

He picks an odd timing to comfort Tomas at the Ying Fortress, possibly to assure that Tomas will join his side, not Bi-Han's

He's trying to push his own agenda onto Tomas who agrees with him in their intros but doesn't seem to share Kuai Liang's goals when speaking to other characters like Liu Kang or Raiden

SPOILERS: It seems that Tomas won't be attending Kuai Liang's wedding as he's not mentioned at all in any of the dlc leaks. He might be trying to stay out of the fight between his brothers entirely.

Bi-Han:

Another detail I've noticed is how quickly Kuai Liang comes up with the idea to create the Shirai Ryu. How likely is it that he made the decision to form an entire new clan on the spot? He seems way too prepared for this scenario.

Smoke: Once he's exposed, won't you be grandmaster? Scorpion: You forget Cyrax and Sektor. Their loyalty to Bi-Han is absolute. They'll sooner abet his corruption than follow me. We must chart a new course.

Why did Tomas not know about this when they're part of the same clan but Kuai Liang knows the answer immediately? It's almost like he has thought it through before, tried to figure out exactly who would side with him and who wouldn't if it came down to important Lin Kuei members choosing between him and Bi-Han. And that's because he has. It even says so in his official bio.

Kuai Liang always intended to overthrow Bi-Han.

He admitted that he was aware of Bi-Han's frustrations all along and yet he never brought up his concerns to Liu Kang or anyone else. It seems that he intended to take advantage of how mentally unstable his brother was in order to become grandmaster himself. I'm not saying he always wanted the title to himself, Kuai Liang doesn't care about power, but his obsession with tradition equals Bi-Han's obsession with power. He wanted to rule the Lin Kuei himself to enforce his own ideals and when he realized that wouldn't work out, he settled for the next best thing: creating his own clan.

Kitana in comparison also knows that Mileena is impulsive and many people doubt that she's fit to lead but she supports her sister regardless. Her loyalty to Mileena is unwavering. Kitana loves and supports her sister unconditionally. It doesn't even once cross her mind to take Mileena's place on the throne.

Kuai Liang and Kitana share similar values, yet Kitana's loyalty to her sister outweighs all that while Kuai Liang didn't hesitate to plot against Bi-Han way before Bi-Han even sided with Shang Tsung. Just Bi-Han's frustration alone was reason enough for Kuai Liang to want to overthrow his brother.

Ashrah, a complete stranger, cares more about redeeming Bi-Han than his own brother does. And no, Kuai Liang's actions can't be justified by bringing up that Bi-Han let their father die or betrayed Earthrealm etc. because Kuai Liang gave up on him long before any of that happened. In fact, the way Kuai Liang constantly brings up their father at every chance he gets probably added to Bi-Han's frustrations and is part of the reason why he was driven to madness.

Scorpion: Glory? We fight for duty. Sub-Zero: Does our father's ghost possess you? All I hear is his voice.

Bi-Han seems haunted by their father's ghost and Kuai Liang knows, yet he doesn't shy away from bringing it up at every opportunity. Was it done on purpose? Who knows.

But it's noteworthy that it's again manipulative behavior. The way Kuai Liang constantly criticizes Bi-Han, undermines his authority, compares him to their father whenever he can although he knows about Bi-Han's frustrations, then claims a shadow has fallen on Bi-Han's soul when he at the very least partially helped cast that shadow.

I'm not sure why people claim Kuai Liang was supportive of Bi-Han before his betrayal because there's no evidence of that at all. At least, none that I could find. Kuai Liang seems reluctant to follow Bi-Han's orders and he also doesn't seem to respect him much. Again, compare that to how Kitana shows actual concern for Mileena while Kuai Liang just seems fed up with Bi-Han.

