#hes on the catholic guilt trip again

[hansatorium]

What exactly are you guilty of again?

[winxanity-ii]

FATHER, FORGIVE ME

ship: father charlie x fem!reader warnings: nsfw 🔞 ( oral sex/f. receiving; overstimulation; coercion/dub-con?; sacrilege, heavy religious imagery ) word count: 4.1k a/n: ahhh….I just want to say I'm so thrilled with all the love and support for the mini Devotion series! It means the world to me to see you guys enjoying it as much as I do. And a huge thank you to everyone who wished me a happy birthday! I got drunk asf, and here's the rough draft I made while tipsy, lolol. Hope you all enjoy~ 😈✨..

★·.·´ɢʀᴏᴛᴇsǫᴜᴇʀɪᴇ 🇲‌🇦‌🇸‌🇹‌🇪‌🇷‌🇱‌🇮‌🇸‌🇹‌`·.·★

You wouldn't say you were a bad person.

Selfish? Maybe. Impulsive? Absolutely. But "bad" seemed a bit of a stretch.

It's just that, when you saw something you wanted, you didn't hesitate to take it—and, honestly, you had no regrets. Not until now, at least.

Sitting here, surrounded by the smell of old hymn books and dusty incense, listening to some wrinkly old man in a white robe drone on about salvation.

The whole thing was your mother's doing. She had this recurring phase, like clockwork, where she'd get bitten by the "Bible bug."

For a few weeks every year, she was the most devoted Catholic you'd ever seen. She'd call, text, guilt-trip—anything to get her kids back on the straight and narrow, even if just for a Sunday morning.

For the last seven years, you'd managed to dodge it. Moved out at eighteen and never looked back, leaving the duty of church attendance to your three other siblings.

Usually, someone would take one for the team and tag along with Mom until her enthusiasm fizzled out again. But this time, it seemed your luck had run dry—your sister had finally roped you in, and here you were, seven-year streak shattered.

You sighed deeply, eyes half-lidded as they flicked across the stained glass windows—all those saints staring down at you in judgment.

You couldn't help but think of all the things you could be doing right now. Sleeping, for one. Your bed sounded like heaven compared to the hard pew beneath you.

Or brunch with your friends—mimosas and laughter, not these monotone chants and the faint smell of mothballs.

Hell, you could've called Kevin over and gotten dicked down instead of dealing with this—

Your thoughts screeched to a halt, slamming against an unexpected sight.

The old priest, the one whose croaky voice was practically white noise at this point, stepped away from the pulpit. In his place was someone else—someone younger, someone whose presence commanded attention.

A man, tall, dark hair neatly combed back, with a crisp black cassock that hugged his broad shoulders just right. He moved with a sense of ease, like he belonged up there.

And damn, was he handsome. Handsome enough to pull your focus completely, which was a feat in itself given the circumstances.

Your eyes tracked him as he approached the podium, his voice replacing the rasping chant of the old priest. It was smooth, warm, resonant. Nothing like the man you remembered from years ago.

He spoke about community, faith, redemption—but all you could think was how someone like him ended up in a place like this.

You found yourself leaning forward, just slightly, as if drawn in by some invisible force. Your irritation melted away, replaced by a strange curiosity.

Maybe… maybe this wouldn't be the worst way to spend a Sunday after all.

The priest stood quietly at the altar, his figure framed by the soft light filtering through the stained glass windows. A faint scar traced its way down the right side of his forehead, a mark that spoke of some unknown hardship or past misadventure.

He was youthful but with the stillness of someone who’d seen enough to understand patience and humility.

With each breath, the man seemed grounded in his presence, shoulders relaxed but broad, the fabric of his robe resting comfortably against his chest.

His appearance was almost angelic, yet the subtle scar and the weight in his eyes hinted at something more complex beneath the surface—a man of God, perhaps, but one who had walked through fire to find his faith.

"Oh?" You raised an eyebrow in appreciation as you stared at the handsome man up there. You leaned over a bit to your mother, eyes never straying from his figure. "Ma, who's that? Is he new?" you whispered to your mother.

She looked up from her phone, Candy Crush flashing on her screen. You silenced the snort that wanted to come out. Looked like she might retire from church early this year, you thought to yourself, seeing her early signs of disengaging.

She glanced up at the front, giving a quick look before going back to her game. "That's Father Charlie Mayhew. He was brought in about two or three years ago, I think," she murmured absently, barely paying attention.

Father Charlie.

You watched as he spoke, his voice strong yet gentle, his eyes sweeping over the congregation with a genuine warmth. He wasn't like the old priest—this one seemed to genuinely care, as if each word held weight.

You wondered if that scar came from something dramatic, some story worth knowing. Your gaze lingered, taking in the slope of his shoulders, the way his lips moved with each word. Something about him felt... magnetic.

You found yourself sitting up straighter when the two of you made eye contact—he blinked, his words stumbling just slightly, a brief hitch in his otherwise smooth delivery. "I, uh... I apologize," he stuttered, looking off to the side, the tips of his ears turning pink.

You caught the way his eyes shifted nervously, almost as if he was trying to regain his footing. It was subtle, but you could see it—the way he tried to pull himself back together, to get through the rest of the sermon without any more disruptions.

He cleared his throat to continue, "As I was saying... uh, the importance of faith in our lives cannot be overstated. We must always strive to, um, to do what is right, even when it's difficult..." His voice trailed off slightly, but he managed to steady himself, his eyes avoiding yours as he focused on the rest of the congregation.

It made something stir in you, a mix of curiosity and amusement.

You bit down gently on your lower glossed lip, eyes trailing over his form, taking in every subtle detail. The way his hands gripped the edge of the podium, the faint flush creeping up his neck—it was all so telling.

He seemed innocent, reactive.

You smiled to yourself, letting your gaze linger as he continued, noting the way he seemed to avoid looking in your direction now, as if afraid that another glance might trip him up again.

Maybe you should pay a visit to Father Charlie—see if you could break that serene composure of his.

You could already imagine it—the way he might tense up under your touch, the way his voice might crack if you whispered something just a bit too forward.

The thought alone made your heart race, anticipation bubbling up inside you, like something in you just knew—he'd be fun to unravel.

You leaned back in your seat, a slow, satisfied smile playing on your lips. Oh, this was going to be fun.

The sermon ended with a quiet murmur of 'Amen' from the congregation, followed by the gentle shuffle of people rising from the pews.

You glanced around, watching as people slowly made their way to the exits, some stopping to chat while others lingered near the back of the church.

The old priest was nowhere to be seen, but Father Charlie remained, standing at the front as he spoke softly to a small group of parishioners.

Your mother, of course, made a beeline for him. You heard her voice carrying over the hushed conversations, gushing about how moving today’s sermon was.

You rolled your eyes, unable to help yourself, and slowly rose to your feet, making your way over with an almost lazy stride.

As you approached, you could see your mother perk up, her eyes lighting up as she turned to you. "Oh, there she is! Father Charlie, this is my youngest, ____." She gestured towards you, her hand lightly resting on your arm to pull you closer. "You've met my other children over the years."

You could see the change in Father Charlie almost instantly. His posture shifted, his back straightening just a little more, his eyes rounding as they landed on you. He seemed almost like an eager puppy, his gaze bright and attentive.

He quickly pulled his eyes away, turning back to your mother with a polite smile as he nodded. "Yes, I remember," he said, his voice a touch softer. Then he turned to you, his eyes meeting yours as he gave you a gentle smile. "It's nice to finally meet you. I don't think I've seen you here before... ?"

Your mother gave a sort of laughing scoff, waving him off as she caught his attention again. She chuckled, shaking her head. "Oh, Father, the day she willingly comes to church without an incentive is the day the devil is welcomed back into Heaven's gates."

You kept your eyes on Father Charlie, a small smile tugging at your lips as you tilted your head slightly. "Maybe I just hadn't found a good enough reason to come before," you said, your gaze locked on his, your voice light but carrying a hint of something more.

His eyes widened just a little, and you watched as a faint blush spread across his cheeks, his lips parting slightly as he blinked, clearly caught off guard.

Before he could say anything, your mother’s name was called from behind. It was one of her church friends, and in an instant, she was off, waving a quick goodbye and leaving you standing there in front of Father Charlie.

You didn't waste a second, taking a daring step forward, your eyes fixed on him. "So..." you said, letting your gaze roam over him before meeting his eyes again. "You seem awfully young to be running a church like this. I have to say, I'm impressed."

He looked bashful, glancing down for a moment before looking back up at you. "Oh, well, thank you. I just... I do my best," he said, his voice soft, the pink on his cheeks deepening.

You smiled, tilting your head just slightly. "Do you do one-on-one sessions, like other churches do?" you asked, your voice carrying a hint of mischief.

He blinked, clearly confused for a moment, before his eyes widened in realization. "Oh, you mean confessionals?" He nodded quickly, his expression shifting back to something more serious. "Yes, I do. In fact, I was planning on doing confessionals later today, after the services. Not many people take me up on it, but I think it's important to always offer the option."

"Oh, really?" you said, letting your voice drop just a bit, your head tilting to the side as you watched him. You let a small smile curve your lips, your gaze never leaving his. "Well, you wouldn't mind if I came to see you and... confessed, would you, Father?"

He stuttered, his blush deepening as he quickly nodded. "N-No, of course not. You're more than welcome to come by, anytime," he said, his voice a bit shaky.

You smirked, giving him a nod. "Perfect," you said, your voice smooth, before turning on your heel and walking away, back towards where your mother was waiting.

You could feel his gaze on you the entire time, the weight of his eyes almost burning into your back. And you loved it.

This really was going to be fun.

The church grew quieter as the service officially ended, people slowly trickling out while you lingered, waiting for your moment.

Eventually, you made your way to the confessional booth, the small wooden space feeling cramped as you settled in. The air was close, the scent of polished wood and incense hanging heavy.

You could hear Father Charlie shuffling on the other side, the sound of the door closing behind him, the rustle of fabric as he got seated.

You took a breath, letting the silence stretch for a moment before you began. "Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned..." you said, your voice soft, but there was an edge to it that you couldn't quite hide.

There was a pause before you heard him clear his throat, his voice coming through the small screen that separated you. "The Lord is always ready to forgive. Please, tell me your sins, my child."

You sighed, leaning back slightly, your fingers brushing against the hem of your dress. "I fear I desire a man that is just out of my reach," you said, your voice carrying a hint of frustration. "It's wrong for me to want him... but I can't seem to help myself."

There was a moment of silence, and you could almost picture the look on his face—concerned, earnest, wanting to help. His voice was gentle as he responded. "Desire can be difficult to control, but it is not inherently sinful. It is what we choose to do with that desire that matters. You must pray for guidance, ask for strength... and remember that God understands our struggles."

You hummed softly, your eyes half-lidded as you listened to him, but your mind was drifting. His voice was soothing, and you found yourself imagining what it would be like if things were different.

If there wasn't a screen between you.

If you could reach out, touch him, feel that innocence melt away under your fingers.

Your hand trailed down your side, your fingers brushing over your thigh as you let out a soft sigh.

His voice cut through your thoughts, sounding a bit uncertain. "Sister ____... are you alright? Do you hear me?"

You smiled to yourself, your mind made up. You leaned closer to the screen, your voice dropping to a near whisper. "Father," you began, your tone coy, "I must confess... I find it difficult to focus when you're speaking. You have such a... soothing voice."

His breath caught audibly, and you could almost hear the way he was struggling to gather himself. "W-What do you mean, sister?" he asked, his voice trembling slightly, laced with confusion.

"It makes me think... sinful thoughts."

You could hear the slight hitch in his breath, the rustle of fabric as he shifted. "S-sister," he stammered, clearly taken aback. "This... this is not appropriate."

You ignored his protest, your voice growing softer, more intimate. "You know, Father, I've always heard that confession is good for the soul. And right now... I think there's only one thing that could truly absolve me of these desires." You let the words hang in the air, knowing exactly what you were implying.

"Sister, this... this isn't..." His voice was shaky now, the uncertainty clear. "I don't think—"

"Come get me, Father," you whispered, your tone daring, challenging him. "You wouldn't leave me like this, would you?"

There was silence for a long moment, and then you heard it—the slow shuffling as he moved. The sound of his door opening, the soft creak of the confessional booth as he stepped out.

You pushed your own door open, stepping out into the dimly lit church. Father Charlie was standing there, his head downcast, his face flushed a deep red. He looked like he wanted to say something, but no words came out, his eyes flickering up to meet yours before darting away again.

You took a step towards him, your movements slow, deliberate—like a predator closing in on its prey. His breath hitched as you approached, his shoulders tensing. He cleared his throat, his voice barely above a whisper. "Sister, I... this isn't right. We shouldn't—"

You reached out, your fingers brushing against the front of his chest, feeling the rapid rise and fall of his breath beneath your touch. You let your hand slide down, your voice a low purr. "Father," you purred, your eyes locking onto his, "I want you to take me somewhere... push me to a higher calling, yeah?"

His eyes widened, the pupils dilating as he stared at you, his lips parting in shock. For a moment, he seemed frozen, and then, almost as if the word was pulled from him, he whispered, "Okay..."

His hand was trembling slightly as he reached for yours, and you let him lead you out of the main church area, his eyes flicking nervously around to make sure no one was watching. He led you down a dim hallway, stopping at a small door that opened into a cramped janitor's closet.

The second the door clicked shut behind you, you were on him.

You pushed him back against the wall, your lips crashing against his. He gasped, and you took advantage, licking into his mouth, tasting the hint of mint on his tongue as a low groan rumbled from your throat. His hands hesitated for a moment before resting on your waist, his touch light, unsure.

You deepened the kiss, feeling the way he shivered beneath your touch, your hands pushing up under his cassock, fingers skimming over the hard lines of his abdomen. His muscles tensed under your fingertips, a shudder running through him as he let out a shaky breath.

You pulled back, just enough to see his face in the low light, and he chased your lips, leaning forward as if he couldn't stand the sudden loss of contact.

You let out a dark chuckle, your hands coming up to cup his flushed cheeks, squeezing gently. His face was a deep shade of red, his eyes half-lidded, his breath coming in short, uneven pants. He looked almost dazed, completely overwhelmed, and it only made your smile widen.

Your thumb grazed over his plump bottom lip, pressing gently before dipping just inside his mouth. His eyes fluttered, his tongue flicking out hesitantly to brush against your thumb before retreating. You let out a soft sigh, a hint of a teasing smile tugging at your lips. "Oh?" you murmured, raising an eyebrow, your gaze fixed on him.

Charlie swallowed hard, his eyes locked onto yours, his breathing ragged. You stepped closer, rising onto your tiptoes, your lips just barely grazing his as you spoke. "You did so well during the sermon, Father," you whispered, your voice low and dripping with suggestion. "It makes me wonder... what could such a blessed mouth do somewhere else?"

His breath hitched, his eyes widening slightly, but he didn’t pull away. You gripped his shoulder, your fingers digging in just enough to make him shiver, and tugged him downwards. "On your knees," you said, your tone commanding, leaving no room for hesitation.

Slowly, almost as if in a trance, Charlie sank to his knees, his eyes never leaving yours. His gaze was filled with a mix of confusion, desire, and something almost like reverence, and it sent a thrill through you.

You watched as he knelt before you, his lips parted, his chest rising and falling with each shaky breath. You could see the conflict in his eyes, the part of him that knew this was wrong, that wanted to resist—but the desire was stronger, and he couldn't bring himself to stop.

You smiled, running your fingers through his hair, your touch surprisingly gentle. "That's it," you murmured, your voice softening just a fraction. "Such a good Father... doing exactly what you're told."

You took a step back, your eyes never leaving his as you moved to the nearest wall, leaning against it comfortably.

With slow, deliberate movements, your hands reached down, unzipping your mini skirt and letting it slide down your legs, pooling around your ankles. You made a show of it, your fingers tracing along your thighs, sliding over your hips, and letting out a soft sigh as you watched him.

Charlie's eyes widened, his gaze following every movement, his lips parted, his breath catching in his throat. The flush on his face deepened, his eyes locked onto you with something like awe, mingled with pure, unfiltered desire.

You smirked, lifting one hand and curling your fingers in a come-hither motion. He hesitated only for a moment before slowly beginning to crawl towards you, his eyes never breaking away from yours.

The sight sent a thrill through you, a shiver of excitement running up your spine. He reached you, his hands carefully coming up to rest on your legs, his touch light, almost reverent.

His fingers traced along your calves, moving upwards with a hesitant slowness that made you release a shaky sigh, your back arching slightly as his touch grew bolder.

His hands were trembling as they reached your hips, his fingers brushing against the edge of your underwear. He swallowed hard, his gaze flicking up to meet yours as if silently asking for permission.

You gave a small nod, and he let out a shaky breath, his fingers hooking into the waistband and slowly slipping your underwear down, his eyes fixed on you the entire time.

Once they were off, he shifted closer, his breath ghosting over your bare skin. He surprised you by gently lifting one of your legs, settling it over his shoulder as he pulled you closer, his face inches away from your most intimate parts.

He let out a deep, almost pornographic groan as he leaned in, taking a slow, deep breath, as if breathing you in. The sound sent a jolt through you, your fingers tightening in his hair.

Charlie looked up at you one more time, his eyes searching, as if asking for final permission.

You smiled, your fingers sliding through his hair before giving a gentle but firm scratch along his scalp, your silent approval. He closed his eyes, letting out a shaky sigh before leaning in.

At first, his movements were hesitant, his tongue slipping out to give an experimental swipe. He was sloppy, uncoordinated, his lack of experience clear, but there was a determination in the way he moved, as if desperate to please.

You let out a soft hum, the sound encouraging him, and he grew a little more confident, his tongue pressing more firmly. He licked a long stripe up, his tongue swirling at the top, and you couldn't help the small smile that tugged at your lips.

"That's it, Father," you murmured, your voice a soft purr. "You're doing such a good job."

The praise seemed to light something in him, a low groan vibrating against you as he pushed in closer. The sound made you gasp, your back arching slightly as the vibrations sent a rush of pleasure through you, your fingers tightening in his hair.

He grew bolder, his tongue delving deeper, slipping inside you as he began to eat you out like a man starved. He was messy, the wet sounds filling the small space, his lips and tongue moving with increasing fervor, as if the more he tasted, the more he craved.

He bullied his tongue into you, his nose brushing against you as he lost himself in the act, his hands gripping your hips tightly, holding you against him as he worked.

You bit down on your lower lip, trying to keep quiet, but the soft, wet sounds filled the small space, making it impossible to ignore.

Your hand moved up, your teeth sinking into the back of it as you stifled a moan, your thighs trembling as he continued. His tongue moved with determination, pressing deeper, swirling before retreating, then focusing on your most sensitive spot.

When his lips closed around your clit, giving a particularly hard suck, your vision blurred, and stars burst behind your eyelids. Your back arched, your body pressing against his face as the waves of pleasure rolled over you, your breath coming in ragged gasps.

Your thighs shook as you slowly came down, your body relaxing slightly against the wall. You let out a shaky breath, your fingers still tangled in his hair, tugging gently. You gave Charlie a small shove, pushing him back just enough.

He hesitated, his tongue giving one last languid lick, followed by a reluctant suck before he finally pulled away, his lips glistening, his breath coming in low, heavy pants. His bottom face was a mess, his eyes half-lidded, dazed as he looked up at you.

You leaned down, your fingers cupping the bottom of his face, your thumb brushing over his flushed cheek as you gave him a swift peck on the corner of his lips. He blinked, his eyes widening slightly, a blush deepening across his face.

Straightening up, you reached down, picking up your discarded thong, folding it neatly before slipping it into the pocket of his cassock. He stared at you, his lips parted, his breathing still uneven.

