#i wonder if there will ever be another shift

[momo-minomo]

I just intended to check tumblr for a moment before bed when this post caught me by the fucking throat. It’s now past 1:30am and I’m feeling loopy from the melatonin I took so forgive me if this drabble is trash lol.

I’ve made a huge mistake, Clark thought absently.

It had seemed so reasonable in the moment, both he and Bruce were hurting and exhausted after a near wold-ending threat. If Bruce hadn’t been every bit as clever and dauntless as he is Clark would have been trapped in the phantom zone with the dozens of world ending enemies that he’d put there, all of them wanting to tear him apart strip by strip. If Clark had been a fraction slower to react when he’d escaped their enemy would have torn out Bruce’s too-kind heart.

Having come so close to losing each other the pull to be near him, to get his hands on him and grip until they stopped shaking like that was inescapable. Undeniable. It was like being caught in the gravity well of an imploding star. All heat and the need to come closer, brush skin on skin and share breaths. They knew it was bad idea. Knew they needed clear heads to lead the Justice League and clear schedules to protect their separate cities.

When he’d pushed his forehead gently to Bruce’s, his best friend had clutched at his arms and pulled him closer, a broken “Kal.” the only sound in the little medical room he’d found Bruce belatedly catastrophizing in.

They should have forced themselves to separate and walked away because if he’d thought Bruce was on his mind too much before…

Batman sits strong and indomitable as always across from him, his sharp mind probably tearing data and observations from Green Lantern’s report to shreds and identifying a million problems the rest of them never saw coming. Clark will have to watch the security footage of this meeting later because god help him he can’t stop staring at Bruce’s mouth below the edge of cowl.

He knows what that mouth tastes like now. Know how it feels against his lips, his skin, his…

The quiet crack of displaced air startles him out of his memories. He barely resists a second flinch when another crack sounds and Flash is suddenly back in his customary seat beside him holding a sandwich he didn’t have 3 millisecond ago.

Taking a deep breath, Clark sternly reminds himself that he and Bruce had agreed it would only happen the one time exactly for this reason. He straightens up and determinedly tears his eyes from the man across from him and back to Hal.

The Lantern falters for a second under the weight Superman’s intense stare, clearly wondering what the hell he’d done to piss off the Man of Steel, before soldiering on.

He’s never in his life been more aware of a person he wasn’t even looking at. Bruce’s breathing was steady but a little shallower than normal, possibly from bruised ribs since he kept shifting subtly on the inhale to curl ever so slightly on his left side. Kevlar weave armor rasped near silently over the ridges and valleys of old scars he’d traced with hands and teeth and tongue.

Realizing he was subconsciously tapping his finger in time with Bruce’s heartbeat and that it was going a little fast Clark stilled the movement and snuck another quick glance to Bruce.

He was looking straight at him. Clark blinked hard, surprise getting the better of him. Without meaning to he peers straight past the cold lenses of the cowl and into piercing blue eyes dark and intent with desire. They were every bit as captivating 6 feet away as they had been 3 inches from his with Bruce moaning into his ear and his strong legs over Clark’s shoulders, flexible in a way a man with his bulk has no right being. For the sake of Clark’s sanity if for no other reason.

He takes a mental note to put some cash in Ma’s swear jar as a down payment. He has a feeling he’s gonna need it with how utterly fucked he is.

superbat, but they’re the next victim of the “surely this indescribable tension and attraction between us will be solved by just having sex once and realizing that we’re not all that compatible and being together isn’t actually something we want” trope and fucking doesn’t make it better, it makes it worse. so much worse.

[just-null]

*gives null his favorite things in hopes of thinking about this*

What if, from all the stalking the Hantengu clones had done to their darling, their darling develops a lot of paranoia and doesn't let anyone near anymore?

Or maybe their darling has a lot of trauma from man going awful, unspeakable things to them?

((I don't know if I should refer to their darling as female or male and that's my first time ever asking a favorite creator of mine, please don't judge me))

((the Darling can be whatever you want them to be, but I'll always be as neutral as possible, so don't worry! 🐸💖))

Considering that these men are also horrible, it's not surprising at all to find yourself going insane! I wasn't sure whether not letting anyone close included the boys or not, so I did both!

[Cw! Yandere behavior, unhealthy dynamics, obsession, manipulation]

Your sudden shift was wonderful at first! They finally had you all to themselves, and it gave them so much more time to evenly spread your attention between themselves without getting into usual fights.

When finding out about your paranoia, they feed into it, affirming your fears about others just to have you rely on them further. Never stray too far, not like you can, but it's better to be safe than sorry.