Personally, I believe Kuai Liang's goals are far bigger than we know at this point. Something about the line "The Shirai Ryu won't rest until Bi-Han is defeated and the Lin Kuei's honor is restored" suggests that, while he built his own clan, Kuai Liang still has some interest in the Lin Kuei. I doubt that he's just planning to take down Bi-Han to let someone else be grandmaster in his place. I think that Kuai Liang wants to merge both clans once Bi-Han is defeated. After all, Kuai Liang's bio mentions that he's willing to fight his brother for control of the Lin Kuei's legacy. He might think it would be in his father's interest if he became grandmaster of both clans. However, that's just an educated guess and might not be true at all.

How Kuai Liang treats Bi-Han:

Kuai Liang never trusted Bi-Han's leadership skills or acknowledged his authority

The conflict of interest between the brothers always existed, even before Bi-Han switched sides and Kuai Liang always planned to take the grandmaster title from Bi-Han

Kuai Liang attempted to (and would have) killed Bi-Han but was interrupted in doing so

He's eager to fight Bi-Han, while Tomas is reluctant

He seems to have always held very little love for Bi-Han, if any at all, although he claims they used to be close once

Harumi:

Does no one else think it's a little bit suspicious that the woman Kuai Liang ends up "falling in love with" is a capable fighter and head of her own clan, someone with exactly the resources, knowledge and means to provide Kuai Liang with everything he needs to build his own clan? He even names the Shirai Ryu after Harumi, a clan whose goal it is to take down Kuai Liang's hated brother, someone Harumi probably knows little about or never even met. Maybe I'm the only one to think that's kind of messed up and not a romantic gesture, but at least he's giving her some credit, right? Does Harumi lead the Shirai Ryu with Kuai Liang or did he take her own clan from her to build his own? I couldn't really find any information regarding that but it would be even more messed up if the Shirai Ryu are originally Harumi's clan that Kuai Liang simply took over.

Another weird detail is how Smoke calls Harumi Kuai Liang's "good friend" in his own ending, which makes you wonder if he left the Shirai Ryu before Kuai Liang and Harumi became a couple? Does he know Kuai Liang doesn't actually love Harumi? It's confusing because Tomas is the person closest to Kuai Liang. Shouldn't he be the first to know if his brother fell in love and is planning to get married?

Kuai Liang's reaction when Kitana congratulates him on his marriage is rather cold as well. He doesn't seem like a happy, newly married man and it makes me think their marriage wasn't necessarily out of love, at least not on Kuai Liang's side.

How Kuai Liang treats Harumi:

There's not enough known about their relationship yet to really know if Kuai Liang's love for Harumi is genuine

He benefitted a lot from his friendship with her when creating the Shirai Ryu

It's strange that Tomas only calls Harumi Kuai Liang's "good friend"

Final conclusion:

Kuai Liang seems to follow a pattern of binding people to him emotionally (Tomas, Harumi... ) to be able to use them to his own advantage. I'm not saying that he doesn't care about them at all, but first and foremost, they're assets to him and family second.

For someone who claims to care about honor, Kuai Liang sure has very little of it. SPOILERS: The fact that Kuai Liang is willing to let Bi-Han die and deny him treatment when he gets infected with chaos magic says a lot about the type of person he is. How is it honorable to kick a man when he's down? How is it honorable that he wants to kill Frost during his own wedding and Harumi has to beg him to spare her life?

To get this straight, this is not an attempt to paint Kuai Liang as the epitome of all evil or to say he doesn't care at all about the people in his life, just that he's much more cold and calculating than people give him credit for. Just because Kuai Liang has chosen the good side while Bi-Han went down the wrong path doesn't necessarily make him a nice person. He's still vindictive and selfish. He still shows toxic behavior.

I know someone will try and twist this post into something it isn't, so let me say this is NOT a personal attack on Kuai Liang fans or an attempt to spread negativity, it's just my opinion that you're free to disagree with. I blame the writers and their obvious bias for Scorpion that Kuai Liang's bad traits are so often overlooked. This post is only me sharing my thoughts. If it offends you, block me. I don't want to see this reblogged with paragraphs from people trying to defend Kuai Liang.