"Thank you, Father~" you purred, your voice dripping with satisfaction. You watched as his blush deepened even more, his eyes darting away from yours. "You know," you continued, your tone teasing, "I might just have to come back for confession more often."

He swallowed hard, his eyes flicking back up to meet yours, a mix of confusion and something darker swirling in them. You smiled, giving him a wink before turning on your heel, striding out of the closet, leaving him kneeling there, his breath still shaky, his face still flushed.

As you walked away, a satisfied smile playing on your lips, you couldn't help but think that maybe church wasn't going to be so bad after all.

A/N: hehehe, dont mind me, just wanted to see charlie's and y/n relationship in reversal...

[mythica-ithaca]

the fact that I see some of y'all posting more about how important it is to vote for Biden than you ever have about Palestine just shows that you fucking "vote blue no matter who" people genuinely don't give a fuck about anyone but yourselves.

you only choose to speak up when YOUR hypothetical rights are threatened. you love to fear monger about how much hypothetically worse it would be under trump than acknowledge the actual atrocities that Biden is committing and condoning every single day. how exactly is he the "lesser" of two evils for?

do any of you actually look at the images coming out of gaza, or are you too fucking ~triggered~ to fully acknowledge other peoples suffering rather than your own. have you seen the video that came out recently of the little boy whose brain is exposed, about to be laid next to his dead family members, only to twitch and seize in his fathers arms as he screams and runs in horror to find a doctor, because his son is alive. his brain is literally falling out of his skull but he is still alive. that is one brief example of the most horrific shit you've ever seen in your life coming out daily for almost a year. how on this earth can you watch that and possibly claim that Biden is in any way shape or form "less" evil.

instead of demanding that the dnc force a different candidate, you're trying to guilt trip people who have actually seen the mutilated bodies of children on their timelines every single day and watched the press briefings of bidens administration denying genocide and defending Israel at the expense of literally everything else for the last 8 months, into voting for a man who supports it 100% and has not and will not be convinced otherwise.

this is where allowing them to push widely unpopular and centrist candidates has gotten us. it didn't work with Hillary in 2016. it BARELY worked in 2020. and hate to break it to you, but its probably not going to work again. so congrats. your "vote blue no matter who" rhetoric has got them thinking that they can push the most right leaning liberals on us and think that we'll vote for them just because they're in a blue tie instead of a red one.

if you care about democracy like you say you do, then the Democrats should be fucking TERRIFIED that you won't vote for them if they don't deliver. not constantly reassured that they can commit literal fucking genocide and still get your votes if they dangle abortion rights over your heads. you realize they see those posts too right? the ones that say "Yes! protest vote in the primary but make sure to actually vote for the guy in the general!!" like. you are literally telling them how performative your activism is.

if every election at this point is the one where democracy is on the line then we are already fucked. if they don't get it through their heads now that we will not support this shit, then every election to come will be between a fascist and a fascist who cares slightly less about whether gay people get married or not. but that's all you care about right? as long as your domestic policy is in your favor then the rest of the world can suffer at your tax dollars.

this isn't about morality voting. this is about recognizing that there is not actually a "lesser" of two evils in this situation, just because you think that the causes that you personally care about will be less affected one way or the other. because what if it was abortion rights? what catholic Joe Biden was firmly against abortion and was threatening to ban it completely and throw anyone getting or giving one in prison for murder. what if it was videos of lgbt people being slaughtered coming out every single day for a year. genuinely fucking ask yourself if you'd still be saying "vote blue no matter who" and that he's the "lesser" of two evils.

vote for whoever the fuck you want. and I do genuinely urge you to vote for the most progressive candidate you can for the house and senate and your local elections. but for the love of god, stop trying to convince people that there is, in any sense of the word, a "Lesser" evil in this situation. stop trying to absolve yourselves of the fact that you are CHOOSING evil. it's genuinely sick.

[epicbuddieficrecs]

Weekly Recap | November 11th-17th 2024

Just an FYI, I have an account over at BlueSky at epicficrecs!

Also!! I just passed 300 different fic writers and podficcers recced since the beginning of this blog! 🥳 thank you all for your hard work and your invaluable contributions to this fandom!

Complete

indulgence by coldbam/ @coldbam (Post-S8E6: Confessions, Getting Together, PWP | 1K | Explicit): “Okay. I’ll be right back.” Eddie gets off the couch, leaning down to collect their empties from the table, putting himself right into Buck’s line of sight, eyes catching on— “Oh,” Buck says, as his finger connects to the back of Eddie’s right thigh. He didn’t even register moving, but he sees it right in front of him. He forces his hand back to his own body. “I’ve never seen that before,” he continues, referring to the small dark splotch on Eddie’s skin that’s transfixed him. It’s just—there’s not a lot that Buck doesn’t know about Eddie by now. Not a lot he hasn’t seen.

Clarity by xylodemon/ @xylodemon (Post-S8E6: Confessions, Getting Together | 1,7K | Explicit): As soon as they kissed, a thousand things had fallen into place—jokes and shoulder bumps and wordless exchanges, movies and zoo trips and engine rides spend thigh to thigh. In that moment, Buck had realized with absolute clarity what Tommy meant when he said he wouldn't be Buck's last. Because Buck's last is Eddie. It was always going to be Eddie.

never seen a bluer sky by Chash/ @ponyregrets (S8E6: Confessions Coda, Pre-Buddie | 2K | Teen): "Hey, what brings you joy?" Eddie is expecting some waffling in Buck's response. Maybe some suspicion. It's a weird thing to ask, obviously. Joy isn't a word he uses much, isn't a go-to. But even if what makes you happy is a more normal question, it's not right. He needs something deeper. And of course there's the Tommy of it all. Buck hasn't exactly been mourning or anything, but he's obviously down. It wouldn't be unreasonable for him to say that nothing is bringing him joy at the moment. It's not a particularly joyful time. But Buck doesn't hesitate, doesn't question. He just says, "The ocean," and doesn't even ask why Eddie wants to know.

all eyes on me, your illusionist by thelonggoodbye (Different First Meeting AU | 2K | Teen): Eddie doesn't like magic. He's just fond of this one magician, is all.

The Billy Boils Breakup Anthem by sibylsleaves/ @sibylsleaves (S8E5: Masks Fix-It | 2K | General): Buck gets dumped. Then he gets cursed.

just soothes the soul by rainbow_nerds/ @rainbow-nerdss (S8E6: Confessions Coda, Pre-Buddie | 2K | Mature): It’s quiet, apart from the music still playing over the speakers, Old Time Rock and Roll fading out, another equally upbeat song starting right after. The contrast of it is what gets to Buck. Whatever Eddie had been doing when Buck showed up, he’d seemed… different, than he’s been lately. Buck turns his head to look at Eddie properly. "You shaved."

safe haven by my_hopeless_opus (Established Buddie, Fluff | 3K | Teen): People pleaser Evan Buckley learns how to be the little spoon.

The Thanksgiving Trap by scarmaddiewrites (Post-S8E6: Confessions, Chris POV | 3K | Teen): Chris has got to get out of Texas. He has a plan!

Clouds Ain’t Leakin No Rain by vampirebuckley (Post-S8E6: Confessions, PWP | 3K | Explicit): “Tommy dumped me.” “Oh. Uhm. I’m sorry, Buck.” “Yeah, me too.” “Do you want to talk about it?” Eddie grimaces as the words leave his mouth. Buck sighs, again. Slumps back on the couch. “Not particularly.” “Okay then. No talking. Do you want to drink about it?”

these hands had to let it go free (and this love came back to me) by bibuckdiaz (Post-S8E6: Confessions, Getting Together | 3K | Mature): Buck comes to Eddie's house after Tommy breaks up with him. They have a lot to discuss and to confess to each other. Eddie finally lets himself feel joy, in more ways than one. or: Catholic guilt, repressed memories, and the joyful ordeal of being in love with your best friend.

i could take you (to have and to hold) by withmeornotatall/ @chronicowboy (S8E6: Confessions | 3K | General): Eddie goes to the cemetery, and he lets Shannon go. He lets her rest. And he shaves his moustache off. And he sits on his couch in his empty house and looks at a picture of Christopher and thinks I'm going to get him back And then Buck texts him. Broke up with Tommy. Beer (OR: eddie goes to church, buck breaks up with tommy, and things finally start to make sense)

ditch the clown, get the crown by sparkagrace/ @ohhsodebonair (Post-S8E6: Confession, Lakers Game Date | 3K | Teen): Eddie and Buck go to the Lakers game. They don't expect the kiss cam.

Happiness is a Bottle of Juice by scarmaddiewrites (Post-S8E7: Hotshots, Pre-Buddie | 4K | Mature): Eddie decides it’s time for him to go and get Christopher from Texas, sees something he shouldn’t, and has a conversation about juice.

🔥like sugar in my soul (how sweet it is to be loved by you) by granadas (Post-S8E6: Confessions, Getting Together | 4K | Mature): “I kind of have a sweet tooth,” Eddie admits. “It was easier when we were a little broke. I took my coffee black because I was always in a rush to my next shift, and we were scraping by, so any juice and sweets I bought were for Chris.” “So what changed?” Eddie’s finally looking at him, and he flushes. “I’m just trying this new thing,” he says, “where I stop punishing myself. I’m trying to be… nice to myself, I guess. For once. Like, showing myself that the world isn’t going to end if I do something just for me.” Or: Eddie is making changes to his life. Buck panics, until he doesn't.

The Five Deaths of Dorothy Diaz by thelonggoodbye (Established Buddie, Future Fic | 4K | Teen): Eddie buys a plant. Buck and Christopher are determined to keep him from finding out he keeps killing it.

Last and Forever by Kwills91/ @kwills91 (S8E6: Confessions Coda, Pre-Buddie | 5K | Teen): “I thought I needed to be punished. For what happened with Kim. I thought that’s what I deserved.” Buck wants to protest—say that’s not true—but Eddie knows him well enough to level him with a look that tells him not to before he even opens his mouth. “It didn’t feel like enough, what he asked me to do. So I left. And then I ran into him at this juice place. He noticed that I swapped the juice for water. Told me I was denying myself joy. Called me on being scared of being a failure, and about the mustache being a disguise.” “He got all that from juice?” Buck asks. Eddie laughs. “Yeah, he got all that from juice. Kind of.”

and I cannot, cannot go by Maira/ @mairaiscarrierofthepaperclips (Post-S8E6: Confessions, Hanahaki Disease, Getting Together | 5K | Teen): Did Buck really not know? Did he not realise that he was the reason Eddie was even alive today? That knowing Buck was there, having Buck in his life, was sometimes the only thing that made Eddie get out of bed in the morning? Did Eddie- was this Eddie’s fault?

bad idea, right? by brewrosemilk/ @gayhoediaz (Social Media Fic, Sexting | 6K | Explicit): Buck stumbles across Eddie's grindr profile.

we all assume the worst the best we can by Daisies_and_Briars/ @cal-daisies-and-briars (Established Buddie, Near Death Experience | 6K | Teen): When a rescue goes wrong, Buck and Bobby are trapped, while Eddie and Chim scramble to save them.

watch out (you might get what you’re after) by sparkagrace / @ohhsodebonair (Canon Divergent, Fratboy Eddie | 6K | Teen): The 118 keep getting called to a fraternity house and Buck can't stop thinking about the frat president Eddie Diaz (who is definitely not responsible for the fires).

you're my sun, my moon, my guiding star by wafflesofdoom/ @capseycartwright (Post-S8E6: Confessions, Getting Together | 8K | Teen): “Fine, let’s have it your way then,” Eddie slammed his phone down on the kitchen table. ���You set me up a dating profile then – Hinge, Grindr, whatever you fucking want, Buck. Set me up a dating profile, and you pick which random man I need to sleep with to make it so you feel okay about wanting me.” in which evan buckley gets dumped, gets drunk with his best friend, realises he's in love with said best friend, and lets his abandonment issues get the best of him. because your first is never your last, right? so buck can't be eddie's first: he needs to be his last.

🔥 wanna be your endgame by literalmetaphor (Post-S8E6: Confessions, Getting Together, Pining | 10K | Mature): Maddie has her forehead against her hands, which are clasped in what looks to be prayer. “Okay, so – hang on, so Eddie’s gay?” “Yeah.” Buck can’t believe they’re doing this again. “And he told you he was in love with you.” “Right,” Buck says. “And you…” Maddie peeks up at him. “You’re in love with him?” “Absolutely.” Maddie draws in a long breath, and she splits her hands to pillow her face. “But you turned him down and told him you wanted to wingman for him instead?”

🔥 death wish love by Underhung_Aura/ @eddiebabygirldiaz (Post-S8E6: Confessions, Getting Together, PWP | 15K | Explicit): after getting dumped by tommy and going to eddie's, buck wakes up the next morning only to be pummeled by his hangover and his attraction to eddie

WIP

🔥 wicked dreams by hispolestar (Post-S7, BT Break-Up, Eddie Sexuality Crisis, Getting Together | 4/9 | 18K | Explicit): Eddie’s trouble starts with a dream. Well, it actually starts much earlier, when he runs into a woman who is the literal carbon copy of his dead wife. Or, alternatively it starts with a lightning bolt. Or a sniper. Or a firetruck. Or a car crash. Or, realistically, a grenade embedded in a seventh-grade teacher’s leg. It starts with blue eyes, broad shoulders and a tenacity that shocks Eddie to his very core. But right now, Eddie’s trouble starts with a dream. ~ Eddie, alone and confused, is navigating Christopher's extended stay in Texas, while also grappling with feelings he's been repressing for seven years. Buck, who misses Chris dearly, is struggling under Gerrard and his boyfriend's dismissive attitude. In the wreckage of their lives, they find each other.

🔥 Things We're All Too Young to Know by Daisies_and_Briars/ @cal-daisies-and-briars (Canon S1-S6, Divergent Post-S6 | 139/? | 446K | Mature): This is a love story. Even if it doesn’t always look like it. Even if it doesn’t always feel like it. A look back on Eddie and Buck's lives up to now, and what led them to each other, interpreted from the current 9-1-1 canon.

🔥 how come everybody's dancing but you? by showedupatyourparty (Post-S7 Spec, Eddie Sexuality Crisis | 3/4 | 31K | Mature): Buck feels guilty. Everyone he loves is going through something painful, difficult, or unexpected right now. And Buck is just…bisexual. It’s great that he’s figured it out, and it’s great that everyone has been so supportive, and Tommy is—Tommy is fine. The sex is good, at least. Consistent. When Buck gets a call from Eddie’s phone late on a Tuesday night in June, it’s cause for concern. * Buck unpacks his own feelings about his recently-discovered bisexuality. Eddie gets adopted by drag queens. They're both just trying their best to be happy.

[buddierecs]

long (40k+ words) buddie fics

all explicit rating - 18+ only!!!! make sure to kudos/comment on these amazing works :)

leading with the left by letmetellyouaboutmyfeels "when buck said he was a "bartender" in "south america" what he actually meant was "stripper" in "mexico." and when eddie said, "what's your problem?" what he actually meant was, "is this about the time you gave me a lap dance?" in other words, there's a few things the 118 doesn't know about buck. Or eddie. Or buck and eddie's relationship." word count: 84k important tags: strangers to lovers, stripper!buck, emotional slow burn, miscommuication your fingerprints smeared on my heart (lead me back to you) by: letmetellyouaboutmyfeels "In 1880, evan buckley of the arriviste set is sent out west to oversee his family's railroad and recover from a broken heart - and meets eddie diaz, cowboy. when fate tears them apart, they make a promise: find each other again. In 2018, buck walks into his fire station in los angeles - and meets eddie diaz, new recruit." word count: 88k important tags: cowboys, soulmates, reincarnation, gilded age, heavy angst

let the world have its way with you by: fleetinghearts "a bucket list that’s really about buck needing to make a change and an eddie who’s ready to do anything to see him fall in love with life again. it takes some crossing off for eddie to realise—the thing at the top of the list in his own heart? it’s been right here all along" word count: 54k important tags: pining, feelings realisation, idiots to lovers, road trips, getting together, eventual smut, gay!eddie diaz good pretender by: likeshipsonthesea "an au where buck broke up with taylor before 5b, ravi and buck become (actually platonic) friends with benefits, and ravi, eddie, and buck all go on a journey of self-discovery that ends with them all getting what they need" word count: 85k important tags: friends with benefits (buckandravi), casual sex, childhood tramua, healing, feelings realisation, jealous!eddie diaz, ptsd, love confessions, anal sex would you lie with me and just forget the world by: colonscopys "eddie diaz is 7, and 13, and 14, and 18, and 34. and he loves, and he loves, and he loves, and he loves, and he loves" word count: 45k important tags: childhood friends to lovers, eddie diaz centric, catholic guilt, angst, happy ending. eddie diaz vs the feelings by: elvensorcess "eddie dives into the mysteries of attraction, romantic love, and asexuality because there's a good chance he's fallen in love with his best friend. aka demisexual!eddie figures out he’s demi and finds the happily ever after he’s been longing for" word count: 62k important tags: demisexual!eddie diaz, idiots in love, sexual tension, frottage, hand jobs, anal sex, soft!buddie, slow burn, top!evan buckley, bottom!eddie diaz courtship behaviours of the southern coastal husbros by: mad_lori "buck and eddie decide to become platonic domestic partners and co-parents. they are 100% super normal about it and absolutely nothing is awakened in them, except a mutual annoyance at being referred to as "husbros." word count: 49k important tags: domestic partners, slow burn, christopher diaz has two dads, friends to lovers, demisexual!eddie diaz, sexuality crisis, first kiss, eventual smut, oral sex objects in the mirror by: sevensoulmates "the voice had always been around, eddie remembers it, like a stream of consciousness that babbled incoherently to the point where eddie just tuned it out. but then the voice started speaking directly to him. conversing like he was a whole person standing right in front of him. like he could see what was happening around eddie. eddie shook his head. no one was talking to him, and eddie most certainly was not talking back. he wouldn’t talk to the boy in his head ever again. there was no boy in his head." word count: 139k important tags: telepathic bond, childhood to canon, slow burn like a dog with a bird at your door by: fleetinghearts "evan “i love you like a dog” buckley has only ever known how to love like, well, a dog, but maybe eddie diaz is the kinda guy to give a flea-bitten mongrel a forever home" word count: 51k important tags: pre-relationship, domestic, love confessions, eventual smut, friends to lovers, protective!evan buckley

when it's you i'm with (everything goes quiet) by: withoutthetiger "eddie can't speak after he and christopher are in an accident, but somehow he asks buck to stay while he recovers. buck can't imagine wanting to be anywhere else, and even in the silence that lingers between them, they both find a way to say everything." word count: 56k important tags: different first meetings au, muteness, intimacy, feeling realisation, friends to lovers, phone sex, blow jobs, rimming, anal sex

the best life is the truth (my best mask is my face) by: letmetellyouaboutmyfeels "the buckleys are celebrating their 50th anniversary, and maddie and buck are both expected to come. to take the heat off maddie, buck impulsively blurts out that he's seeing someone new. obviously, there's only one solution: bring eddie as his fake boyfriend, pretend to be in love with him, and survive the weekend with minimal bloodshed. no problem, except for the, uh. "pretend" part." word count: 43k important tags: fake dating, idiots to lovers, there was only one bed, eventual smut wishing to be the friction by: ipretendtobesane "the straight eddie friends with benefits fic" word count: 97k important tags: friends with benefits, slow burn, hand jobs, blow jobs, rimming, first time, pining, porn with plot

[nanamis-bigtie]

ꕥ in the heat of spring | confessions feat. geto suguru x reader ꕥ jjk masterlist // ao3 version

content warnings: pwp, reader has a vagina, roleplaying, religion kink/priest fetish, reader is aroused by the feeling of shame, humiliation, fingering, piv sex, creampie word count: 4.3k mood prompt: embarrassed and shy kink prompt: priests/nuns requested by: @honey-dekua/n: i think i'll stop giving myself limits because i don't keep faithful to them anyway LMAO ngl, i'm proud of how this text turned out, even if it's way more stretched than intended. i guess catholic guilt the kink is strong!