Do you want to go out but you're too scared? Wait, right there, they need to decide who goes first to clear the way while the others stay close by!! that way no one will bother you!

Their favorite hobby is stealing—er—borrowing! so you don't even need to worry about something as silly as money or finance to get what you want again!! All you need to do is ask, and it's yours.

Their bias is prominent. Where hantengu would yelp and shout, they'd laugh and scold, but if you were to do the same, they'd comfort and coo. It's cute.. do you want them to get rid of something for you? Hold you? Comfort you?

Nothing really annoys them (aside from each other) now that you fully rely on them. Be as clingy and jumpy as you want, and they'll coddle you. Being spoiled rotten is the goal as long as you continue to cower at the sight of another soul or the thought of being alone.

They almost seem like decent lovers at some point, solely focusing on you and your needs. Jealousy is at an all time low now that they don't have to worry about anyone else. They even begin to hide their violent tendencies, too happy that you're with them to care.

It gets to the point where THEY had to be the ones to leave for important tasks lest they be.. "scolded" by a man you don't need to stress over.

It's devastating when they separate from you.. When they fight, their attacks are ruthless. Brutal. Bloody.. Even Urogi and Karaku are more productive because the image of their beloved all alone and trembling has their unbeating hearts aching.

Even with all this, they're still scummy rats who work together to make sure things go their way.

Sekido doesn't rile up your paranoia unless you insist on going somewhere alone. "Be careful, don't wander off. Yell and I'll go get you, who knows what's out there." He's content with your fears already. In fact, he's.. sweeter. He doesn't get as mad as he used to, only slightly irritated.

Seeking him out to protect you from something small gets the most blissed out expression from him momentarily. His hold is still as firm as ever, but he doesn't insult you as harshly. Quiet grumbles like "Such a baby.. what is it this time?" are frequent, yet he does whatever you want.

Karaku is NOT helping at all. Ever since he noticed you got jumpier, he thought it'd be fun to make you squirm, though he probably teases too much and makes you cry.. Pointing and gasping at nothing, making noises from other rooms, asking, "Did you hear that?" until you're visibly shaking from every little creak.

But it's okay. He opens his arms every time and pets your head, cooing at you, "D'aww, don't start the waterworks, c'mere. I'll knock it off, I was just playing..! Even if I wasn't, you really think I'd let something get you? Never!"

Urogi probably will give you terrifying heart attacks. Because you're so dependent on them now, he can't contain his love for you the second he sees you. One second, you're conversing with one of the boys, then the next a blur of feathers and glowing yellow eyes barrels towards you, toppling you to the floor.

He can hear your heart beating through your chest as he presses his ear against it. He loves the sound!! "Did I scare you again? Hahaha!! You know it's only me who does this to you!! Anybody else would be dead before they even made contact. I love how warm you are, the thump of your heart, the feel of your skin, everything about you makes me too happy!!"

Aizetsu is your worst enemy.. He needs a damn bell! Each step is too quiet, and he knows this. it's purposeful. You need to remember why you're paranoid in the first place, so he lurks around, letting you find him if he's feeling kind or giving you that feeling of being watched if he's not. He doesn't do it for long, preferring to be the one you hold instead of watching the others make an opportunity out of his methods.

When he lets you find him, he pouts, tilting his head as if you're the one who intruded on him. "Dont mind me, I'm making sure everywhere is safe. Did you need something..? Or did you feel how much i missed you? Oh, you're so nice to me.."

———

But then.. you began growing distant towards them.

They're not sure what happened. Honestly, they might take it as rejection at first and double down until they notice you're TERRIFIED. They pause and regroup, planning their next course of action.

They're not as aggressive, just confused and hurt. Attempts to be considerate come off very stiff, but they're trying. They can tell you're not faking it. The terror in your eyes is undeniable.

They do a 180 and fight often when alone, blaming others, then each other for being too much on you. Their muffled yelling and thumping from fighting are loud enough that you hear, though they try making it up to you later.

Even if they're extremely upset about it, they put their feelings aside for you. There's no use talking to someone who won't listen.

Their attitudes get a lot more cautious but desperate. They've dealt with Hantengu's jumpiness and constant crying before, but being the cause in your case makes this more complicated..

They attempt to give you your space, and insist you stay home. Don't like the home you have? They'll find you a new one, a better one, and promise not to get too close. Give them some time. After that, they get rid of any external factors that could be harmful to you.

Unsurprisingly, they can't help themselves and will try to approach and speak to you, even if behind a wall or at a distance. Probably set up a wall divider just so you don't feel as scared to speak to them.

They're desperate and want what they once had with you.. please don't shut them out. this wasn't how it was supposed to go.