#kuai liang #mk scorpion #bi han #mk sub zero #tomas vrbada #mk smoke #lin kuei brothers #mortal kombat 1 #mk1 2023

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sweetbans29 · 3 months ago

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Overprotective - CC

Pairing: Caitlin Clark x Reader

Summary: 3 times you navigate her need to protect you (based on THIS request)

Warnings: Protective CC, mildly suggestive in the first one

Word Count: 3.5k

Sweetbans Masterlist

AN: Protective CC would be superior. Also used piece of a movie to help with one of the instances, see if you can spot it.

The First.

You don't know how you got here. Everything happened so fast, you couldn't comprehend the events that were unfolding in front of you. One second you were sitting at the lunch tables with your friends, the next you had milk going down your back and you see your best friend launch herself at whoever who did it.

See high school wasn't your friend. You remember all those movies about the outcast getting bullied by everybody who thinks they're anybody? Yeah, that's you. Walking through the halls of your school with a walking target on your back. A target that just magically appeared one day and has never left. Forget the fact that you were at a religious school, it was almost worse than if you went to public school. The girls here were a whole new level of mean.

There was only one thing that kept you sane and that was your best friend. That is your best friend and crush for the last 4 years. A crush that you swallow down and will take to your grave to never see the light of day. You had met the brown haired girl at an AAU tournament. You loved going to AAU tournaments and would spend a majority of your time in gyms with your mom was a coach and your older sister played. It was crazy how every bone in her body was athletic and every bone in yours was not. She took after your mom while you took after your dad. Going back to the brown haired girl, you were sitting and watching the team your mom coached when a ball came flying your way, hitting you straight in the head. The brown haired girl came running over, apologizing immediately. Once you got over the pain, she introduced herself and you did the same. Little did you know that the beginning of your friendship was a foreshadowing to the rest of your friendship.

Bringing it back to the milk running down your back. You were sitting in the cafeteria with Caitlin and a few other girls from her team when Stacy and her crew walked up to your table.

"Well look who we have here," Stacy says, eyes trained on you. Forget who you were sitting with, when Stacy had an agenda to humiliate you - she would do it.

You don't look up at the girl and continue eating your lunch. You see Caitlin's teammates sit up a little straighter, always keeping an eye out for you. What you don't see is Caitlin's fists clench as her whole body tenses up.

"Ignoring me now are we?" Stacy says. "Do we really think that is the best idea?"

Whenever you talked to your dad about what was happening at school, he would empathize with you. He would also tell you to not give them the light of day - show them that they don't phase you. And that is exactly the plan you had.

You take another bite of your sandwich and ignore Stacy.

"Why don't you try and ignore this," she says as she elbows her boyfriend Tyler. Tyler picks up the milk from Caitlin's tray and slowly pours it down the back of your shirt.

As much as you try to ignore the cold liquid running down your back, you straighten from the cold sensation and feel a lump in your throat form.

Another thing your dad told you was to never let the enemy see you cry, they feed off of you weakness only fueling them even more.

Before you can turn to say something, You see Caitlin stand. Before you can stop her, she has her fist connecting with Tyler's face.

You sit there in shock for a whole two seconds as you hear the whole cafeteria go silent. It's not like Tyler can hit back but you first thought was 'what if he did?'.

Caitlin's team is now pulling her away from Tyler and Stacy's group as Stacy is checking to make sure Tyler is okay.

When you come to your senses, you grab Caitlin's arm and drag her out and down the hallway to the nearest bathroom. The team stayed behind to let the teachers know what happened which you were beyond grateful for.

Once you got Cait into the bathroom you just stand there and look at her. You can see the rage in her eyes and you are sure yours reflect something similar.

How could she be so stupid, you thought to yourself. You look down at the hand that collided with Tyler and your whole demeanor softens. You walk past Caitlin and grab a paper towel. You wet it under the sink and take her hand.

The second the cool towel makes contact with her knuckles, she flinches, trying to retreat but you don't let her.

"Stop moving," you tell her. She lets out an exasperated groan.