Anticipation has your body tense like a string. Your mouth feels dry, too dry to speak, so you take your time lingering by the door, hand clenched on the handle. If you opened it now, you surely would just shriek instead of greeting him with a sultry, playful voice, as you planned. Well, in this state you surely would trip over your stiff legs too. Speak about breaking the character even before the play starts...

You take a deep, shaky breath, trying to grab the reins of your frantic nerves. Excitement isn't your ally now, nor isn't the dampness you already feel in your underwear. Embarrassment and uneasiness are welcomed in this particular scene, but you would rather have them as extras to it, not as the main characters. It was your idea and the fruit of months-long pleading, negotiations, and preparations, after all.

You wouldn't hear the end of it, if he picked up how much it costs you to keep calm and stick to the role.

Exhaling is easier, the flow of air doesn't falter, and your shoulders finally let go of the unnaturally stiff frame. Now or never. If you prolong this meditation, if you don't step over the threshold right here and now, you will ruin all the hard work that brought you here. He will get concerned and suspicious, he will open the door on his own and see you in a complete disarray.

Something at the back of your head prompts you to cross yourself for good luck—and you oblige, taking it as a perfect way to get into character.

You knock, three shy, barely audible taps.

He gives you no time to collect yourself again, his answer is faster than the faint echo disappearing into the hall behind your back, "Please, come in."

You take a step in—and almost slam the door closed again.

You thought you were prepared for that. He might be a false monk but it's a role that's become his second skin. The attire he chose for now is different, and the religion and its symbols might be alien to him—but does a catholic priest fall that far from other priests? He was doomed to be good in this role, maybe too good for your own demise. You considered that and prepared yourself for the consequences.

Yet, Geto looks so authentic that you didn't recognize him at first. He's...too natural, uncanny almost. Black cassock, even if visibly too tight for a man of such huge posture, suits him even better than the layers of robes he wears anywhere outside the privacy of the house. He's nailing that mysterious, casual elegance with ease, humble and insular yet beaming with the charisma of a leader. He's sitting in his chair straight but not stiff, holding the Bible open as if it weighed nothing in his big hands, one of his long fingers serving him as a temporary bookmark. His hair is tied into a tight knot at the back of his head, giving an excellent illusion of keeping it short. Glasses are an unusual yet suiting accessory; lowered almost to the tip of his nose, they add depth and domination to his gaze as he's scanning your figure curiously.

"Yes, my child?" He asks, voice soft yet menacing, like the rustle of prowling cat's feet.

Your saliva is thick like tar and you almost choke trying to swallow it.

"Please, help me, Father," you're barely keeping your voice in check. Sultry be damned, you're fighting to sound at least natural. "I need your advice."

Geto slowly closes the book, sets it aside as he's adjusting his position, leaning more towards you, cutting the mental distance between the two of you. Good, caring shepherd, worried for his little lost lamb, "Come in. Tell me, what's troubling your mind?"

Embarrassment is expected from your role in this moment, so following comes to you much easier than the opening sequence. You close the door and approach closer while still keeping the timid distance. He's silent and patient, just his gaze weights on you, threatening your legs to go limp and wobbly. The fluffy rug you like so much in your shared bedroom is like a trap now, ready at any moment to trip you and throw you to your knees right in front of him.

"I must...have been possessed, Father." You confess, averting your eyes, and clasp your hands at your abdomen, like a good, little, shy student.

Geto's eyebrows cock up in a perfectly played surprise. He rubs his chin in thought as he studies your expression intently, "And why is that? What brought you to this conclusion?"

Heat spreading all over your face in a not-so-feigned abashment, you reel the story off: everything you've come up together for this night. There are dreams, of lust and dark desires you dread to name. They come to you every night and turn your thoughts away from your prayers. The more religiously you try to praise the Lord, the stronger and trickier they get once you lie down. There's no escape for a poor, little lamb like you; soothing darkness brings temptation, avoiding rest has your mind more prone to succumbing to them.

Geto listens, still hidden under the cover of an exemplary priest. Resting chin in his palm, he asks and investigates, presses you whenever you stutter, and gives you the little needle when you try to stray around the topic to sound less sinful. He would be such an excellent preacher if he wasn't a wolf, prowling patiently at your tracks and waiting for your neck to arch nicely for his fangs. And he does so with sugar-coated words and a voice so sweet that you sip from his lips like parched, unaware of the trap he leads you into—while knowing well where and how this conversation will lead.

His power is terrifying, you know it better than anyone, and you squeeze your thighs tighter as you hunch under his gaze, trying to hide what's obvious and avoid what's unrelenting.

"When did those dreams start?" The question finally appears and Geto's eyes narrow at your not-so-played-anymore flinch. "Do you know what could have caused them?"

You avert your eyes, the wave of shame and arousal washing over you and pearling sweat at your temples.

"There's nothing to be shy about, my child." He leans to the back of the chair, his posture open and welcoming, so safe. "I only want to help."

This part of play calls for silence—but you wouldn't find any words in you even if you were scripted to speak. You bite on lips and shift your weight from one leg to another, uncomfortable when stripped so bluffly. You're losing control—you doubt if you even had it in the first place—and the less confident you feel around him, the softer and wobblier your knees are. You're tempted to fall to them, just to relieve yourself of this unbearable tension, to hide the arousal that runs dead even with embarrassment.

Shame is such a delicious drug.

"I won't be able to help you, if you hide something from me." Geto's soft, caring smile sends cold shivers down your spine. He beckons you closer, arms wide open to welcome you in his proximity. "Come here, child, and speak into my ear, if you fear to confess aloud."

You fear more to trip as soon as you move—but you, obedient like a sacrificial lamb, approach closer, and let him lay his hands at your waist. They're soft and warm—but leave you no way to run as they pull you close, right into his lap. You're stiff and hesitant, craving to nuzzle close to his broad chest, to let those strong arms engulf you and shield you from everything unholy—but you know there's nothing more unholy than what you're doing right now.

"Speak, my child." He commands and grabs your chin oh so gently when you try to turn away. "Don't be afraid. Our lord is full of grace and mercy."

"It started—" You stutter and clean your throat, painfully dry with anticipation. "—started after I was... Touching myself."

One of his hands strays from your middle to your hip, then to your thigh, "How did you touch yourself? Where exactly?"

Your heartbeat is thudding in your ears, swallowing every sound but its racing rhythm. It has your head spinning, your vision blurry—yet you're unable to escape his piercing gaze, unable to avert your eyes again. Your breath is shallow, and you don't dare to take a deeper one in; his smell is different, heavier, rich of incense and anointing oil, as if he left Lord's altar right before he agreed to listen to your shameful confessions. If you caved in and inhaled it, it would drug you, would strip you of the remains of self-control and dignity. It's tempting to turn into a trusting, stupid lamb entirely, but in the midst of the need twisting your brain you decide it's not something you want to give him...yet.

As you ponder over the next line—or rather: desperately fight for the reins to remain in your hands—his hand smoothly wanders towards the inner side of your thigh. You clench your legs together, but it still finds a way to sneak in between, right at the core of your embarrassment.

Can he already feel how wet you are for him? His fingers press tighter and rub at your sex through the pants—and you yelp through clenched teeth. It's not a loud sound, you almost managed to drown it out, but in such a silent room—silent like a confessional—it has the power of a scream.

"It was here, wasn't it?" Geto whispers into your ear, keeping you tight and close with the other arm still around your waist. His fingers start to move, flowingly, along the line of your slit, and the more you clench your legs and squirm, the more prominent the pressure becomes. "You invited the lustful spirit to the most sacred part of your body."

You want to admit, lie, and plead for mercy at the same time, so you only squeal and put all might you still possess into closing your legs. They open pathetically a second later, as soon as the tip of his hot tongue teases your ear.

"Do you want me to get rid of it?" He presses soft, barely palpable, kisses to your jaw and neck. "With the power of The Almighty I may clean your soul and bring peace to your mind."

You clench your thighs again, this time trying to trap his slowly withdrawing hand and steal some friction. Geto pulls it out with ease and faint yet mean smirk on his face. He has you in his trap whole now and he has no itch for satisfying your whims until you do as he pleases—and you know he's not going to make it easy for you. Tormenting his prey is his favorite part of the hunt. His eyes darken just at the thought; they promise tonight the shearing blade won't stop at the wool.

"I need your voice, child." He cups your chin into his palm and guides you to look straight at him. "Speak."

"Please." You barely recognize the sound squeezing through your throat now as your voice. "Help me, Father Geto."

"I shall, then."

You're gently pushed off his lap and guided to sit at the edge of bed instead. For the first time since what feels like forever now you take a deeper breath, not until the dull ache in your lungs eased you realize how badly you needed it. You could use some relaxation for your muscles too, but you can't bring yourself to move, even your eyes are set exactly in the same place: looking straight at Geto as he's taking his cassock off. It's a ritual on its own, each little button is given its fair share of special attention from fingers that just a moment ago caressed your sex. Underneath there's another barrier of black clothes: plain shirt and jeans, both hugging his well-sculpted body so tight that they seem to be one move away from tearing. Even so, he moves around with grace, each move calculated to keep you right on the edge but not bored or frustrated.

Finally, the cassock is folded and put away, the Bible is closed, the light limited to the small lamp on the bed stand. Geto returns to his chair, hand prompted on palm as he stares at you intently, like a bird of prey.

"Strip, my child." He whispers more than just says and yet, you jerk in place as if he shouted at you.

Your hands get into each other's way even if you're not in a hurry. You know you're going to get scolded, softly, if you're going to be sloppy, it doesn't make you any less clumsy, though. You wish you could say it's a part of your role, but you really can't control your moves as much as you would like to. There's something in his eyes that makes you behave in a reprimanding-worth way. He always gets what he wants—and if he wants to punish you, sooner or later you will succumb into misbehavior.

Good lambs always listen to their shepherd.

He doesn't pay much attention to clumsiness and disarray, though. Instead, his eyes take in the view of your body, from your fluttering lips, down your chest and your nipples, perky with anticipation, to your legs you're struggling to free from the pants. When you finally kick them off and return to the proper and tense sitting position, he furrows his brow, showing a negative reaction for the first time tonight.

"I thought I told you to strip?"

You flick your gaze down, to underwear still covering what it should, and you hook thumbs under the elastic band, ready to pull everything down...but you linger, true to words you're saying next, "It's embarrassing."

Geto clicks his tongue, displeased, and gets up, in two steps closing the distance and looking down at you, now. Hand cupping your face is rougher this time as he tilts your head back. Mewl dies in your throat when your eyes meet—and you find no mercy nor warmth in his.

"Was it embarrassing too when you shamelessly spread your legs for the demon to penetrate your body? If you wish to wash your disgusting sins away, I repeat: strip."

Not daring to look away, you clumsily roll your underwear down to your ankles.

"Now, that's a good little lamb."

His hold eases and he caresses your cheek now, smiling down at you in a way that has cold shivers running down your spine.

Next, he wants you to climb to the head of the bed and you follow, feeling no safer on the familiar softness. You lie down against the pillows as instructed and bend legs in knees. You hesitate when asked to spread them as wide as you can, genuine embarrassment winning over you anew.

"Don't linger, my child," Geto narrows his eyes, a warning he might snap again, if you don't listen. "Show me the place you besmeared."

Figuring closing eyes may help you, you do so and follow his wish to the final step. Air feels extra cold against your exposed cunt—intoxicating contrast to your hot juices dripping down your labia and ass. For the longest time nothing happens, no word is said, until eventually the bed creaks and you feel Geto scooting closer to you. Your body is tense like a string, shaking from anticipation, but you don't dare to sneak a peek at him and whatever he's doing. You fear you may fall apart if you see his expression as he's appraising your sex and the influence your sin had on it.

"What were you thinking about when you were touching yourself?" He says after a painfully stretched moment. He's closer than you estimated from the way the mattress dipped by your side, probably sitting or kneeling right between your legs.

"I—" You lick your lips, desperately trying to squeeze any moisture, but nerves parched everything to crisp. If he's going to make you scream tonight, you can say goodbye to your voice for the next day if not longer. "Can't remember details. But—"

"But?"

There's impatience in his voice and as much as you're tempted to see what is Geto going to do if you test his limits, this is not on the menu for this scene—so you push the bashfulness away as much as you can and follow the scenario, "I was thinking about you, Father Geto."

He must have been expecting you to resist for longer—the silence on his side is too long to be just played. But there's no further trace of surprise, when he speaks, his voice is as calm as it can be, given the circumstances of the play. "You're pulling me into this sin with you, child."

The bed creaks, he's scooting closer, his body bears down on your knees now. His hand finds its way to your sex again, this time touching it without any barrier in between you two. It takes everything from you to not meet him half-way; you're frozen in place like a terrified, filled with shame lamb should when he's slowly caressing your slit, then tracing at the rim of your hole. You're so wet he could slide anything he wanted in just like that, no preparations needed, but he's treating you as carefully as if you were a virgin offered to him on a holy altar. 

This tenderness, the quiescence he enforced with his demeanor, drives you crazy.

"You claim you can't remember details..." Geto muses, his breath ghosting over your cunt as he starts to slide a single finger in. "But those must have been many, many thoughts. Your body is begging for my blessings."

The process repeats: he teases you with one digit only until you're on the verge of giving in. He knows well you need much more than this silly play but he's not going to give it to you even if you beg, not until he is satisfied with the mess you're becoming. Second, then third finger in, he keeps heating you up but straying away from anything that could pull you closer to the sweet release. You're not a lamb anymore, just a plaything, putty in his hands, too ashamed to beg for it, too scared to ask for more at the face of rejection and even longer torture. Here and there he changes the angle to brush at your walls exactly how you like it—but as soon as you mewl or buck your hips, mercy is denied and he clicks his tongue, scolding you for being an impatient child.

But even Geto can find some mercy in him. Right as you think you're going to lose your mind if he keeps stretching you for nothing, he pulls his fingers out and kisses your clit. This short, almost affectionate touch has you thrashing on the sheets; you crave that release so bad it hurts, hurts for real, you can accumulate only as much pent-up desire, and you're about to burst, not in a way you need it.

He lets you calm your breathing and even your senses before he orders you to open your eyes—for you to see him licking his fingers clean of your juices.

"You taste so sweet, my child." Immense pleasure ruins his collected expression just for a second, when he sucks the last drops of you from his fingertips. "Almost as if there was no sin in you..."

A click of a belt, a rustle of zipper and clothes slipped out of the way, and Geto is close to you again, one hand keeping one of your legs nice and open, the other guiding his dick to brush against the wet mess he's turned your pussy into. You both groan when his sensitive tip meets your clit, you: nudged towards the edge again, him: at the limit of his self-control. He lets go of your leg to throw his glasses and clergy collar away, then loosens his shirt; dark hair on his chest pours out of the gap and you have to fight the urge to run your fingers through it. The flick of your eyes is caught and met with a nod of approval, but you're so desperate to have him finally fuck you that you don't want to risk another delay, for any reason.

"I'm going to cleanse your soul," Geto moans more than says, almost ruining the character on his side, but you couldn't care less now, when finally feeling the pressure at your hole. He slides the tip in, slowly, but not in the same, teasing way. It's a deliberate act of immense self-control; if not for the fog in your eyes and your mewls still calling him a "Father", he would be already fucking you stupid, your ankles hooked on his shoulders. He puts it in only as much to let you feel it, to have your cunt finally spasm around what you craved the most. And instead of thrusting into you, he touches your clit again, gently at first, then with precise, circular moves that have your eyes roll back in no time.

After being played with for so long, from the strict confession to his fingers spreading you open, you don't need much, and soon you're creaming over his cock, over and over, as if all this pent-up tension needed a few orgasms before it would be gone. It could be indeed a few of them or just one big and mercilessly prolonged as Geto is still rubbing your clit, deaf to your cries and blind to your hands clawing at his shoulders.

The touch ceases as sharply as it started but you're not even fully back from your high when it returns, together with his dick slamming full into you all at once. You swallow and squeeze him tight, your exhausted, oversensitive body arching and squirming. He uses his whole weight to pin it down into submission, fucking you through the last spasms of your orgasm and more, more than you can handle—and what you take regardless, your throat almost worn of cries of his name.

You beg him to cum, you beg him to stop right to beg him to fuck you harder shortly after, you beg to be destroyed—never mind your "sin", you want to burn whole and take him with you.

You beg—but all that breaks out of your lips are moans.

Even Geto has his limits and eventually his hips start to stutter before he buries himself whole in you, his pubes tickling your tortured clit, as he releases his load. He thrusts a few more times, fucking it deeper, and finally ceases, satisfied, his heavy, hot body pressing you flat into the bed.

It's stifling, uncomfortable even with his clothes grazing your naked body, but he soon lifts himself on straight arms, then sits on heels while pulling your hips closer; he's still in you but now you can breathe as deep as you want and slowly regain control over your senses and body. You keep silent, partially too lazy to find words, partially unsure how you should act now. You haven't discussed that part in detail, and the bliss has pushed you out of your character: just a little but enough to block any attempt of improvisation. Geto's content expression is not much of help either; after a short consideration you abandon the attempt of deciphering him, instead taking as much as you can from this calm moment, in case he's keen to torturing you more soon.

Geto just rocks his hips one more time before pulling out of you and setting your limp legs wide apart. Pleased with himself, he looks at your messy cunt and gently traces your slit, so gently you, despite your nerves fried to your limits, barely can feel it. With a hum of agreement on your side, he continues and slides two fingers into you, squeezing some of his cum until it flows down to his knuckles.

"Praise the Lord for how well-bred his sheep are." He says with a smug smile, and it finally earns him a reaction. With an embarrassed—or rather: disconcerted—groan you grab the nearest pillow and smack him over the head.

He lets you, even chuckles a little when you take an aim for a second one.

"What's up with those corny jokes, out of sudden?" You huff when the pillow is taken away from you and thrown out of your reach.

Geto tucks his dick back into his pants, then takes the shirt off and lets his hair down. He lies by your side, head prompted on palm, free hand reaching to wipe sweat off your forehead, "Would a corny love confession from priest to his lamb be better?"

You roll to your side with a spent sigh, strong arm soon pulling you close, face into his chest, "Only if you aimed to dissolve me with embarrassment."

His expression is, as it often is with Geto, hard to read, but he settles on a genuine smile and a soft kiss pressed to the crown of your head, "Is my love such a struggle to you, my lamb?"

"Maybe a little." His natural, familiar, scent is breaking through the cologne he used for tonight, so you bask in it, pressing your nose to him as close as you can without suffocating yourself. "But, as you saw, I really like when you make me struggle."

thank you so much for reading ❤ i'll be really happy, if you reblog it and/or leave some feedback! you can read more of my jjk fics here.

tag list: @lale-txt @mirkaaaluv @ohnococo @clumsyraccoon

[rancidpancakebatter]

"Uhluhu" - [M.M.]

Pairings: Matt Murdock x GN!Reader

Summary: Matt tells he loves you, and you want to say it back

Word Count: 1.6k words

Content: Like nothing. Safe for all.

( Masterlist )

A/N: Sorry, I've been on a bit of a hiatus. Finals are coming up and it's super stressful so I haven't gotten to write much. I found this in my drafts so I'll let yall have it. Hopefully, it will hold you over for a bit.