You bring her hand up to examine it closer as you pat her bruising skin. She doesn't move and lets you run your fingers on top of her own.

"You're so dumb," you say knowing her hand is going to bug her for the next week days at practice.

There would be a lot that you didn't tell your best friend, worried that something like this would happen. You have seen Caitlin's temper and would fear it would lead to regrettable actions.

She looks at you in disbelief.

"If you think I was going to sit there and just let them do that, you are very wrong," Caitlin says. You didn't realize how close she had gotten to you but once you realize it, you feel the hair on your arms rise.

Caitlin is looking into your eyes, her hand that you were just holding is now on your neck. Her thumb grazes your cheek. You would be lying to yourself if you were to say you haven't thought about this.

"Caitlin," you say as she leans in and gently presses her lips to yours.

At first, the kiss is slow and sweet. Just getting to know the way each other's lips move. Once there is an unspoken comfortability, and Cait senses that, she deepens the kiss. Your hands come to wrap around her neck as hers find a home on your waist. She backs you up into the sink, using the gasp that escapes you to allow her tongue to explore yours.

Caitlin breathes you in like her life depends on it. She squeezes your hips and moans into you when she feels your hands tug at the hair on the back of her head. She wants you in ways she would never dare speak of, at least that was before her knowing you would kiss her back with as much need.

You feel her hands slip under your shirt and you are suddenly hyper-aware of the fact that you are still in the school bathroom. One of your hands comes to her chest, giving her a little push which elicits a low whine from the girl. As much as you want her, your first time together will not be in the confines of this wretched place.

"Not here," you say out of breath. She hesitates but nods. Your hand comes up to hold her face.

"You are beautiful," you say really looking at her features. When you say it, you feel her cheeks warm as she smiles. She leans in to hide her face into your shoulder and neck, a gesture you have learned she does when she is overly excited and or extremely content. She muffles something into your neck that you can't understand.

"What was that?" You ask. She lifts her head a little.

"You smell like milk," she says with a little giggle. You push her back and she is now full on laughing.

You remove your shirt and rinse it out in the sink. Caitlin comes up behind you wraps her arms around your middle.

"You're so much help," you say sarcastically.

"I know," she says, smiling at you through the mirror.

"Maybe I'll walk out there like this," you say referring to you being topless.

"Like hell you will," Cait says as she removes the sweatshirt she is wearing. She forces it over your head, causing your hair to get messed up. Not that she cared, the idea of you walking out for everyone to see blinded every other thought she had. She treats you like a child who can't dress themselves as she is pulling your arms through the sleeves one by one.

"There you go," she says content with herself.

"Promise me you won't do that again," you say as you take her hand.

"You know I don't make promises I can't keep," she says and you roll your eyes at the girl.

You thank her as the two of you head back out into the world. Later that day, after Caitlin is done with practice, she makes her way to your house. The two of you hang outside in your backyard, bundled up in your hammock. You talk about when each of your feelings started to arise for one another and what your lives look like together. She tells you how she tried to hide her hand from her coach but was ultimately outed. You grabbed her hand and took another look at the bruises that have developed.

"I still can't believe you punched Tyler," you whisper as you are looking at her hand.

"And I would do it again if he ever messes with you like that again," Cait says not missing a beat.

"I know you would," you say as you bring her hand up to your lips, giving it the most gentle kiss.

The Worst.

You are at home, book in hand, planted on the couch while wrapped in a blanket when the softest knock comes from the front door. You look at the clock, 10:42 PM.

Making your way to the door you check to see who it is. After spotting your girlfriend and one of her teammates you open it in a heartbeat.

The sight in front of you is one that you wish you never had to see.

Caitlin is being held up by her teammate who is doing her best to keep the beat up girl from hunching over.

"Sorry to bug you so late, I didn't know where else to take her," her teammate says and you go to help her bring Caitlin into your house.

"What happened?" You ask and Cait's teammate looks at you warily. By the look you already know. Your mind flashes back to lunch where you were humiliated worse than ever before.