You had been dating Matt for several months now. You met him as the devil first. He was limping through the alley, and you heard him curse as he tripped over a trash can. When you looked out your window, you saw him collapse face-first in grime. You called out to him but heard no response. So against your better judgement, you climbed down your fire escape to check on the stranger. 

Matt woke up with a familiar feeling of deja-vu. He woke up on a soft towel draped over a couch, shirtless, with gentle hands tending to his wounds. His waking up was not peaceful in any way. He bolted upright with a large gasp ripping from his chest. You fell back on the floor in surprise at his outburst. 

He rattled off a lot of questions, and it took you a moment to respond to them as you tried to coax him into lying back down. You told him your name, where you had found him, and that he was about to bleed out from a bullet wound. 

“Luckily for you, it was a clean shot. I don't know how to fish out a bullet, but I was able to find a decent tutorial for stitches. You should be fine if you rest.”

Matt learned to trust you over time. You never asked for his identity or pushed him to talk about his past. He respected you for that. 

One night you got a text from him. It was only an address. You made your way up in the shaky elevator and knocked tentatively on the door. You were surprised when a blind man answered and greeted you by name. 

He asked you a bunch of questions about The Black Mask and what you knew of him, but you refused to answer, going as far as to threaten him. He chuckled at you as he opened a beer. 

“Trust me, honey, I’m not someone you wanna pick a fight with.”

You bristled at the nickname, but something about his voice was familiar. You raised the candle you grabbed from the coffee table higher, ready to swing if he got closer. 

He walked past you and opened up an armoire in the corner. You couldn’t see what he was doing. He threw something at you that you struggled to catch it. You ran your fingers over the familiar dark material. He heard your heart race before it started to settle again, and he knew then that you had connected the dots. 

“Really? A candle? What was your plan there?” He asked with a teasing condescension you’ve come to love. 

You chuckled as you set it back down. “I was gonna use that right hook you taught me.” 

It wasn’t long until he asked you out, the next day if you remembered correctly. He introduced you to his friends one night at Josie’s. Foggy and Karen adored you, and It was funny to see Matt’s lifelong friend tease him. 

“I mean honestly, what do you see in this ruffian?”

“I dunno Foggy, I guess he’s charming. In his own…weird…brooding way”

Dating Matt has changed your life. You have never known true admiration- devotion- like his. Anything you ask for, he would deliver (if he had the financial means to do so). He had been working on a healthy life balance for a while and with you, he felt he had it. And he felt the need to pay you back for that in any way he could. Flowers, home-cooked meals, cuddles, you name it. 

You were a well-known writer for The Bulletin. You often got to work from home. For the past month, you’ve been working from Matt’s. He had joked a few times about how you “moved in,” and if he noticed the way your heart raced when he said that, he didn’t mention it. 

You had been burned in the past. Pretty severally. So your relationship with Matt seemed almost unreal a lot of the time. While you didn’t have the crushing catholic guilt Matt did, you still had some baggage you were carrying around. 

Last week Matt told you that he loved you. He assured you that you didn’t have to say it back, that he still meant it either way. He’s said it every night as you drifted off to sleep and every morning as he left for work since then. Those three little words. 

You wanted to say them back- you really really did. You knew that if you spoke them, you would mean it; it would be the truth. Truthfully you did. But what a terrifying truth. You wanted to spend the rest of your life with him. You wanted to move in officially. You want to wake up to him every day. You wanted the good and the bad and the ugly. You wanted him, devil and all. But no matter how many hours you spent hyping yourself up, when he came home, you just couldn’t do it. 

You decided to change that today. You couldn’t let him go any longer thinking you don’t feel the same way. You could say it; you had to say it. 

You spent all evening cooking chicken piccata with homemade noodles. You went to the farmers market this morning to get fresh, local ingredients because you know Matt can taste the preservatives on grocery produce. You even baked fresh bread, made fruit tarts, and currently, you were tossing a salad. 

You had put on some of Matt’s vinyls, and when he walked in, he was almost overwhelmed. He could smell your cooking from the front entrance, and it only got closer as he approached his apartment. He could hear you humming and singing along once he got to his floor, and your gentle footsteps could be heard against the kitchen tiles. 

You heard the door open and were sure Matt could hear your heart rate pick up. You walked away from the stove and saw him taking off his coat. 

“Matty!” 

You ran into his arms, and he didn’t hesitate to catch you, spinning you around and holding you close. You melted into his embrace as you buried your head into his neck, taking a deep breath and letting his woodsy cologne wash over you. His hands were pressed flat against your back; you could feel his warmth soaking you to the bone. There’s nowhere else you’d rather be. 

“Your sauce is starting to stick.” You could hear the smirk on his face. He knew exactly what he was doing to you and liked to rile you up. 

“Oh shit,” you mumbled as you dropped down from his arms and raced back into the kitchen to stir. 

He followed after you at a much more leisurely pace, leaning against the island as you worked. 

“Let’s see here, I smell…chicken, lemons, garlic, raspberries, bread, parsley, and…is that fresh capers?”

You grinned, “Yes, bloodhound, these are fresh capers. I wanted to make you a nice dinner. Now go get changed and comfy. It’s almost ready.” 

You felt his hands on your waist and leaned back into him on instinct. He took the opportunity to place a kiss on your temple. 

“On it boss.” 

He stepped into the bedroom, and you began setting up the island. You arranged the plates and placed the glasses of water (and an opened beer next to Matt’s). By the time he returned, you were taking the rolls out of the oven. 

The power Matthew Murdock held was entirely too dangerous. He emerged wearing a v-neck and his trusty grey sweats. You knew he felt your stare. He could probably hear your heart rate pick up at the sight of him. His smile grew into that smirk you knew very well, and you knew he knew. 

Dinner was great and went off without a hitch. He told you about his day, and you did the same. You talked about big and small, and all the things of the world. He continues to complement your cooking, praising you after every bite. You brought out the fruit tarts, and the both of you munched on them happily. 

Matt set his fork down and looked at you curiously. “What’s all this about?” 

You frightened confusion, and Matt decided to play along. “The food was wonderful, but why did you make a three-course dinner? What’s the occasion?” 

You set your fork down, wiped your mouth with the napkin sitting you your lap, and place it on the counter. Matt could sense your anxiety and wondered if something was wrong. 

“There’s no… occasion, per se. It’s more of an announcement.” Matt tilted his head, and you continued. 

“I uh-” You cleared your throat, trying to force the words out. “I…” 

Matt was patient, silently reaching for your hand and giving it a reassuring squeeze. His own anxiety melted when he felt your pulse slow. 

“I’m sorry. I don’t know why it’s so hard to say,” you admit with an air of defeat. 

A knowing smile makes its way onto Matt’s face. 

“You want me to guess?” he asked, giving your hand another reassuring squeeze.

“No, no. I want to say it. I want you to hear it come from me.” 

You closed your eyes and took a deep breath. You had been practising saying it all day, saying the words over and over again. 

You forced out the words on your exhale. “Uhluhu”

Matt tilted his head, ”What?”

You took another breath and squeezed his hand, “I love you.”

His face split into a grin. You couldn’t help the laugh that escaped you. You suddenly felt light. 

“I love you, Mathew Murdock. I love you.” 

You couldn’t stop saying it. 

“I love you too.” He said, oh so quietly, but his words dripped with their truth.

Tag List: @barbecuetiddy, @heejinw0rld, @Isshecrazyorissheclever, @purple-amaranthe, @rudy-the-winged-wolf, @scorpiolystoned, @tayswiftlovebot, @wannapizzamymindposts, @whoreforklitz,

[trafalgarlawsfeathercoat]

Survivor’s Guilt

based on some MESSED UP (i loved it) art i saw on here (like this and THIS that made me cry)

WC: 895

CW: death, suicidal thoughts, religious imagery (i HC law as a former catholic because of the nuns on Flevance idk)

-

Trafalgar D. Water Law learned very early on that everything and everyone he loved would eventually be ripped away from him, washed away like footprints in the sand by high tide.

He was born to live this checkered life, cursed by the middle initial forced upon him at birth. He had no choice, no say in the matter. They say the Clan of D were meant to bring the Dawn, to usher in a new age, but all Law wanted to bring about was some peace and quiet. Just for a single moment.

But that was apparently too much to ask for.

Law craved nothing more than the everlasting promise of death as he tripped over the still bodies of his friends and family, corpses piling up with every step he took, but he was urged on by a will not of his own. He had to keep going. He must keep going.

He trudged along reluctantly, day after day. Life wasn’t so cruel as to only deal him bad hands- no, they had the audacity to give him hope every once in a while. A light at the end of the tunnel before that tunnel caved in too.

Being saved by Cora-san, meeting Shachi, Penguin and Bepo on Swallow Island, forming the Heart Pirates, his tentative friendshi- alliance with Straw Hat and his crew. All these moments deluded him into believing that maybe, just maybe, he could dare to dream of a better life. A happy life, even.

Law didn’t have any lofty ambitions such as becoming King of the Pirates like his Worst Generation rivals, contrary to what others believed about him. What could a place called ‘Laughtale’ offer a man like him anyways? Up until recently, he lived for the singular purpose of fulfilling his savior’s wishes, but he couldn’t even do that right. For as many messes as he had to clean up for others, Law could argue he left behind more.

Left behind. The one thing he could count on being.

The hands that touched him all faded into a distant memory, specters that haunted him whenever he closed his eyes at night. They called out to him like a siren’s song, caressing his face as they asked why he wasn’t strong enough to save them. It was no wonder Law gave up on sleeping a long time ago.

He closed his eyes now, begging to the higher powers he no longer believed in to please, please, finally grant him this one mercy. Salty sea water flooded his lungs as his body lost all its’ capabilities, any energy he had left after facing Blackbeard sucked dry as he was dragged deeper below the surface. This was all his fault. Law should have known better than to have hope for the future, to have deluded himself into thinking things were finally going according to plan.

Damn that man in the Straw Hat for giving him something to believe in back in Wano. He should have known better. There was no God; that’s why the nuns of White Town were all dead.

In the depths of the murky water, faces began to appear behind his eyelids. The other school children, begging him to come with them to safety. His parents, love shining in their eyes as they reached out their hands. Lami, looking up at him with so much trust and adoration. Cora-san and his stupid, crooked smile.

‘Wait for me, I’m coming.’ Law thought as his body sunk lower and lower beneath the waves. He could finally go home, after all this time.

As the abyss called out to him, so did another voice.

“Captain! Captain, please! You can’t die!” It wailed.

Law was suddenly pulled back above the water, dragged by the collar of his shirt to safety. He wrenched his eyes shut even harder, refusing to open them and accept reality. He had been ready to rescind the borrowed time he’d been living on since Flevance if it meant never having to deal with the loss of his loved ones again. He coughed once, twice, expelling the foreign liquid from his body as a large paw pounded on his back repeatedly.

“Bepo.” Law groaned out miserably, recognizing the Mink’s cries anywhere.

“Bepo, we have to go back.” He pleaded pathetically, his desperation apparent. Law didn't have to open his eyes to know that they were the only ones here, wherever ‘here’ was. There was no use pretending to be strong anymore, for he no longer had a crew to be strong for.

“I’m not going back! Trust them, Captain!” The Polar Bear Mink refused Law’s orders outright.

It wasn’t that he didn’t trust his crew, it was that he didn’t trust the world. History was repeating itself as it always did.

Law threw himself backwards onto the sandy beach they’d washed up on, shrugging off Bepo’s attempts at comfort with more force than necessary. It was only a matter of time before he was dead too.

He should’ve known better than to let anyone in, to think for a second he could walk through life anything less than alone. He should have known better than to hope that this time, surely, he could be happy.

Once again, Trafalgar D. Water Law was alive while everyone around him faded into dust. After all, the weak don’t get to choose how they die, do they?

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for not telling someone her boyfriend cheated on her with me.

TLDR at the bottom.

So this all started when I (21M) and the boyfriend (Garrett 21M) were 16. I really liked him and we had some history. After months of pining, I made a move but he took it the wrong way and we ended up being FwB.

Fast forward a few months and he’s being…weird. Ignoring me during the school day only to bounce back to wanting to be around me, telling me he feels guilty about sleeping with me (he was catholic) then acting like I’m being an idiot when I don’t initiate sex, generally just dodging my attempts to interact outside of sex and getting my help on homework. At this point I’m fairly certain he knew I liked him romantically so I figured he was acting weird because of that and asked for space. He gave me a bit of time but when I started to hang around him again he started guilting me over ‘abandoning him again.’

Like I said earlier, we had history. We dated for a couple months when we were 15 and after I broke up with him, I didn’t really talk to him much for the summer. He guilt-tripped me a lot over this and dating someone else after him and I fell for it hook-line-and-sinker. I was into him and didn’t see the red flags.

Anyway, after graduation we ended up going to college at the same place and continuing being FWB and I kept doing homework with him. However, pretty soon after we got up there, he confronted me about telling my friend, Hannah (15F when we were 18 so 18 now) about us being FwB. He made me promise I’d tell her we stopped and wouldn’t tell anyone else, then used that to guilt me even more.

For context, Hannah was friends with my little sister and I ended up being her ride everyday after school and we had a lot of the same after school activities. She knew about the FwB thing because I’d talk to her and my sisters about how I was so into him but couldn’t tell if he liked me back because he was so erratic in how much affection he showed me. Garrett met Hannah a bit before we left for college at a get-together and apparently they exchanged numbers.

So, a bit into school I get a call from Hannah and she tells me she couldn’t hide it anymore and that her and Garrett have been together since the week we left for school. I’m horrified because 1. I’m still sleeping with Garrett and 2. She’s 15 and in high school. I was kind of in shock and sick to my stomach so I didn’t say anything at that time. Looking back, I can see now that this is why he was so insistent I tell her we broke things off and why he’d been guilt-tripping me so much about telling her I’m the first place (despite him also telling one of his friends).

As soon as I could, I got Garrett to come over to my place and confronted him. He started telling me about how they hadn’t actually been together, just talking to see if they’d be able to handle long distance, and I once again fell for it. He tells me that they officially got together over the weekend he went home and that’s why Hannah called me. I told him I wasn’t comfortable with it and that it freaked me out he was dating someone that much younger and that we won’t be sleeping together again.

A few weeks go by and he’s at my place almost every night and nothing happens. And then there’s a little cuddling and it’s like I’m with that boy I first met who was nice to me all the time and freely gave physical affection. It’s important to note here that this was during lockdown and I had no roommates. He was the only person I saw consistently and I hadn’t seen my family in months. If he wanted to throw an arm over my shoulder or let me put my feet across his lap then I was going to let him, I was touch starved as hell and hadn’t had so much as a handshake from anyone but him in months.

One night cuddling turns into me on his lap but nothing really happens and I end up telling him I’m taking him home. The next time he comes over, he climbs in my lap and to avoid this getting too personal, he basically does everything he knows I like until I kiss him back. And then word for word says “I was wondering when you’d give in.”

We ended up sleeping together a couple more times before it finally stopped for good because we both felt guilty. Around the time it stopped, I’d also been hanging out with his roommate and our mutual friend a lot and he had started getting explosively angry anytime we’d hang out without him even if we’d invited him and he’d turned us down, then he’d guilt me again over how lonely and left out he felt after he’d yelled at me. About this time I started realizing how manipulative he’d been and shortly after found out he’d been lying to both me and his roommate about various things to keep us separated and me isolated.

But yeah, so Hannah. I was planning on telling Hannah, but I didn’t know how to do it without Garrett retaliating. He’s got anger issues, is taller than me, and has photos of me I’d really rather not get out and knew my address. So I planned to tell Hannah after I’d moved over the summer.

But then things with Hannah went south. I’m not going to get into it, but basically she said and did some messed up things and I told her I didn’t want to talk to her anymore. But she kept texting me, would drive hours to my campus and would text me that she saw me and wanted to talk. I kept telling her not to contact me and it got to the point that I was afraid of her finding out where I worked and cornering me. I had to threaten to call the police to get her to stop.

As far as I know, she and Garrett are still together and I still feel guilty about not telling her he cheated on her with me, especially because those last few times I knew it was cheating. I’m not scared of Garrett anymore, but more so that contacting her will lead to her texting me all the time again and destroy any case I have for harassment.

TLDR: My emotional manipulative ex FWB used me to cheat on his underage girlfriend, and I never told her because I 1) was afraid of him retaliating and 2) don’t want to contact her after she stalked me.

What are these acronyms?

[olympeline]

FrUK FACE family Parent Trap AU, part 6! Part 1

Last time we watched Alfred go home with Francis and get his first taste of Matthew’s life in Quebec. Now it’s Mattie’s turn. Let’s see how it would go for him and Arthur in New York:

It’s a quick trip home on the subway, and then they’re in the Kirklands’ apartment. A middle sized place by NYC standards, in a big block, high up near the top. Everything is super concentrated and crammed together like the inner part of any big city. Space is at a premium, so the normal folk live like sardines. Matthew is used to his wide open suburbs, so it’s a bit of a shock. He likes Arthur and Alfred’s apartment, though. It’s cosy and very lived in. A colourful clash and blend of Alfred and Arthur’s strong personalities. Very little style compared to the Bonnefoys’ immaculately interior designed home, but charming nonetheless. Matthew is drinking all the new sights in, when Arthur goes through to the kitchen and says he’ll make them something to eat. He’s expecting “Alfred” to go jump into gaming or rush to see his friends that live in their block, so he’s surprised when Matthew hovers in the kitchen doorway instead. Arthur asks if he wants to help, Mattie says “Sure, dad!” (Dad. Dad! This is my other dad! - Matthew, dizzily to himself) and Arthur is again surprised, but also pleased. Seems his boy has matured during his last trip to camp. He does seem a little different.

So, they get to work and Matthew has a hard time keeping up his Alfred-sona because oh dear, oh dear. Alfred was not kidding when he said his their dad was super bad at cooking. Matthew feels his French reared soul dying a thousand deaths as he watches Arthur prep their dinner. He wants to help out and offer advice but it would be too suspicious. So he focuses on talking to Arthur instead. Arthur tuts and grumbles about various things (mostly work and people he knows), but also cracks funny jokes - often at his own expense - and makes Matthew laugh. He has a surprisingly wicked sense of humour under his stuffiness, it seems.

Then the food is done, they sit down to eat, and…

“How is it, Al?”

“………..Fine, dad. Good. Real good. (🥲🥲🥲🥲)”

“Really? That’s good. I think I’m getting better. What do you think?”

“Yeah. Yeah. For sure! (🥲🥲🥲🥲🥲🥲🥲🥲🥲)”

It’s the worst thing Matthew’s eaten in his entire life. But he chokes it down with a big, Alfred style smile. It’s worth it to see Mr. Kirkland Arthur his other dad smile back. It’s also worth choking down the “food” because Matthew can keep talking to Arthur while they eat. He has an easier time of it than Alfred did because Arthur expects “Alfred” to talk and talk like it’s going out of fashion. Mattie can be as enthusiastic as he likes, asking all about what happened in NYC while he was away. Arthur answers all his questions, asks some of his own about camp, then brings up Antonio. And Matthew’s stomach sinks. Arthur tells him Tony is away for work, but he’ll be back soon. Mattie tries to feel enthusiastic about meeting him, but he can’t quite manage it. Alfred says Uncle Tony is nice (even if he thinks Arthur doesn’t love him) but Mattie just doesn’t want him around. Who knows how long he’ll have with Arthur before they’re found out. He wants every minute with his long lost dad to himself. Then poor Matthew feels bad about thinking this way because he’s a sweetheart and doesn’t want to be selfish. Poor guy’s a sufferer of catholic guilt without the catholicism, I tell ya. It’s one of the things about Mattie that Francis worries about and has the most sleepless nights over.

After dinner, Arthur had planned on getting some work done while Alfred goofed off with his games and/or neighbor friends. But Mattie sticks with him to wash up, then hovers again. Arthur is starting to feel a little worried (maybe Alfred felt more homesick than usual this year?) so he says: hang the work, they should spend some time together instead. It’s too late to go out, so they flop in front of the TV for some good old fashioned binge watching. Mattie sits shyly by his dad, close as he dares, and joins in the distracted chatter as they flip between various shows until they end up on The Great British Bake Off. A favorite in the Kirkland household. Arthur likes it because it reminds him of home and gives him “inspiration” for his - ahem - culinary efforts. Alfred likes it because sometimes they drop things. Matthew has never seen it before but soon he’s hooked. He finds himself wondering what Francis would think of it.

Suddenly, a stab of homesickness. Matthew must have tensed up, because he feels Arthur put his hand on his shoulder and give it a squeeze. Mattie looks up at Arthur and the latter gives him a reassuring smile.

“Back home now, Al.”

Is all Arthur says, but it’s enough. Matthew feels a lump in his throat and, when Arthur looks away again, Mattie has to quickly blink back another attack of “hayfever.” He misses Francis, but now he has Arthur too. Suddenly he can hardly believe what’s happening. Where he is, who he’s talking to. It all feels like a dream. One he’s waited for his whole life without realising it.

How is this all going to play out? Matthew doesn’t know. But he does know one thing: he’s so glad he came.

(That’s it for now. Stay tuned for part 7! (´ε｀ )♡)

[cowboy-doinggay]

A list of reason why Jason Peter Todd is Latin and it’s based on actual evidence and not on harmful stereotypes or stupidity.

He wares a red jacket, all Latin boys wear a red jacket in animation and in red life.

He guilt tripped his father figure. That’s a very Latin thing to do.

Is sassy. Ever Latin man I know are some sassy mf. Like diva clam down.

Has way too many siblings and is a dick to all of them. He has to, he’s the second oldest.

Looks catholic/was a prest. He guilt tripped people like he’s catholic.

Has daddy issues. Most Latins do.

Has a fuck ton of trauma. Again most latins do too.

And because i said so.

Has tried to kill he’s siblings. It’s very common in Latin families for the older siblings to try to kill the younger one just because there alive and stuff, usually happens when both siblings are younger but can still happen when they both are older.

[majorasnightmare]

Hi again i got second hand dirgepilled and started thinking about how Minthara’s enslavement was a result of Dirge's actions and i wanna know how you think they handled that individually and as a couple 🎤

his IMPACT!! i made dinner while responding to this LMAO

i love taking minthara to the gortash coronation for EXACTLY this because dirge gets 20x hotter in minthys opinion and meanwhile dirge wants to crawl into a hole and die, we love to see it

on mintharas end, for why she views it so positively, i think its a combination of ruthless politics and personal self loathing. she blames herself for her own enslavement and tells dirge as much when he asks. she admires the brutal efficiency of the absolute plot because at her core, shes a schemer. minthara can see the absolute plot the way bhaalist!dirge saw it: a near unstoppable train of inertia leading to the end of the world, and its setup and execution is admirable in its thoroughness. bhaalist!dirge was a deeply unwell but viciously competent individual and the Absolute was the culmination of all the traits that made him dangerous and desirable in equal measure. To capture and harness so much power so perfectly, such that the only way it could ever topple was to be destabilized from within, is something Minthara would admire, because I doubt theres ever been a plot so thoroughly insulated from outside actors in Menzoberranzan. Minthara isnt capable of laying blame for her enslavement at Dirge's feet, because that would require she stop blaming herself first, and that opinion is so iron clad and engrained its even stopped producing an emotional reaction: her failure is blunt and matter of fact, devoid of detectable guilt or indignation. She tells this to you with the same cadence one would remark upon the weather. She was arrogant and proud, and she brought it on herself, same as the sun rises.

Dirge meanwhile stumbles back into his old habit of Catholic Guilt, except instead of feeling like a failure for not properly adhering to the tenants of his religion, he feels like a failure for violating the tenets of his NEW religion, caring about these 8 people. Not only can he not properly shield Minthara from something he feels is HIS problem (as he no longer actively seeks help for the Urges and by extension freeing himself from Bhaal), he is also directly immediately responsible for putting them irrevocably in danger. There is a tadpole chewing through their brains and its his fault. They might have their minds twisted and stolen from them by the Absolute and its his fault. Orin captured and tortured Minthara until she broke under her lash and was forced to worship her torturer and its his fault. He routinely holds himself to a higher standard than anyone else, and habitually excuses and forgives the mistakes and aggravations of his companions, and both of those come out in spades here. Because not only is it NOT Minthara's fault, it isnt even ORIN'S fault. Its HIS fault. He promised Minthara to guard her and never abandon her if she would take on the burden of leashing him in the right direction, and he failed even before they ever properly met. It reinforces his growing belief that the person he is NOW matters less than the person he used to be, because now hes a contemptable weakling unable to meaningfully protect the things he cares about because the holes in his brain trip him up before he even leaves the starting gate. He didnt use to be like this. He used to be stronger, more capable. He nearly killed the world. THAT person would have been strong enough, KNOW enough, that he would have been able to see in Minthara what he sees now and spare her from the torments that were not, and COULD not, be her fault. He couldve leveraged his influence to properly ally with her, WITHOUT the tadpoles, on even terms, on even grounds, where he didnt have red mist in his mind where his past should be, the ability to be open and explicit when now there are questions he doesnt even know how to answer because try as he might to get the people he loves some kind of closure, the ghost hes chasing always vanishes when he gets close. Nevermind that that person wouldnt have WANTED to protect Minthara, at the very least he could have spared her the dishonor of torture and just killed her at the table with her comrades. The knowledge of it haunts him with no clear way to escape

Relationship wise, this discrepancy REALLY puts a strain on things. Minthara has a heightened respect and admiration for her lover, who hates and loathes himself for a perceived lack of ability and responsibility for inflicted harm. Dirge closes himself off almost completely, and only Astarion and Minthara are paying close enough attention to notice. By this point, Minthara is intimately familiar with the corridors and channels of Dirge's mind, but what once was an open house becomes a series of closed doors, and shes insightful enough to know exactly what the fuck is going on. Dirge is always hesitant and cautious when opening up about the Urge, and all of those doors have the exact same fingerprints on them. Minthara wasnt present when Dirge initially closed himself off back in Act 1, so this turn of behavior cant hide behind normalization the way it does with everyone else, and Minthara incorrectly assumes its solely about the threat Orin poses, because Orin occupies an inflated position of danger for Minthara that she doesnt for Dirge. She WANTS to pry those doors open, and doesnt get why she doesnt seem to have the right key, when shes had it every other time? And its because its a guilt she cant actually ascribe to Dirge, so her understanding isnt capable of drawing out his vulnerability like before. In Minthara's mind, Dirge's reluctance is about his perceived weakness and ability to master the power Bhaal offers him, his hesitation is in facing a Bhaalspawn who had bested him once before who has had this entire time to enjoy the power hes going to take from her, and POSSIBLY a sentimental reluctance to killing his sister. So its confusing how reasserting his ability to conquer and maim, referring to his strength of will in dominating the Absolute, and reassurances that they will best Orin together isnt fixing the issue? Hes never been this badly shaken about anything before, and nerves this close to the climax are understandable, but whats perplexing is their persistence. Surely Orin isnt half as intimidating as facing down the Avatar of Myrkul?

Its a terror Dirge struggles to verbalize, and its really a "you either Get It or you Don't" kind of deal. Astarion is the only one who gets the full picture because he IMMEDIATELY clocks that Dirge was a Lethal Bhaalist the same way HES a Powerful Vampire. All that strength didnt do a damned thing for the masters that held the leash, and it recontextualizes every previous bout of anxiety Dirge had in his presence, to be less "Im a Powerful Predator and it Frightens Me" to the equivalent of "Cazador might make me kill someone I brought home again". And thats an experience Minthara can and SHOULD be able to grok, except she hasn't gotten to the point where she can view her experiences as comparable to others because shes so locked in to her perception of herself as someone who Failed, and her opinion of Dirge is so high that comparing the two FEELS like an insult to her lover.

The reality is that Dirge is a different person now than the one who enacted the Absolute plot. The person he is now is no more responsible for Minthara's torture than Minthara is for the actions she took under mindcontrol. There are traits there, still present, that came to the fore during those times, and those are still worthy of critique and responsibility, but at the end of the day, while both of them retain the capacity to BE those people, they simply are Not those people anymore. Dirge wants to make amends, to atone for a guilt and trauma he feels he can never fix, but all thats necessary is what he already plans on doing: making sure he lives up to his promise of keeping Minthara safe by ensuring Bhaal doesnt get to use him as a vessel to objectify her and trap her in the same cycle of abuse hes perpetuated in his family for years now. Minthara needs what shes always needed: consistent safety and trust, with the freedom to be vulnerable, and the support of someone whos invested in standing beside her, not in front of her. By the time Mintharas capable of forgiving herself for her own trauma, I dont think she would blame Dirge for it even then, but his decision to choose her over his own life at the Temple would lose some of its sting. The person ACTUALLY responsible for her torture is the person Dirge would rather die than have power over her again

[softguarnere]

The Devil's In The Details

Anyways, another week, another unsolicited Chiara fic that no one asked for, but that I was all too ready and willing to provide. And I actually remembered to post it here and on AO3, since apparently Christmas miracles do exist Below the cut, if anyone wants it :)

In Chiara’s defense, she’s unfamiliar with Hell’s Kitchen because she only just moved to the city and hasn’t exactly had the time to go exploring outside of Queens. Not with track practice, this whole hero sidegig, and now being recruited for the academic decathlon team since Peter has flaked on the trip to nationals. She’s busy, but hey – two of those three after school activities are going to look really good on her transcript in a few years. 

If she lives that long, that is. 

Because she’s just been kicked in the stomach and sent crashing through a skylight into an abandoned warehouse. Looking up at the night sky above her, her lungs refuse to expand as she wheezes and gasps, the wind knocked firmly out of her. What an introduction to this part of the city. 

A figure jumps down through the shattered skylight, and glass crunches as it lands next to her on the cold, hard ground. 

“What the hell are you doing here?” a gruff voice demands. 

If she could breathe, Chiara would probably crack some joke asking if that pun was intended or not. As it is, though, she uses what little strength she has to push herself onto her side, coming face to face with – 

The devil. 

Thank God Chiara’s new suit covers her hands, because the broken glass on the ground can’t cut her palms as she attempts to scramble backwards, her breaths now coming in short gasps for a different reason. 

This is basically her worst nightmare. This is everything the nuns at her old school warned her about when she would get lectured for playing pranks, for talking back, for any little sign of blasphemy or sacrilege. And all that plays through Chiara’s head again and again on a constant loop is the last straw: stealing that Communion wine with the older kids and drinking it behind the school, returning later, drunk as skunks; her mom having to come get her because the nuns politely requested that Chiara not be re-enrolled next year, and, if possible, they would like to stop dealing with her now; the lecture on the car ride home, with the devastating ‘Right now, you look just like your father’ line, which felt devastating, considering that it was the first and last time her mom had ever given her any clue as to who that might be – 

“Hail Mary full of grace, the Lord is with thee,” Chiara gasps on instinct.

The devil stops stalking forward, but his shadow looms over her. He turns his head so that his ear is cocked towards her, as if to hear her better. “What?”

“B-blessed art thou among w-women,” Chiara continues, her voice wobbling. If she weren’t so scared and if she could catch her breath, she could probably use her powers to escape. But she’s so focused on trying to correctly recite the prayer that she hasn’t said in months that the thought doesn’t even occur to her. “And – and blessed is the –”

“Ah, a burglar with Catholic guilt,” the devil interrupts, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “That’s new.”

“ – fruit of thy –” Chiara’s words sputter to a stop. “Burglar?”

Silence hangs between them, neither of them sure of the other’s meaning.

Chiara’s brain finally clears enough that the words hit her, and she huffs out a sigh. “Jesus Christ. Why does everyone always think I’m the bad guy? My new suit was supposed to fix that –”

“I’m sure the suit is fine,” the devil interrupts. Which, as far as being the King of Hell goes, is a pretty nice thing for him to say to someone who he’s come to collect. “But hanging around on top of rooftops in the middle of the night doesn’t really help your case.” 

Lots of things haven’t really helped Chiara’s case. She got kicked out of Catholic school, and rightfully so. Still, she didn’t expect following a lead on Roxxon to be the thing that triggered Satan himself from coming to snatch her right out of the world. 

“To be fair,” she says, trying to sound braver than she feels. “You also would have had to be on the rooftop in order to know that.” She gives the devil a onceover and does the thing she’s best at – she makes a sarcastic comment to save face. “Like some sort of overgrown gargoyle.” All the accusations sort of remind her of that play that she’s having to read for English – I saw Goody Proctor with the Devil! But how would Abigail have known that if she hadn’t also been at the Devil’s Sacrament?

To her surprise, he laughs. The fallen angel actually laughs at her joke. “Not everyone is a fan of this getup. But it keeps people intimidated.” 

Getup? That almost makes it sound like – 

“Huh?” 

The devil tilts his head. “My suit. It scares a lot of people. Keeps them in line.” 

Chiara gawks at him, her brows furrowed in confusion. “Suit? So you’re . . .” She’s not sure what he is, exactly. “Like me?”

“Enhanced?” the devil clarifies. “I would guess so, based on –” He makes a vague gesture, as if that explains it all. “ – everything.”  

Okay. So this is someone like Chiara, running around in a suit trying to stop crime. Not Satan. Good to know. (Although, if she’s being honest, she feels a little goofy now for the way that she freaked out.)

“So who are you, exactly?” the guy in the devil costume asks. “Haven’t noticed you around here before.” 

“Eclipse,” Chiara replies smoothly. “I operate over in Queens.” 

The devil guy lets out a low whistle. “You’re out of your jurisdiction.” 

“Yeah. And I won’t be making that mistake again.” From beneath her domino mask, she raises an eyebrow. With the hood that Mr. Stark has added to her new suit – “To hide that hair, since the purple is going to give you away” – she doubts that the devil guy can see her do it, with her face all cast in shadow. “This is clearly your turf. But who are you?”

“My turf?” The word choice makes a smile tug at the edge of his lips. “Who says that?”

“Me.” 

“You’re not from here,” the guy guesses, tilting his head. “You live in Queens but you’re from . . . Somewhere upstate, probably. Near the Canadian border?”

Chiara tilts her own head in question. This guy might not be Satan, but he knows entirely too much about her. “Is your thing mindreading, or something?”

Devil guy chuckles. “No. I’m just observant. And your accent and word choice don’t exactly hide anything.” 

Instead of getting offended or confirming the guy’s theory, Chiara repeats her earlier question. “Who are you?”

A pause. For dramatic effect, maybe. And then: “Daredevil.” 

“Ah. Well, that explains the costume.” She shrugs. “You’ve got a whole aesthetic going on. I can respect that.” 

She kind of expects him to make a comment about her suit, but he doesn’t. And, if she’s being honest, Chiara is a little disappointed by that. She’s only had it for a few days, but it’s a big step up from the homemade one that she was running around in when she started this whole thing. 

“Anyways –” Chiara sighs at the same time that Daredevil asks, “What are you doing in Hell’s Kitchen?” Maybe it’s Chiara’s imagination, but it sounds like there’s a hint of a smile in the guy’s voice when he adds, “Since you’re not a burglar, that is.” 

Now that it’s clear that Daredevil isn’t the literal devil and that he’s not going to crack open the ground and drag her down to the depths of Hell, Chiara abandons her position on the ground amid the broken glass in order to stand, facing him hero to hero. (Even if she does have to look up at him because he’s taller, but that’s not the point.)

“Following a lead,” she answers. Then, after a pause, “On Roxxon.” 

“Roxxon?” Daredevil’s cowl may hide his face, but the eyebrow raise punctuating his question is obvious. “But you’re only . . . What? Thirteen?”

“I’m fifteen.”

Daredevil shakes his head. “Okay, well you’re still young. Which means that you have no business going after Roxxon. It’s too dangerous.”

Chiara scoffs, crossing her arms. “I have all the business going after Roxxon. They’re an environmental threat.” 

“How are you going to stop them?”

Great question. One that Chiara would also love the answer to. Unfortunately, she hasn’t exactly figured that part out yet. She just knows that she needs proof that it’s Roxxon that’s causing weird things to happen to the animals living in the back lot of the gas station, and she knows that she needs answers about how they might be behind it. 

“Take my advice, kid,” Daredevil says. “Enjoy being a kid. Don’t go getting mixed up in stuff like this that you don’t understand and accidentally end your time early.” 

Chaira rolls her eyes. “There won’t be much for me to enjoy if companies like Roxxon poison and destroy the earth before then.” 

Or if the people with those glowing weapons that Peter encountered take over the world, or burn it to the ground, she doesn’t add. There are a lot of ways that the world could come crashing down, and those are just the threats of the week. 

Daredevil draws in a deep breath before pushing a hard sigh through his nose. He seems like he’s trying to hold back from raising his voice at her, saying something he might regret. Considering that this conversation started with him kicking Chiara through a skylight and scaring the crap out of her, it’s pretty thoughtful of him, all things considered. 

“Whoever you were following is now in my territory,” he points out, his voice firm but not angry. “They’re my problem now.”

“But that’s not –”

A red covered hand is held up to stop her. “Leave this to the grownups.” Then, almost as an afterthought he adds, “Because if I hear that you’re back in Hell’s Kitchen chasing down threats you don’t understand, I’ll haul you back to Queens myself.”

Chiara pouts. “You aren’t the boss of me.”

“You’re fifteen,” Daredevil deadpans. Probably because of Chiara’s word choice, which isn’t really helping her case. “You’ve got better things to do. You’ve got your whole life ahead of you.” 

“What are you, my guidance counselor?”

“Watch it,” the other hero warns. He plants his hands on his hips, looking like a disappointed father. “I’m trying to help you out, kid. You don’t need to go getting mixed up with Roxxon. Trust me on that one.” 

A protest dies on Chiara’s lips. If she keeps arguing, she’ll probably be stuck here all night feeling like she’s talking to a brick wall. She might as well get off the hook while she can, let this guy think he’s won. Besides, if this guy operates in Hell’s Kitchen, he’ll have no clue what Chiara is up to over in Queens. She’ll just have to stay away from his turf, operate on the downlow.  

“Fine,” she sighs. “But when bioluminescent raccoons take over the world, don’t come crying to me.” 

There’s a slightly baffled pause, like Daredevil is trying to figure out if she’s being serious or not. He must decide that he doesn’t want to follow that line of questioning, because he only nods. 

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he says. 

“Good.” Chiara sniffs. “Well . . . Bye now.” 

Before Daredevil can protest, she sinks into the shadows, disappearing as she takes her leave, trying to flee the scene before she has to deal with any more lectures. As she navigates her way out of Hell’s Kitchen and back towards Queens, she has only one thought on her mind – she won’t be coming back here any time soon. Not if she can help it, anyway.

[andromedaexists]

NOVELEMBER: Desecrate

UPDATE

I lost track of time this week (thanks to crazy shenanigans at work that I can't even begin to describe here without going on a huge rant) BUT it's the start of the writing month

In an attempt to find something non-denominational, I've stumbled on people calling this month Novelember, so I guess that's the work imma use for it too

My goal this month is to add 50k to this re-write of Desecrate. I'm sitting at just over 16k right now, so I would like to have 66k written on this draft by December 1st!

I have never been successful with these types of challenges, but I'm still gonna give it a go and take y'all on the trip with me. Idk how imma do updates for this challenge, whether they'll be hosted on my IG or my BlueSky (@andromedaexists for both!) At the very least I'll try to keep up with my wupdates to make sure I'm staying on track!