Walking into the cafeteria, you are met with glances and muffled laughs. When you walk up to your usual table, you are met with Stacy and Tyler.

"Oh hey there," Stacy says with a wicked smile. You ignore her and go to sit when your eyes is drawn to something. Looking at the flyer on the table you see a photoshoped picture of your face on some model in a bikini.

You feel the blood drain form your face as panic sets in - looking around you see everyone has fliers in their hands and are laughing at you. The humiliation is sickening.

You turn to run back out out the cafeteria when you are met with familiar arms.

"I got you," Caitlin whispers as you hide your face in her. She looks over at Stacy and her gang, ripping a flier from a nearby girl's hand, taking a look at what they had done. All Cait can see is red when she crumples the paper and is about to go give Stacy a piece of her mind when she feels your shaking body.

"I got you," Cait says again, deciding to take you out of the situation. As she looks at Stacy, Caitlin's eyes show she will be back.

Caitlin takes you home and promises she will be back. You beg her to stay with you which she gives in and stays.

She holds you as you fall asleep in her arms. When you wake up, you are alone. You knew Cait had a game which is where you believed her to be. After checking your phone, you suspicions are right which is when you curl up with a book.

"I've got her," you tell Caitlin's teammate and they leave.

Caitlin is sitting on your couch, not a word spoken.

You grab arm and lead her up to your bathroom. it takes some time to get up the stairs but she manages. Once in your bathroom, she takes a seat on the counter as you grab your first aid kit.

Looking at your girl, you don't know where to begin. Putting the hydrogen peroxide down, you run downstairs to grab a few bags of frozen veggies and return with them. You place one on Caitlin's eye and another on her knee. The final bag you brought goes to her right fist and she flinches.

You start cleaning the cuts and scraps on her left hand, shortly moving over to her right. You clean and bandage all the open wounds you see. Caitlin shifts and winces.

You look at her with furrowed eyebrows as her hand comes to bring an ice pack to her abdomen. Moving her hand, you try to lift her shirt but she fights you for the first time. You shoot her a 'don't you dare' look and she slumps her shoulders and lets you lift her shirt. You don't need to lift it far to see her once porcelain skin painted with blue, green and yellow.

"Holy shit," you mutter as you go to gently bring her shirt over her head.

"Caity," you say with a sigh, scared to touch her.

"It's not as bad as it looks," she says trying to smile. You fingers come to graze against the blue parts of her stomach and she winces again.

Your concern for the girl grows as you continue to find more and more injuries.

You finish caring for her by cleaning up her face. There wasn't much to clean up, just her eye.

Once finished, you bring her head to lean against your shoulder.

The two of you stay like that for a while.

"I'm not sorry," she mutters.

"I know," you say. She lifts her head to look in your eyes. She leans her forehead against yours.

"Can I spend the night?" She asks. "Don't want my parents to see me."

You nod. You step back and help her off the counter, guiding her to your bed. After helping her lay down you begin to leave your room.

"Where are you going?" Cait asks.

"I'll be right back, babe," you say as you grab the bags of now unfrozen veggies. You return them to the freezer and grab some Advil along with a glass of water.

When you walk back into your room, you see Caitlin laying there with her eyes closed. You go and sit next to her and you watch her chest rise and fall. Your eyes can't help by travel down to her colored abdomen as you feel a pain in your chest.

"I wish you didn't," you say as Caitlin brings her hand to rest on your thigh.

"They can't think what they did is okay," she says, her eyes still closed.

"I don't care about them, I care about you," you say as your thumb begins to rub the skin right under her right breast.

Caitlin finally opens her eyes and you pass her the pain reliever.

You make your way to your side of the bed and lay down. Scooting close to her, you are too scared to lean on her.

"Want me to make the joke about seeing the other guy?" Caitlin asks trying to lighten the mood.

"Absolutely not," you say. You hear Cait chuckle, then feel her scoot closer to you so your arms are touching.