That's all I really have to say for now, see y'all in the first novelember update ✌️

THE PROJECT

TITLE

Desecrate

GENRE

Fiction - Dark Fantasy / Dark Academia

STATUS

Re-drafting! I’ve got about 16k done in this new draft with the plan to finish this one and start another round of Beta reads by the end of the year! Desecrate is already up on GoodReads if you want to keep tabs on it there!

AESTHETIC / TROPES

Religious trauma, Religion in general, queer characters, questioning faith, dream shenaniganery, reading a lot of ancient texts, complaining about college classes, Queer Platonic Partners & Found family in general

This book heavily criticizes the Roman Catholic Church and deals with Catholic Guilt and Religious Trauma 

SUMMARY

What would you do if everything you knew about your faith was flipped on its head?

That’s what Kit has been trying to find out. After dropping out of Seminary and giving up on his life’s dream of being a priest, he has to piece together the shattered remains of his faith.

But what if those pieces fit together in ways they never have before? What if they reveal a secret that the church has been hiding for millennia? What will he do then?

Adonai’s been held in captivity for longer than They can recall. They don’t remember what the sun feels like on Their skin, what the wind feels like in Their hair. It’s a shame, one of Their only regrets was not fighting back that day.

Their time will come. The Messiah walks among the living once again, and They know that he will free them. Until that day, They will remain patient.

MAIN CHARACTERS

Christian “Kit” Michaels (he/him) - the main character who’s POV we get. Just your everyday guy. Is a Classics student after dropping out of Seminary, does the church thing, lives his life to the best of his ability. Prone to some weird ass dreams

Adonai (he/they) - the subject of Kit’s dreams. They’re… not having a good time at the moment. Or really just ever.

Father Isaac (he/him) - A Priest of the Diocese that Kit goes to. One of the first people Kit goes to after his dreams start. A great confidant, even if he is bound by his faith.

Sister Benedictine (she/her) - Who doesn’t love a nun?? Some of the best people imo. Benny is one of the first people Kit goes to and is ride or die for her pathetic man (they are queer platonic partners, after all)

TAGLIST

@lockejhaven @mr-writes @eleanordaze @flowerprose

@starlitpage @dogmomwrites @annetilney @ceph-the-ghost-writer

@inkspellangel @outpost51 @love-whatit-loves @bebewrites

@smol-feralgremlin

Please fill out this form to be added or ask to be removed!

[abandonedaccount1234]

Just saw the quotes/spoilers about Eddie's character being headed towards a beautiful disaster.

Imagine if Eddie's character is made canonically queer and the first person he comes out to is the ghost of Shannon...👀

Like he's with his family and they're asking him when is he gonna get married again or give Christopher a mother. Just a huge catholic guilt trip. And he has to fight for Shannon who can't defend herself.

He's been working through his grief, through understanding he loved her but maybe was never in love with her because he just couldn't be. And there's this moment of clarity, or realization.

She tells him it's okay. That they were complicated and young but she still loves him. She wants what's best for him.

She tells him he's allowed to open his eyes and accept himself for all of who he is. That he will have people who love and care for him no matter what.

I hate myself for writing this.

WHY DID I THINK THIS? I'M CRYING JUST THINKING ABOUT IT

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

[defensivelee]

Dear William— I'm not in love with you, I'm with another man now; that's Jesus Christ, whom you never found

This is the succubus AU oneshot. It is done. It took me way too long for it to be only 12k words but holy shit it's done. So enjoy the William whump! Here is the AO3 link for anybody who wants to read over there; once again, I would appreciate feedback there, but never be afraid of reblogging my stuff~

CW: accidental misgendering, religious imagery, Catholic guilt, domestic violence/abuse, lots and lots of stabbing, victim blaming, guilt tripping, mild gore, implied/referenced child abuse, nsfwhump, rape/non-con, very dubious consent.

Everyone knew the name of the best demon hunter of the day, the most devoted of God’s servants save for their bishop, the bishop that had baptized this very hunter. There was nothing remarkable about that; what was remarkable was how the people called for him to slay the demons that cursed them, their homes, their crops, and how he came every time, without fail banishing the demon and sending it back to its master the devil.

They called that boy Louis. He took up the business after his father, whom he had no time to learn from. No, he had to teach himself, when he would go outside at night and imagine that the demons were waiting for him in the trees. Some were not imagined, some came when he was very young to whisper that they saw danger lying dormant within him. They were kind to him, beckoning for him to enter their realm because they had something very nice waiting for him, indeed, come with us, little angel. But he saw right through their lies and turned away. That was when he learned to kill them instead.

Though he was young, he had already killed hundreds of these demons, though some were harder than others. He had a habit that annoyed many of the older men; he dragged his sword on the ground constantly, leaving a trail of holy water and sometimes blood behind him, and the sound scared even the wolves away. But it was a small price to pay for his neighbors, who relied on him and only him to vanquish the demons from their home.

Unbeknownst to the people, Louis fought demons of his own constantly. Pet demons like the ones he met when he was young. But these lived only in his head; he only let them out when he was sure no one was watching, and he took to fucking the bed and no one else until he was satisfied. As soon as he could, however, he confessed his sins and pleaded that he be absolved of them.

“How old are you?”

“Not very.”

He was then told that these demons would quiet down, fall asleep once he was married. He was young; he would find someone soon. “You must have faith,” Mazarin told him, “and remember that you are always being watched.”

But nobody knew, and nobody cared, for when they saw Louis dragging his sword along with him, or walking alongside his mother, or perhaps even peering down the ponds to catch sight of a carp, all they said was, “What a good boy, that Lo.”

So it happened that one very hot day he allowed himself to indulge in more sin, despite all the times he had promised to God that he would stop. It did not matter now; he was alone, so he lay back on his bed and stripped nearly completely so that he would not sweat into his clothes. This time, however, he was not as mobile, for it was only his hand moving over himself, and he buried his face into his pillow, sighing with a very sweet satisfaction he could obtain from nothing else.

When Lo was done, he was overcome with the usual guilt like any good Christian should have been. But he did not dwell on it, instead he dressed himself once more and stepped outside into the trees to cool himself in the gentle breeze. No one ever came this way, and he had chosen to live here for this very purpose— if any demons came to challenge him, no one else would be in harm’s way.

He lay down beside the stream and saw his face staring right back at him. He called himself disgusting, he called himself Satan’s plaything, and then he apologized that he was not stronger. A carp swam under his nose, which pulled his attention away from his sins. He gasped and followed its path down the stream; it was not a remarkable color, but they captured his attention nonetheless, ever since he’d been shown a very brightly-colored one by his mother a long time ago. He’d never found one like that since.

“Lead me to something better!” he called to it.

He followed it until night fell. The fish would turned back a few times, and he almost lost it. Once the moon’s light emerged, the fish doubled back sharply on his path, and Louis turned around with it. As he did so, his foot slipped on the mud beside the stream, and the boy nearly fell into the water.

With a grunt of frustration he stood, wincing with the first few steps. He tried to follow his fish again, but much to his disappointment he had lost it. So he went back home, and the disappointment soon turned to shame.

What Louis found in his room then was somehow not entirely unexpected. He opened the door to see a demon rather obscenely fucking itself on his bed, in a state approaching nudity much like Lo had been earlier. It had its nose buried in the spots where Louis had not cleaned off earlier, and its tail was raised high over its head as it dug its fingers with claws at the ends into its cunt, dripping wet over the blankets.

Louis flushed to witness such a thing, and his first thought was to leave the demon to what it needed before he killed it. His second thought was that he was somehow seeing himself earlier that day, as desperate and evil as this creature. It had to be killed immediately!

So he took the dagger like a demon horn from his belt and began to approach. The stupid thing had not noticed him yet, but as he took a step forward, well, who was the stupid one now? Its eyes opened up, and the demon looked back, shuffling with alarm off the bed and curling its tail close to cover itself.

“You have made a grave mistake,” Louis announced bravely. “You have entered the home of the most skilled demon hunter in this land.”

The demon did not seem phased, only narrowed its eyes with a hiss. “Forgive me, but I was starving. Not that it did anything, dry as it was, but I could have smelled your semen from hell with how much you have produced here.”

Louis blushed again. “Are you a succubus? Is that why you are here, to tempt me?” He dared to ask a bolder question. “Do you know what I have been doing on this bed?”

“Relax,” the succubus told him coolly, “I have no interest in tempting you nor telling anyone about this. It’s been a few weeks since I left hell, and nothing could make me return there. You will now allow me to leave and find a better meal; the few drops I swallowed were pitiful. I have been chaste the whole time I have walked this earth!” It lashed its tail as it tied the odd black cloth back around its hips, and Lo realized with much revulsion that it was the only thing that allowed it modesty. “And you would do well to learn to knock before you enter a room.”

“This is my home!” cried Louis. “And you will not leave this place.”

“Why not?” spat the demon.

“If I were to let you go, who knows what husbands you would seduce, good men that would otherwise scorn your advances if it were not for the temptation Satan has equipped you with!” said Louis. “You are a threat, and you must be returned to your master or die.”

“I do not bow to any devil save for myself,” the arrogant demon replied. “If I tempt any husband then I do it out of a need and desire to survive. Not because I would have liked to consume what I do.”

“I need not listen to the words of a whore,” Louis said. He stepped forward, backing the nervous demon into the wall. He went on, “Perhaps it is you who should knock before you enter, and if no one answers, then take it as an indication that you are not welcome.”

“Whore?” the demon repeated. “You are one to throw around that word.”

And Louis replied, “I can recognize my own kind.” He did not waste any time after that; he raised the dagger high, which the demon saw just in time to save its own skin as it darted to the side, hissing with its tail lashing. But its error was in its length; it waved before Lo’s face, and thus he was able to take hold of it. With a swift slash of his dagger, he cut off the sharp, pointy tip, as he knew from experience that they could make quick work of a man’s eyes if one did not neutralize it first.

The demon let out a furious scream, stumbling back onto the ground and clutching the bloody stump at the end. Louis shuddered and wondered if the shrieks would bring wary visitors. To avoid this he knew that he would have to kill the succubus quickly.

“Demon hunter—!” the demon snarled up at him, struggling to stand again with Lo advancing on it. “You will pay for this! You did it because you are scared of me!”

“Scared of you?” Louis asked, slamming the heel of his boot into the demon’s cheek to bring it down again. “I have no reason to be scared. I have killed many of your kind, and I will kill many more. It is you who should have been scared; that was your mistake.” He took a flask of holy water from his belt, one of the many he carried with him constantly, and he saw the demon’s eyes widen. “Ah, you are learning,” he said approvingly.

“I’ll go, then,” the demon said under Lo’s boot. “Just get off of me.”

“You do not deserve that mercy,” said Lo. He took his boot down, kneeling down beside the demon. At this the demon struck forward, its deadly jaws snapping like those of snakes. To this Louis only reacted with taking one of the demon’s horns and throwing his body, and as a result, the demon’s, to the floor beside them. He heard the demon’s head hit the ground hard, its body jolting with the shock.

“Evidently you would have not left me unharmed if I had let you go,” Louis said. He looked the demon in the eye as he drove the dagger into its thigh. He did not know why, but he had heard its screams when he sliced off its tail and wanted to hear them more. It pleased him, though with the logical side of his head he knew this was when he should have killed it.

Indeed, the demon let out another hoarse scream, and Lo opened the flask to pour the water on its wound. The blood where the dagger was buried hissed and turned black, as if it was burning, and the demon turned its head away, beginning to shudder violently. From the tears beginning in its eyes and the claws gripping the ground Louis could see that it was stifling another miserable sound.

“Cursed- cursed demon hunter,” he heard it mutter through its pants. “I will not let this- this be the way I die.”

And Louis told it to fight back, then, if it believed it was so brave. At this the demon turned around sharply to bite at him once more, and Louis this time took hold of its great nose, not very attractive on a succubus if you would have asked him. He squeezed it, stopping the air from flowing through, and the demon fell back, gasping rapidly through its mouth.

“If you want to keep your mouth open,” said noble Louis, “then you will drink what I command you to.” With this he poured the remaining water down the demon’s throat, much to its horror and agony, as it began to scream once more, thrashing wildly in Lo’s grasp. At last Lo did let him go, and the demon shuffled to the side, hitting its head on the bed and then running into the wall as it tried desperately to cough up the water that dripped slightly from his lips. The dagger remained in its thigh, and with its limp Lo thought it resembled a wounded, terrified animal.

I suppose that’s what it is, he thought. He sat back on the bed and waited for the demon to finally die, for the water to have its intended effect. It was too easy for him.

But much to his surprise, the demon did not soon keel over like he expected. Ultimately it managed to cough up all the water, and then it fell to the side, panting and reaching back to pull the knife from its thigh. But Louis could not let it have that, for it was a weapon, and even an injured demon with a weapon could be a danger, so he walked to the demon and brought his heel down on the back of its head. The demon merely flinched, so he did it again, harder this time, and that was what put an end to its fight.

Well, it shouldn’t have survived the water, Louis knew that, and any reflexes demons had to vomit were rendered useless in the face of a liquid touched by a priest. It was the easiest and cleanest way to kill a demon, and perhaps his favorite because he could see how painful it was for them. Sick, sick Louis!

So to see the demon had survived, even now with its chest rising and falling unsteadily, was nothing short of maddening for him. He dragged it along by its horn until the demon rested beside his bed, and then he sat down beside it, tugging the dagger free from its thigh. It came free not without protest, and he wrinkled his nose at the scent.

He tied a cloth around the demon’s tail and thigh to stop its bleeding; see, he could be kind. Here was another chance to kill the demon, and he should have, but there was another curiosity in him as if what he were staring at were another carp.

He lifted it easily in his arms and placed it down on his bed once he was sure it would not bleed onto his blankets, as indeed it had made enough of a mess as it was. He lifted himself over the creature, straddling it and leaning in to examine its face. It wasn’t as beautiful as he expected his first succubus to be, and it was rather offensive to him that the first one Satan had sent after him was this pale and hideous, though he found that the long eyelashes and graceful hands were more agreeable to his tastes.

He came to the conclusion that she was female. It was a comfort he was drawn to; for if it resembled a lady maybe then God could understand why he hesitated to kill this one.

When she next woke, she realized that her arms were tied behind her, and perhaps had been for a while, for the rope had started to burn, and her shoulders ached. But at the very least she was lying on a bed when she thought she should have been dead. She looked up and saw her captor staring down at her.

“Does it still hurt?” Louis asked, referring to her wounds.

“What do you think,” the demon retorted. “Why haven’t you killed me?”

Lo responded, “Maybe I am kinder than you first took me for.”

“Or maybe you just wanted me awake for it,” the demon said. “It’s my misfortune that I met a demon hunter again so soon after the last one.”

Louis huffed, his gaze drifting to the side. “How old are you?”

“Almost two hundred years now,” she replied. “I may not have seen much from my place in hell, but I know how you demon hunters work. You would never tell Him yourself, but God knows how you enjoy your job a little too much.”

“Oh, how could I not,” Louis cooed. “God loves to see you suffer, as well.”

“Not for long,” the demon said. “I came here to get baptized. Not as a Catholic, but as a Protestant.”

Lo stared. “Are you serious?” He couldn’t stop himself from laughing, laughing so hard that he fell back on the bed beside her. “A Protestant demon! Now I have heard everything. Do you think you’ll gain favor among humanity this way?”

“‘Tis true!” the demon cried. “I would give everything to be reborn as one of you. When I came here, I meant you no harm.” Her eyes darkened. “Well, I mean it now, because you have harmed me. But I would have never cared about you otherwise.”

Now that was the true offense to Louis; that Satan was not the one that had sent this demon, that no one had, that this creature was here by accident. He stopped laughing abruptly and sat up, glaring at her. “You did not come here to seduce me?” he asked.

“As a succubus I must follow all instinct,” the demon said. “But I hate it. I hate having to find a partner every timeI need to feed. I hate showing so much of my body constantly!” She let her head fall to the side with a sigh.

“I suppose it must be hard to find anyone willing to sleep with you,” Louis said.

“It is harder to find someone I like, but thank you,” the demon said, rolling her eyes. “What is your name? I want to send my hellhounds after you.”

“I will gladly tame them,” Louis said. “Tell them the man they’re looking for is Louis-Dieudonné Bourbon.”

“That’s quite a mouthful,” the demon said. “You can just call me William.”

“William?” Louis repeated. “That is a man’s name.”

“Yes,” William said with a bow of her head. “I am a man.”

“Oh,” Louis said, flustered. “But you...” Well, what was he going to say to that? The demon already defied most things with his existence. If he wanted to call himself a man, there was nothing Lo could say to convince him otherwise.

“What?” William raised an eyebrow.

“Nothing,” Louis said. He stood and walked to the window, peering out of it to make sure they were truly alone. William seemed to flinch at the moon’s light and turned away.

“When will you kill me?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” Louis admitted. He looked at this demon with more curiosity now than outright hatred, though the disgust was still there, and with it, the beginnings of temptation.

“Then you will let me go?” William said.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Lo said, glancing back at him. “I will show you how a servant of the Lord treats his demonic guests. Maybe you can even earn my respect, or, more likely, I will earn yours.”

“Then they wonder why I hate Catholics,” William muttered under his breath.

It was no matter to Louis; for the first night of the demon’s stay, he untied William’s hands and instead tied the rope to the leather collar on his neck, right by the bed. He told the demon that he would have to stay put here, because if it stood at any moment then Louis would wake and just pull him back down. Then he threw a blanket over him and told him to sleep very well.

“On the ground?” William asked.

“Well, surely not on the bed!” gasped Louis. “I know what your game is; I will not play it.”

“The game of comfort, if that is what you mean,” replied William, but he did not say anything more. He turned resolutely to the side, chittering much like a bird as he examined the wound on his thigh. Lo could almost find it endearing if the face he was staring at was prettier.

The first night went well enough, though Louis kept waking up every hour or so, half-expecting to find William lying over him, with his claws either at Louis’ throat or in between his legs. But the demon slept soundly, excepting its rumbling, growling snores and the occasional shift of an injured leg.

In the morning, though, it was the demon that woke him up, batting at his face. “Dieudonné,” he said, nudging Louis’ head to the side. “Wake up, I told you yesterday that I’m starving and that has not changed.”

Louis opened his eyes and rubbed them, turning his head to glare at William. “And you think I will feed you?” he asked. “Do you not eat human food?”

“No, I need your semen,” William said bluntly, and Louis laughed without much humor, shifting his body away from him.

“Perhaps we should try human food first,” he said. “Every morning I go to eat with my mother. I cannot bring a demon with me, of course, so you will have to stay here, and I will bring something back for you.”

“You are leaving me alone?” asked William, his eyes widening. Lo recognized hope there, a plan forming.

“No,” Louis said hastily. “On second thought, I will bring you with me.”

So he dressed the demon up in his own clothes, which wasn’t so hard now that he realized that they were almost the same size; Louis was only taller because of the heels on his boots. The small black horns made the hat on William’s head hang rather awkwardly, but Louis hoped the feather was enough to hide it. What was more noticeable was the tail, so he tied it in a very pretty bow and hid it beneath the overcoat, nevermind William’s yelps and kicks as he did so.

He limped all the way there, but no one did see that, even when he stumbled right into Lo’s path and made very unattractive faces with every step. “I wish you had not tied my tail,” he said, but Louis said it was necessary to hide it, and only slipped his hand under the overcoat to tug playfully at it. William met this with a hiss.

His mother was very suspicious of this new visitor, considering that Louis had never brought her anyone else before other than his brother. Lo introduced the demon as William, a new friend of his who was going to help him with the demon hunting.

“William, say hello,” Louis instructed.

William merely lifted his head at her, then ducked behind Louis, growling under his breath.

“Does he not speak?” Anne asked. “What are you wearing, sir? I swear I have seen it on Lo before.”

“I swear you haven’t,” Louis said tensely. “Nevermind. William, just sit down. He does not speak, but he works better than any other man I’ve met.”

This seemed to do nothing to quell his mother’s suspicion, but what was she going to do? Turn them away? No; she served them their food, resting her hand on Lo’s head the way she always had when he was a child. There was another layer of protection there, Louis noticed, of wariness towards this strange visitor.

William ended up not eating very much, though as they were leaving he looked very hungry, his head turning this way and that like a starving wolf. He did not even bother to thank Anne, only darted outside as soon as he could.

“You keep an eye on that man,” Anne spat as she watched William pace back and forth. “There is something about his eyes, Lo. He’s like the demons you hunt.”

“He is not,” Louis said with a nervous laugh.

With a hand on his shoulder she told him to be safe, to which he replied that he was always safe, and anyway, what could she do if he decided not to be safe one day? What then? He didn’t know what prompted the question, but perhaps it was William’s presence that had him on edge. How it made him sick that his mother had to feed the obscene creature!

Unfortunately, it turned out that this very obscene creature had to join him on other errands, as well. “Lo, cast this demon from my home!” was the command shouted to him everyday, and today was no exception, though this boy believed it was his choice whether to help or not. He always said yes, though, and this, he told William, was what made him adored.

“I am considered merciful.”

Not very merciful, William argued, because what fool would call the horrible things Louis had done to him last night merciful? Was letting a succubus starve merciful? Was cutting off one of its only defenses merciful? Louis said yes, absolutely, why was he asking, and dirty William did not answer.

That day William watched Louis kill and exorcise twelve demons. Lo told everyone who asked that this was just his assistant, nobody important, and he told William to watch very carefully. Watch very closely, because one day, this could be you. Everyone thought Louis to be a wonderful mentor; not William. He watched through narrow eyes and he knew what was meant by this could be you.

When they returned home, Louis tied the rope back onto the demon’s neck, tying the other end onto a wooden post outside, right by the stream. William fought much at this, with a bite nearly deterring Louis.

“I do not want to sit here outside,” William said. “My leg hurts, and so does my tail.”

“Suffering is good for you!” Louis beamed. “Consider it a new way of asking for God’s forgiveness.”

“You did this to me,” William hissed. “It cannot be you who will convert me.”

Louis ignored him and sat by the stream, watching the fish go by again. He had already ruled out the possibility of William ever becoming a Christian after witnessing the awkward creature stumble around today like a sick deer. He wanted to mock the demon for it, but he was more annoyed that the temptations of last night had not disappeared.

He told himself that it was fine, this would be a challenge for anybody; after all, when would there ever be a chance like this, when someone walked into his home and asked  —no, William demanded— for intercourse? For the touch of a noble human like Lo? He would have considered himself very lucky if he didn’t see right through the demon.

“I’m still hungry,” William said behind him.

“I am not feeding you,” Louis snapped.

“Then why do you keep me?” William leaned forward, and Louis turned to see his teeth gleaming in the fading light. “What is the point? I’ll leave this place soon enough, but I’ll kill you before I go. I want to rip the smile off of a demon hunter’s face.” With a fierce roar he jerked his head violently to the side, and Louis gasped as the rope tore in half, an end hanging off of William’s collar.

“Oh, look at that,” Louis said. He began to reach for the dagger in his belt, but William leaped forward and threw him back against the water. Louis gasped as his head was forced under, and the black claws dug into his neck to hold him down. 

Was this the way the demon hunter would go? Drowning at the claws of a worthless succubus? No, Lo knew that could not be the case, so he kicked out as hard as he could with his heels. His eyes stung, and he was forced to shut them, though he knew that only left him vulnerable to whatever William had planned.

“Insolent human,” William spat as he pulled Louis’ head out briefly, his claws ripping into his hair. “You will see what comes of capturing me.”

Louis met this with a glare and slammed his heel as hard as he could into William’s thigh, right where his injury was. William cried out, his grip on Louis loosening, and Louis pulled himself away, lifting himself back onto the grass. He took deep breath after breath, trying to cough the water up in him.

“Just rubbing salt in the wound, aren’t you?” he heard William say. “Except this time it’s your stupid boot.” Louis narrowed his eyes, hearing the whipping of William’s tail in the wind behind him.

“Look at me,” the demon said.

Louis couldn’t answer. He looked up, saw William’s claws raised high.

There was another way to die. Louis rolled to the side, kicking William’s legs out from under him. William let out a frustrated hiss as he fell, and Louis leaped up on top of him, shoving his head down by his horns.

“You are insane, little demon,” Louis said, “if you think you could have killed me.”

“I still can!” William swiped his claws in the air, and Louis leaned back, taking William’s flailing wrists and pinning them down roughly over his head.

“You will shut up and you will obey me,” Louis said firmly.  “You are absolutely not going anywhere. The more you fight, the longer I will keep you here, and the longer you will starve.”

“What does it matter?” William sneered. “What I have realized now is that I would rather starve than let you be the one to feed me. Repulsive little brat, you only care for your pleasure and not of anyone else’s.”

“I could absolutely care!” protested Louis. “But maybe you make it impossible for me to care about you.”

“What is impossible is for you to care about anyone at all,” William said. “The problem is in you, not in me.”

“I can love,” Louis said. He leaned in and slapped William across the face, the demon snarling at the impact. “Do you want me to show you love?”

“No!” William struggled fiercely under him, and Louis sat back, taking William’s tail in his hands and coiling it around his fingers. The bloodied cloth hung off in a manner that caused it to have an appearance much like the sharp tip Louis had cut off.

“Keep up this behavior and I never will.” Louis stood and placed the heel of his boot right on William’s head as he sat up. “Very well, we’ll go inside.”

So they went inside, and there went another night that poor Lo could not sleep. William seemed to lie down and be just fine, though he moved constantly, and Louis could not take his eyes off of him. Every movement made him reach for the dagger under his pillow.

In the morning Lo was furious because of this, so he tied William’s tail tighter than he had yesterday. William didn’t protest much this time, only snapped his jaws in the air and shook himself with displeasure. Despite the fact that he had slept all night, he looked more exhausted than yesterday.

“Keep your head up,” Louis told him as they stepped outside. “If your hat fell off, your horns would show, and they would tell me to kill you. And I would.”

“I hate you,” was all William replied with. But he kept his head up.

He ate less than he had yesterday, only picking at the meat, and with what insolence! When he decided he was done, he pushed the bowl to the side and sat up, limping outside once more. Louis followed and brought him back in, and as Lo spoke to his mother, the demon fell asleep with his head resting on the table. Just as he let his head fall, the hat nearly swept off of his head. Louis hastily caught it and adjusted it around William’s horns.

“What was he doing last night?” Lo’s mother raised an eyebrow.

“Someone sent for us around midnight,” said Louis. “There were a few persistent demons there, but nothing I couldn’t have handled on my own.”

“If he does not want to eat what I offer him, then I will no longer feed him,” Anne said. “Do not bring him here, Lo.”

“I cannot leave him alone—!” Louis said, only for William to look up and blink his bleary eyes at him.

“You should have let me go if you and your mother were going to talk about me in my presence,” said William. “I can be alone, Dieudonné. I’m not going anywhere.”

“Out, then, take him,” Anne said with a huff.

Louis’ face flushed, and he stood, taking William by the wrist. “Forgive me,” he said curtly, and with that the two made their way outside.

“You do not show such disrespect to my mother,” Louis said. “You do not disrespect my mother.”

“Well, she should not have disrespected me,” William said. “And neither should you. I told you I am hungry and I will not eat the meals of humans.”

“So you will feed on us instead?” Louis asked.

“Why would I?” William sneered. “You would never allow it, anyway.”

No, indeed, Louis could never allow it. And he showed William why— he slew the demons that they crossed that day as well, and William watched with perhaps more disgust than he had yesterday. But he did not object, not even under his breath, only glared at the demons as they caught his gaze. Was this his attempt at showing he was better than them? Well, Lo did not believe that, either.

He told William so later that night, that nothing he did would make him better, but he encouraged trying it out anyway.

“Why would I try being better,” William asked, “if you don’t believe I can be?”

“Surely my belief matters little to you,” Louis said. He was tying the rope back around William’s collar. He tugged William forward, causing him to stumble and nearly fall on Louis.

“No,” William said. “Not at all.”

For the third night in a row Lo could not sleep, but this time William couldn’t either, restlessly pacing around by the bed. His tail kept batting at Louis’ face, so he sat up and untied the cloth, replacing it with a newer, darker one. It looked more like a bow now, even closer to the appearance it had before.

“What’s this?” William waved his tail in his own face.

“Does it not look pretty?” Louis asked. “More like you.”

“I am not a doll you can dress up as you please,” William said.

“Then take it off,” Lo said.

William did not. He rested his head on the wall and Louis lay back down as well, and finally he was able to sleep. In the morning he truthfully did not expect to wake up at all, but he did.

“Can I stay here today?” William asked as Louis dressed. His voice was quieter today, and Lo could not pick up any emotion from it.

“To stay here and escape,” Louis said. He pulled up his gloves and flexed his fingers curiously. “No, you may not.”

“Please, I have none of the energy required to make a step out of this house,” William said. “I would not want to leave if I had the choice.”

“You don’t have a choice,” said Louis. “Get up, William.”

But William did not stand, only curled his tail in closer. “You cannot expect me to walk with this wound. I swear it gets worse everyday. And you have not fed me! There is no way I can leave in this state.”

“I will not fall for your act of weakness,” spat Lo.

“It isn’t an act,” William protested. “I cannot go out with you today, Louis!” He stood as he said this, his legs shaking slightly.

“You did it yesterday and the day before,” Louis said.

“Through gritted teeth!” yelled William. “And your mother does not want me there!”

Louis’ eyes widened slightly. “How dare you raise your voice at me, demon?” He stepped forward, but William met his glare fearlessly, panting like a wounded dog.

“I will never kneel before you,” William said. “I will never respect you. You’ll have to rip the dignity out of me.”

“Maybe I will,” said Louis. He took the dagger from his belt and twirled it carelessly around in the air. “On your knees, William.”

“Never,” William growled.

Louis met this with a backhanded slap first, taking advantage of the demon’s brief shock to force his head down onto the bed by the horns. William hissed loudly, but could not do much to struggle as Louis held his knee over his back, one heel on his tail. He lifted the dagger and traced the blade all along William’s back, laughing as it heaved with heavy breaths.

“I thought every demon was taught to respect their hunters,” Louis said. “Especially in the state you are in.”

“No demon was ever taught that,” William said, glaring back at him. “You think you deserve respect for taking me into your home and nearly killing me?”

“Yes, every bit of it,” said Louis. He dug the knife into the pale skin below the black harness he wore, and William shuddered, biting into the blankets to stifle a whimper.”What? You will heal.”

William didn’t answer, didn’t say another word as Louis dug out a cross in him. He circled it and hummed with satisfaction, pulling William back by his horns.

“You look good like this,” whispered Lo. “Scared of me now?”

“No,” William said, wincing as Louis huffed against his cheek. “Get- get away from me.”

“You can stay,” Louis said. “But follow my rules.”

William turned his head sharply to snap his jaws at Louis’ face, and Louis shoved him to the side, slamming his head against the wall. “You still try to bite me?!”

“I will never obey you willingly,” William said, blinking rapidly as if he was fighting to stay awake. “I only stay here because I have...no choice...” He took a deep breath, shutting his eyes and letting his head fall back.

“Very good,” Louis said. He backed away and left the demon as he was.

As much as he tried, though, he could not forget William, and was terrified of finding him gone when he came back. He pretended that very demon he exorcised that day was William, mostly to convince himself that he wanted the demon gone. But Lo knew he did not. He could not. At least he felt the slightest bit of guilt over that; good boy!

Much to his relief William was there when he came back. He was sleeping, and the wounds on his back had healed, like Louis expected. Maybe he could leave this demon here alone after all. His mother would be pleased not to hear of him again.

It seemed that William hadn’t been lying— the next day, and the day after that, he seemed lethargic, only mumbling a protest whenever Louis tugged slightly at the rope on his collar or approached him. It became almost like having a pet around; one very unpleasant cat. He mostly slept now and refused to answer any of Louis’ questions.

If anything, Louis thought this annoyed him more. But he could not find it himself to complain— he liked the empty look in William’s eyes, how gleefully stupid it made him look. That was all he was, wasn’t he? An idiotic demon, desperate to feed off of the sins of humanity.

But what was worse, Louis found, was his growing willingness to be the supplier of that sin.

So when he next went to confess himself, he said this:

“There is...someone...who makes me feel things I am ashamed to say.”

“Say them.” Mazarin sounded bored. “Lo.”

Did he recognize Louis’ voice? Of course he had; stupid Lo. He swallowed.

“I- I just want to take that demon to bed...”

“Demon?” Mazarin asked.

“Demon—!” Louis coughed. “No, of course not. Not in the literal sense. As a demon hunter, you know-”

“Your mother told me of the man you brought around her a few times,” Mazarin said. “And she said that he is obviously a demon, with those eyes of his. Is that the demon you speak of? A male demon, Lo, no less.”

“N-No, she is paranoid—” Louis rushed to defend himself, but Mazarin interrupted him.

“If you do not kill that demon soon, it will become a danger to you,” he said. “And a danger to your connection with God.”

“I know-”

“You do not know. I am telling you now, as a friend— kill that monster.”

“Is that what I must do for penance?” asked Louis.

“No, you must do it for yourself,” Mazarin said.

So that was what Louis intended later that night, to kill the sleeping demon that had somehow ejected the water touched by Mazarin. As he approached it with his dagger held high he found himself apprehensive, staring down at the sleeping face. It was just like the first night.

He shook William awake. William only blinked up at him, weakly trying to bat Louis off as the latter pushed him on his feet and dragged him outside.

“So this is it? Will you kill me?” William whispered into his ear.

“No.” Louis set him down in front of the stream, and William lay back on the grass. In the moonlight, his horns glimmered before Lo’s eyes, and his gaze raked all over the pale body made paler by the night.

He looked back to the stream. The carp still swam there.

He turned to William and untied the cloth from the wound on his thigh. He hissed in sympathy at what he saw there, the skin around it swollen and still warm, though it may have just been the cloth that had been there for days.

“What?” William narrowed his eyes.

Louis brought William closer and began to pull his clothes away, until that demonic body lay completely exposed before him. This whole time William did not make a sound, merely watched suspiciously and attempted to cover himself with his tail.

“Here,” Louis said, removing his nightgown. He slipped into the water first and dragged William in beside him, holding him up to his chest. It wasn’t very deep, the water only made it up to their stomach, but it was exactly what Louis needed.

“Get your hands off of me,” William muttered. His tail slapped against Louis’ legs.

“You need me to hold you up,” Louis said. “You cannot stand on your own. Calm down; if my theory is correct, your wounds will heal up by tomorrow morning.”

“What- why?” William looked back at him. “I don’t believe it. Not in this awful starvation, they will not.”

“No?” Louis lifted the demon’s head and pressed his lips to William’s neck. “So I suppose you must be fed.”

“And you intend to feed me?” William asked.

“Hm? Is it not what you wanted?” Louis said. “It is what I want. You see, I can be merciful.”

“Merciful? After everything you’ve done?” William laughed, but too high and too forced. “That word is not- not yours to say.” Louis felt him shudder against his kisses, felt the tail slowly stop lashing and instead shake at the tip.

“I would be thrilled to be allowed this honor,” he went on. “You want to at least have a fighting chance?” He shoved William out of the water, pinning him down against the grass by his wrists. “Then you will accept this, what you have long been waiting for.” He flashed him a rueful smile, then bent down to push his legs to the side and bury his lips into the demon’s cunt.

William gasped sharply, but Louis did not stop there— he let his tongue in as far as it would go, sucking and kissing as if it were worship itself. He stroked at the base of William’s tail as he did so, and heard William still gasping, pushing his body up in approval.

“This is- this is not enough,” he let out, his eyes shut. “You must—”

“What? Take you myself?” Louis asked. “Trust me, I shall. I’ve wanted to do this since I saw you fucking yourself on my bed the day I met you.”

“You son of a bitch,” William mumbled, but not for long as Louis bowed his head again. He laughed as he tasted the wetness with his tongue, and not just from the stream.

“I knew you would be easy to take,” Louis purred, lifting his head and tugging at the rope on William’s collar. “Maybe this is why I have kept you alive.”

“You have kept me waiting for too long!” William cried. “Do this now or kill me!”

“Of course,” Louis said. He leaned forward and thrust himself inside of William, pleased to hear the subsequent whimper from the demon. As for himself, it was just as wonderful as he imagined his first time would be, and especially with a succubus— this creature was made for him.

He did not wait for William to become comfortable with the feeling; no, he’d been waiting for this for too long, as well. So he fucked the demon as quickly as he pleased, and William met every thrust with a loud cry, echoing throughout the trees. He dug his claws into Louis’ shoulders, his tail whipping against the demon hunter’s thighs.

“Oh, Louis,” breathed William in between his moans, like a prayer, “oh, demon hunter, take me—! Yes, there, like that, good boy—” He groaned into Louis’ ear, shifting under him to meet the rapid movement.

“Like every dream I’ve ever had,” Louis whispered, stroking William’s face as he bent forward to kiss him. William jolted as if it shocked him, but he returned the kiss briefly before turning to the side, trying to catch his breath.

“No- no more kissing,” he said. “I hate you.”

“Oh, how can you say that?” Louis clenched his teeth, disguising his pleasure as a messy smile. “After everything I’ve done for you?” He pulled out for a moment, pushing William to his side and lifting one of his legs to his shoulder to continue in that position. William dug his claws into the grass, opening his mouth in a soundless scream as Louis drove his cock deeper.

“Ah- Louis!” William turned his head slowly to the side, but Louis jerked it back with the rope so that he was staring right into the demon’s eyes.

“Look up here,” he ordered.

“No- no, I cannot, I—” William shut his eyes, and Louis began to pull out. At this William’s eyes flew open. “W-Wait, Lo—!”

Louis laughed. “Oh, if I had known you were this easy to control, I’d have fucked you a long time ago. From the moment I saw you.” He slapped a hand against William’s thigh, the one with the wound on it, and William let out a shaky gasp as Lo shoved himself back in.

No one had been lying about the feeling of a succubus; Louis thought he might never want to pull out. So he didn’t, not when William was begging him to finish inside, not when Louis knew nothing could have stopped him anyway.

“Remember who gave you this strength!” And Lo came right into the filthy demon.

William shuddered, letting his head fall back. Louis waited a moment before pulling out, letting his cock slide out in between William’s thighs for good measure. What a mess Lo had made here!

“What do you say, demon?” he asked.

William looked up and forced a thank you out through his fangs. Louis tilted his head to the side with a smile and yanked the rope sharply towards him so that the demon was forced to sit up.

“Look me in the eyes and say it,” he said.

“Thank you,” said William.

“There. It is the least I deserve— after you forced this temptation out of me!” Louis pushed him away and took hold of his tail instead, tugging it back at the base. “You monster! You are ripping me away from God!”

“I never forced you to do anything!” William snarled back. He yelped and attempted to pull his tail free. “You have captured me and you have kept me here! Let me go— we can forget about each other and-” He cut himself off with a vicious scream as Louis felt a satisfying snap at the base of William’s tail.

“Did I hurt the little demon’s tail?” Lo cooed. He held up the tip now; it was fully healed, as he had suspected it would be, the triangle shape satisfyingly sharp again. He untied the bow and leaned forward to tie it around one of William’s horns. “Poor baby.”