"Promise me you won't do this again," you breath out.

She is silent for a little before responding.

"You know I can't make promises I can't keep," she says.

The Last.

You are sitting in the bleachers of your high schools gym waiting to watch Caitlin play one of your schools biggest rivals. You watch the game intently as Caitlin dominates the court per usual.

Her team takes the win and you wait for you girl in the stands as she celebrates with her team first. As you are waiting you feel someone come and sit next to you.

"Hey there," someone says and you turn to see a guy from the other school. You give him a smile but don't say anything.

"I was wondering if you wanted to get out of here?" He asks.

"No thank you," you say as you stand and head down to the court to find Cait.

To your discomfort, he follows you.

"Hey, come back baby," he says as he grabs your arm. You yank it out of his hand.

"Is there a problem here?" You hear your girlfriend say as she wraps her arm around you.

"No," you whisper as you see the look in Caitlin's eye. It is the look of protector, the 'if you make one wrong move I will f-you up' look.

"Just trying to get this pretty little thing to leave with me," the guys says not taking the hint that you were in no way interested.

You feel Caitlin tense next to you and your grab her arm trying to get her to stop whatever she is about to do. You fail as you feel her lung at the guy.

"CLARK!" A voice booms. Everyones head whips to the origin of the sound to find Cait's coach.

"You swing, you are no longer on this team," Coach says as everyone turns their head to see Caitlin's arm wound up behind her. You see the dilemma in Caitlin's eye.

Your hand comes up to bring her fist down and she takes a step back. You know she can't afford to get kicked off the team - she is preparing to head to Iowa to play in college.

"Yes Coach," she says as she takes a step back. The guy now has a smirk on his face as if he didn't just dodge a bullet.

"Yes Coach," he teases and before you know it you are are the one swinging at the guy. You fist comes into contact with his face and you immediately regret it. Pain shoots from your right hand and up your arm.

"Oh shit," Caitlin says in awe of you.

Caitlin's coach shakes her head and walks away, she could stop Caitlin but has no jurisdiction over you.

The pain in your hand continues to grow.

"Cait, something isn't right," you say and she takes a hold of your hand. You let out a screech when she makes contact with you and shortly sees you fractured your hand.

Caitlin is the one to drive you to urgent care. You go and get your hand checked out, walking out with your hand in a serious wrap and follow up instructions.

As Caitlin drives you home, she is still in disbelief that you were the one to throw a punch. She parks in front of your house and turns her car off.

You sit there in silence, ashamed that you let your temper get the best of you.

"Babe," she says and you turn to look at her. The look in her eyes is something you have never seen before.

"I'm sorry," you say and look away from her. Her hand comes up to bring your face to look back out her.

"Don't apologize, my love," she says and leans in to press a kiss to your lips. "It was honestly really hot."

You giggle at her comment. You take a moment as your tone becomes more serious.

"Cait, you need to figure out a way to control your temper," you say playing with her hand. "No more hitting."

She is about to speak when you cut her off.

"I agree with your coach," you say and you look in her eyes. "I need you to promise me, no more fights. We will figure something else out okay? I can't have you going around fighting everyone, not here and definitely not in college."

You hadn't told Cait you were planning on going to Iowa with her. She knew you applied but she had no idea you had gotten in, not that she had any doubts.

She gives you the 'you better not be messing with me' look and you just smile at her. Her excitement overtakes her as she pulls you into her, burying her face into your neck. Your smile matches hers.

She lets you go and looks at you.

"I promise," she says. "I promise, no more fighting."

A stress in your releases as you have been waiting to hear those words fall from her mouth for over a year now.

"I love you," you say as you bring her face to yours.

"I love you more," Cait says kissing your lips.

AN: FIGHT ME. Not actually but I can see Cait bumping chest with someone as she yells that. Let me know if you see the same. And as always, thank you for your love and support 🤍

#caitlin clark #caitlin clark concepts #caitlin clark imagine #caitlin clark x reader #caitlin clark masterlist

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