William made no sound save for a few pained gasps, and Louis examined his body to see if everything else had healed properly. It had, so he stood and pulled his nightgown back on. He glared down at William before taking him by the collar and dragging him back inside, shoving him against the bed.

“Look at you,” Louis spat. “As pathetic as you were the day I met you.”

“I should have never come in here,” William huffed out. “If this is God’s punishment—”

“Then God is very wise,” said Lo. He climbed into the bed beside William and wrapped his arms around him, in particular gripping hard on the collar. William coughed, his body shuddering as he did so, but at least he didn’t move. He stayed there, in Louis’ arms, and that was where he finally fell asleep.

Noble Lo thought he was so kind, lying there with an unholy creature beside him. Perhaps he was right.

In the morning, the bones in William’s tail had healed like the rest of him had. Louis stroked the demon’s head on occasion as he got ready to leave, as usual— what was unusual was how exhausted William still appeared, despite having been fed last night.

“I can trust you to stay here?” Louis asked, kneeling beside him.

“Yes, sir.” William bowed his head, and Louis couldn’t help but bark out a laugh.

“There we go,” he said, stroking William’s cheek with the back of his hand. “This is the gratitude I expected and wanted. Know that no one else would ever want to lay hands on you. I do it at the cost of my soul. And you have none, demon, so you know nothing of what that is like.”

William nodded, and Louis turned towards the bed, picking up his nightgown and throwing it at William. “Here, put this on,” he said. “Allows you a little bit more modesty. Now, you wait here for me, alright?”

Again, William nodded and obeyed, and that was when Lo began to wonder— was the vixen faking all this? Did he want to look weak so he could escape later? Well, that would not stand, Lo could not lose his demon! He took his dagger, pinned William’s head down against the pillows, and drove the blade into his other thigh this time.

The demon screamed once more, though it was muffled by the pillow his face was buried in. He dug his claws into the sheets, and Louis gently took them and pinned them behind him to tie them together. 

“Do not get on the bed until you’ve healed again, I would hate to come back to blood on the sheets,” he said.

William let himself fall back to the ground, panting in between his whimpers like a sick dog. He shut his eyes and Louis left him as he was.

The first question his mother asked him when she saw him again was how he had slept. She patted his head once and the second question she asked was if he had gotten rid of the demon, like Mazarin had ordered him to.

“Yes, I did,” he lied. “I made sure it hurt.”

“Then you are safe after all,” she sighed. “That was very kind of you, Lo.”

So very, very kind. Kind enough to kill the other demons as he saw fit, but when it came to William, he knew he was enjoying himself too much.

He was going to do it! Tonight, he promised himself— no, he was lying, because when he returned, he found William fucking himself with his tail on the bed, his leg thankfully healed once more, but his hands still tied behind his back. So that would explain the tail.

“Oh, Dieudonné,” he was saying. “Oh, God, take me...”

That was his name! Louis stepped back, less appalled at the scene and more horrified because he realized he liked what he was seeing.

“William,” he said. “You have missed me?”

William didn’t even look up. Louis frowned and took the riding crop from his belt— he had no horses to use it on as of now, but it scared some of the less powerful demons. He sat up on the bed beside William, who looked back just in time, his eyes widening as the whip came down on his thigh.

He let out a fierce hiss, like he was more annoyed than anything, and Louis took his tail, curling it around his fingers like he would a strand of hair. “Disgusting, filthy succubus!” he scolded William. “Now I have to wash this, too.”

“I can wash it myself, in the stream,” William said. He let himself fall back on the bed, curling in his legs to cover himself. “If you would untie me.”

“You are clever,” Louis said. “But no more than I am. No, you are staying here. I have a better solution.” He flicked his knife out, and William cried out, kicking his legs out at Louis, knowing very well what was coming next.

Louis sliced off the tip like he had the first time. He muffled the subsequent scream with a kiss, pinning William’s legs down and running his fingers over the demon’s cunt. He felt William jolt under him, gasping into the kiss, slowly falling still beneath Louis.

“Is this not what you wanted?” Lo whispered. He began to slide the nightgown off of him, but William only shook his head, letting his head fall to the side.

“Leave it on...it smells like you.”

“Oh, even you do not know what you want anymore,,” Louis said, shaking his head as if he were disappointed. In reality, he was too happy to fuck the demon in this very moment like it had been wishing.

It was easier this time, with William’s hands tied behind his back. William was also far more receptive this time, hardly moving at all, instead letting Louis fuck him however he liked. He was whining, panting like an honest bitch, as pleased as Lo was, but on occasion he would screw his eyes shut and bare his teeth as if there was something else within him that he was refusing to let free.

“You want it in you?” Louis sneered.

“Oh, yes, yes, please, Louis—!” William nodded rapidly, and Louis pinned his head down to the pillow by grabbing onto his horns. William grunted, but he had no time to complain as Louis came in him.

“We’ll see if you starve now,” Louis said. He lifted William’s head to press kisses, and then bites, against his neck. Much to his disappointment, the demon made no sound, only sighed, his now fully healed tail shaking slightly.

“Good boy.” Louis ran his fingers through William’s hair and pulled hard. Now that brought a whimper out of him.

Lo could get used to this, he thought, and William certainly would have to.

Lucky that he seemed to catch on to the game quickly, then; for whatever Louis asked of him, William obeyed and gave it to him. There was no fighting the day after that, only begging for more of Louis’ touch, for more of the strength that Louis promised. Every kiss was returned, though without much hunger there. And best of all, the demon stayed put throughout the day, waiting for his master to come back, and then offering himself up when Louis did return.

And Lo gave him what he wanted. He fed his William, his sweet, obedient William, who knew to shut up when he pulled out his dagger and just pay attention. But he realized he didn’t have to use it as much anymore; the threat was sweeter than the blood it shed.

As exciting as these days were, he ended up not thinking much of them in the long run. It was second nature to him now— expecting to take whatever he pleased from that unholy creature! Maybe William deserved it, but did ungrateful, ever-starving Louis deserve it? Of course not.

Then God sent something to stir him from this hedonistic dream, or rather someone. After a mass like any other, where Louis no longer bothered to ask for forgiveness, he heard a deep voice call out to him from behind.

“Sir.”

“Hm?” He glanced back, looking straight at a woman- a man— no, he didn’t know what he was looking at. He would have thought they were a woman if they didn’t dress so similarly to him, if it weren’t for the knife on their belt. What was most startling, however, were the bandages tied tightly over their right eye.

“You are the demon hunter of this town?” they asked. “Louis.”

“I- yes.” Louis was unsure of whether or not to take their hand to kiss it. “Did you need a demon exorcised?”

“No, I can do that myself. My father taught me.” They bowed their head. “I’m a demon hunter as well. My name is Mary.”

“Oh.” Louis still didn’t know if he should kiss her hand; ultimately he decided not to. “Hello, Mary. It is not so common to see ladies in this field.”

“Well, I was a man when I started,” she said with a sigh. “But that was never what I came here for. You see, I have been travelling for quite a while now, conversing with every demon hunter that I can find, for I have lost a demon that I must find...for my own purposes.” She pointed at her bandaged eye. “He did this.”

“My God,” Louis breathed out, narrowing his eyes. “He must have been quite vicious. I may have exorcised him already if he came to this town. What did he look like?”

“He was a succubus,” Mary began, and Louis’ heart stopped. “Lovely auburn hair. The sharpest blue tail, so sharp it was when he lashed it that he took out my eye. But he...he had the most beautiful brown eyes I have ever seen.”

“Is that so?” Louis swallowed. “I believe I did exorcise him, after all. You will not find him here.”

“Oh,” Mary said. Her gaze darkened. “I see. I’m sorry if I bothered you, I just- I’m sorry.” She turned resolutely away, and Louis let out a sigh of relief.

William was waiting for him on the bed when he returned, lying on his side as always and watching the birds intently through the window. He liked to do that often, look outside. Louis sometimes wondered if it was all he ever did when he was gone.

“William, dear,” Louis called to him, and William looked up. He then turned his head away, and the sunlight falling over his body, most of it easily revealed under the clothing he had first arrived with, made him all the more tempting to Louis.

“How was your day, sir?” William asked. Though Louis knew he was never very interested, he still liked him to ask.

“Very interesting, actually.” Louis slowly took the rope tied to his collar and then pulled back as hard as he could, forcing William up on his knees. William grunted sharply, looking back at Louis with wide eyes.

“What- what happened?”

“You told me nothing of the first demon hunter you encountered,” Louis snarled. “You took her eye?! And for what, attempting to kill you? That should have come as no surprise to you; you should have known not to cross us.”

“It was an accident!” William protested. “I- I’d been injured after fleeing from my home, and she came to me— I simply meant to turn around and run, but she was in the way of my tail, and when she fell and stained the river with her blood, I thought- I thought there was no point in staying for her to kill me.”

“And you want to call yourself a Christian?” Louis said. “A good Christian, even a Protestant, would have stayed to help her.”

“I realize that now,” William said. “But in the moment, I wanted to live.”

“Well, she has come for you now,” Louis said, pinning his demon back on the bed. “She came here to ask me if I had seen you. She wants vengeance, William.”

“What did you tell her?” William asked.

“That I had already exorcised you,” Lo snapped. “Ungrateful whore. Come here and thank me properly.”

“Thank you, sir,” William mumbled, though he looked as miserable as ever as he pulled Louis’ breeches down. Louis gripped his horn and shoved him inward, so that in a second William had swallowed all of his cock. He felt the demon shudder under him, but he understood what he had to do and obeyed.

“I know you monsters always liked it directly down your throat,” Louis said. “Make sure I finish first before you feed.”

William looked up and nodded. It wasn’t long before Louis had taken his horn again and held his head there so that he could fuck the demon’s throat as he wished. When he thought he was done, he pulled out and came all over William’s face and his open mouth.

“Good boy,” Louis hissed out through gritted teeth. “Very good.”

William swallowed what he could. “Thank you,” he choked out.

“Now that I have chased Mary off for you,” Louis said, pulling William’s head up by the rope, “you know why you have to stay here, don’t you? You could never leave now.” He knew, logically, that there was no way William would want to leave him at this point; after all, what other human could provide him with such a constant energy supply? But he still felt compelled to ask now and then. It worried him irrationally, as he deserved as well.

“No, sir.” William shook his head, wincing as Louis pulled him closer.

“Good. You will be good for me.”

William’s eyes drifted shut and he said, “Yes, I shall.”

“Very good.” Louis saw the way his tail dropped to the ground beside him, and he wondered if he should cut it off again. No, it was too pretty— but perhaps a reminder was in place. So he spent much of the night tying bows onto William’s tail, and told him that for each time William disobeyed his master, Louis would pull off one of the bows. When the number of bows was zero, the punishment was up to Lo.

What he didn’t expect was for the bows to run out so quickly. One would suspect it was because he was too eager to punish his demon plaything, but you couldn’t tell him that.

There were eight bows in total. William ran through seven of them in a few weeks.

One: he did not look Louis in the eyes when he sucked on his dick again.

Two: he did not moan his master’s name as he rode him.

Three: he did not look Louis in the eyes.

Four: he did not look Louis in the eyes.

Five: he hid away when it rained and Louis had wanted to hold him.

Six: he refused to go back inside when Louis took him outside to bathe him.

Seven: he did not look Louis in the eyes at this very instance, as he shifted his hips back and forth over his master’s boot. Louis raised an eyebrow, tugging on the rope to bring William in closer.

“Look up here, or another bow comes off,” he said. He had to laugh as William grinded faster. “Stupid, uncontrollable little demon. You look pathetic, dear.”

William bit his lip, though succeeded little in stifling his whimpers. He glanced up at Louis but then looked down again. Oh, how wet he was, what a mess he was making— Lo would have to make him clean it off his boot when he was done. That sharp tongue had to work for its meals.

And so do those eyes, he noted with displeasure.

“Well, William, this could have easily been avoided if you had just looked at me when I asked,” Louis said once they were done with that, both of them sitting beside the stream. He shook his head disappointedly as he pulled the bow from William’s tail.

“You never cared this much before,” William said indignantly. “I told you I could not do it.”

“Yes, you can,” Louis said. He tied the bow back on William’s other horn instead. The bow he had tied on first was still there. “There we go. Still all pretty and decorated for me.” He leaned in to kiss the horn. “Are you hungry, dear?”

“Not right now...” William hesitated. “And I am not sure I will ever be again.”

“What?” Louis jolted. “Why not?” He pulled William in by the rope.

“Come, Lo, you did not seriously believe I was going to be content with just you forever.” William shook himself. “I must find other humans...”

“But why? Am I not the only one you’ve ever liked?” Louis narrowed his eyes. “And the only one who would not kill you right upon seeing you. You know, William, that I am indispensable for you.”

“Sir, I am...grateful,” William said, and Lo hated how he spat out the word. “Very, dutifully grateful for your attention. It is all I have ever needed—!” He tore his head back viciously, and the rope snapped in Louis’ hands as the demon bounced back with a hiss.

“Oh, you little monster—!” Louis yelled. He reached for his knife, but in that instant William was swiftly upon him, slamming his head back against the grass. Louis jolted with pain, trying to throw William off, but it seemed the demon had the strength of God flowing through him, nothing like the first time he had fought back. His claws came to pin down Louis’ wrists, and Lo glared up at him defiantly. He was not scared, he was not scared.

“Why would you feed someone that despises you like I do?” William asked. “Why would you do such a thing, Dieudonné? Someone like you cannot forget that doing so would give me power.” He snapped his jaws near Louis’ face, and Lo drew back with a shaky gasp.

“Well, how was I to know you would do this?” he retorted. “Let me go, monster. No good Christian would kill somebody who fed them when no one else would.”

“Precisely. But you made it very clear that I could never be one, or am I wrong?” William curled his lip back in a sneer, lifting his claws to Louis’ throat. “I will spare you, but not because you ordered me to. Only because you fed me and gave me the strength to fight you.”

“I should have let you starve.”

“A very good thing you did not.” William sat back, and Louis shuffled back, his eyes wide. “I will go now. If you follow me, then I will kill you. No hesitation this time.” He ripped the last bow off his tail and turned away. “Goodbye, Lo.”

Louis, foolish boy he was, could not believe what he was seeing. His beloved demon! The one he had fed and kept here for so long, the dearest company he had ever known—! The truest form of rebellion there was!

And now he dared to walk away. No, this was not the way things would end. Not so easily.

“William,” he said, “you know what happens when the last ribbon comes off.”

“What?” William glanced back, eyes narrowed. “I never belonged to you.”

“That’s where you are wrong.” Louis stood and took a step forward, forcing a convincing smile on his face. Really, he wanted to sink his teeth right into William’s traitorous throat.

“Oh, really, now, what will you do?” William said. “You think you can defeat me now with all the strength I have? I told you that you do not have to die.”

“William, look,” said sly, clever Lo, “just because you leave now does not mean I will ever forget you. I want us to part like we always have. Come, one more kiss for poor Lo?”

The demon’s eyes widened, and Louis’ smile became just a little more real. He had him now.

“Why do you want to pretend you loved me?” asked William. “Even before I met you, I was sick of it. The things that have happened to me— none of it was love.” He turned fully to face Louis, crying out, “Do not lie to me anymore!”

“Of course a demon would not know what love is,” Louis said. “Do you think love exists in hell?”

“I had— friends—”

“None like me,” Louis went on, “who fed you and made you beautiful. Even though I shouldn’t have,” he added, “you managed to endear yourself to me, through your devotion. You were simply always there, William, and you came when I needed someone like you.” He stepped closer to his demon and took William’s hands. “If I hurt you, then you disobeyed me, and disobeyed God.”

“You- you do not know what love is,” William said. He shook his head, trying to back away, but Louis pulled him in by his collar.

“And what makes you think you would know more than I would?” he asked. “Please, enlighten me, dear—”

“Do not call me that!” William swiped his claws at Louis’ face.

It was hard enough to push Louis away, enough to make him to fall on his back on the grass, enough for him to realize that he could see less stars on the sky than before. And they were all unfocused, and he did not know if it was the pain in his head or the blood in his eye.

My eye. My eye! He gasped, sitting up and lifting a hand to his eye, where William had run his claws through. He tasted the blood running to his lips, and he turned his head to see if the slick fluid on his fingers was red. It was.

Surely I can still see, he told himself. The pain is not so bad.

Right? He looked up at William in shock.

But the demon was unfazed. He glanced down at his bloodied claws and turned away. “I hope you held no illusions that I ever loved you,” he said simply.

Louis would kill him now. He took the dagger from his belt and stumbled forward on all fours. He thought he was about to faint, but he couldn’t let William leave like this. The tail was so close, dangling before his face—

He pulled back on it as hard as he could, and William hissed, looking back only to cry out in shock as Louis took hold of his foot and dragged him down with him.

“Oh, you have never been denied anything before, have you?” William snarled. He raised his tail over Louis’ head, but the hunter slammed his heel back down on the tip, and William let out a pained shriek.

“You are going nowhere without me.” Louis coughed, trying to clear the blood from his lips. His whole head was stinging, burning now. “Tell me you will stay—!”

“I’ll kill you,” William spat, “if that is what you wanted.” He tried to pull his tail out from under Louis, only for Lo to drive the knife into his side. William screamed again, his body arching off the ground, and Louis grinned, crawling over him. His own blood dripped onto William’s face.

“What do you think of another man in you, William?” he asked. He forced the demon’s legs open, starting to pull the cloth from him. “At the same time, too. Mindless slut!” He pushed the dagger in deeper, and William gasped, tossing his head back.

“L-Louis—!” He kicked his legs out; Lo praised God under his breath for taking the strength from this demon through the knife. “It- it must not be this way—” The demon was weeping now, shaking his head as Louis pressed kisses to his face and neck.

“How could you do this to me, William?” he asked. “You did this to the hunter Mary, too, yes?”

“I- I didn’t mean it,” William told him through his miserable sobs.

Louis leaned back, holding his hand over his eye again with a slight groan, so he didn’t see the flash of silver beside him, right before a blade ran through his neck.

He opened his mouth to scream, but he could manage nothing but broken gasps. The blade was pulled sharply free, spraying blood all over his face, and he fell to the side, staring at William. Now, how had he done that?

No— it was not William. There was a taller shape illuminated by the moon beside him, sheathing the blade and glaring down at him. God help him, it was Mary.

“I forgive him,” she said coldly, “so there is no need to pretend you have any right to issue out divine consequences.”

You have killed me, he tried to say. He couldn’t lift his head any longer.

“Poor dear, he has stabbed you.” Mary knelt beside William, who shuffled back rapidly.

“Get away from me, hunter,” he said. His own breaths were labored, Louis noted with satisfaction.

“You know, my father stabbed me once, in that same spot,” Mary said. “It hurts very, very much. Do you want some help there?”

William. Louis weakly lifted his arm, reaching out for his demon.

“Do not touch him!” Mary kicked him in the side, and Louis grunted, his head rolling back so that it lay partially in the cold water. The stinging seemed to spread throughout the rest of his body then, and he shuddered. William’s body had been so warm beside him.

Do not leave me here—! He opened his mouth to speak, but something flooded into the back of his throat. Was that water, or was it blood? It was too thick to be either.

“Come with me,” he heard Mary say, “I just want to help you get the blade out, and then you can leave.”

“Louis lied to me...”

“Yes, and he lied to me, too. I knew you were here.”

“He said you wanted vengeance.”

“Oh, lies. All lies, as always. Come, leave him to die there, alone...” Louis heard footsteps then, and he looked to William one last time, holding onto Mary to keep himself up. He was leaving, after all.

Very well. He shut his good eye. He could leave, too.

I will see you in hell, William.