Emotional reassurance isn't their strong suit (ironically). They never comfort anybody, not even Hantengu. Combat is their expertise! In their mind, fixing the problem outside will fix the problem inside ..At least, fingers crossed that they do.

It's because of those villains out there that you're so scared in the first place. What kind of disgusting shameless bastards assume they get the privilege to think of you, much less be near you?! The second they know what these "men's" faces look like, their insides will decorate the ground and-!

Ahem—

Let's just say they took a page from Akaza's book and treat men a little meaner than women. As in, making sure at least one bone of theirs is broken if they so much as breathe in your direction.

During the attempt at rehabilitation, they fall into roles according to how they handle you.

Sekido is your bodyguard that makes sure the others behave and you're taking care of yourself. His once long fuse shortened since he began blaming the others for your paranoia. He can't help but be protective. As much as he hates it, he won't focus on anything if he knows you're unwell. He doesn't say much aside from grunts and scoffs in hopes of not scaring you further.

Karaku tries to lighten the mood and fills the silence with stories about what he's seen throughout his life, excluding the violent and aggressive details. Maybe even random stories he's heard, just to try and get your mind off of whatever is troubling you. He doesn't speak directly to you but around you so that you'll probably overhear.

Urogi is the material comfort, bringing you gifts that the others check before they get left outside your room. The gifts aren't as ripped or scratched as they would usually be, but that's because he's trying extra hard to give you something that'll hopefully make you feel better! With his talons and excitement, Urogi doesn't see you as much anymore unless it's through the window when you're asleep.

Aizetsu is the one who frequently speaks to you. He loves gathering information about you and hearing you speak in general. It's a pity you speak less, and when you do, there's a slight tremble.. it's cute, but you sound so miserable.. His airy, soft voice and gentle attitude grow sweeter when announcing himself, "How are you feeling? it kills me to see you like this.. please, tell me what to do to make everything better.”

The eyes you feel get worse since they're overprotective of you. At least they're not as secretive about it! They're insistent and happy that you avoid other people all together, though it'd be much better if they were an exception!

[saint-augustines-pears]

One of the interesting ideas I've picked up on as a woman reading through political history is the difference in what being a leader in medieval history means versus enlightenment. In medieval poetry (Gawain, Roland, Beowulf), a leader rules out of love for his people. He does not rule because he wants power, he rules because he knows he is able to serve them well. He is to be the humblest among his people, not proud and tyrannic. He is one of them. In essence, the ideal good in medieval history is to provide a place in which virtue can flourish. These ideas are explicitly taught by Gregory the Great, in the Pastoral rule, which is worth a read.

Versus Enlightenment, where the good shifts ever so slightly from virtue to stability. The people are no longer people, but another environmental factor to the ruler's rule to be controlled. A good leader does not serve his people on their journey to heaven, he focuses on his own stability in power regardless of what it is he rules.

I'm not about to say that medieval history was filled with good rulers, or even that there were very many. But the philosophic ideas around leadership during that time were very different from the ones that Machiavelli taught. And I wonder how this effect plays out when we consider the relationship of men and women.

[pinep-ne]

Physically cannot stop thinking about your stuff <3, would love to see something with charthur hair care/braiding cause I know for a fact that Arthur is mesmerized by Charles’s hair

I wanted this to be cute but I had Adrianne Lenker playing the entire time I wrote it so... have something very flowery and sentimental instead... (Arthur gawking at Charles but poetically)

(i have this fic and more posted on ao3!)

----------

Arthur knows he can watch now.

They've camped near the chilled river nestled somewhere in the yawning valleys of the Grizzlies East. A gaping cove, holding their quiet love between two staggering hands, like the space between palms held for prayer. It shields their contentment from this world, their dance. Just so that Arthur knows without a word spoken that his gaze is welcome to fall anywhere.

Watching Charles bathe himself in any body of water is not a new experience for him. But watching Charles in general is no less arresting. He is fond of everything Charles is. He finds he can keep himself out of that narrative, selfish as it is, to rid the need of reciprocation he still cannot understand. Take what he desires and shut himself from accepting that very affection.

Watching never hurt anyone.

He wonders if Charles entertains it, even. The ease of his stature, of his presence. Some embodiment of something humble and grand that Arthur can't ever seem to pinpoint. Or neither. There is always something to admire. Whether showered in blood and anger and gun smoke or slack-faced and drooling on their shared pillow the few violet minutes before dawn.

It may be now, that Arthur could admire the rippling water around Charles' lower abdomen, or the soft flesh of it. The corded muscles of his back, shifting like divine machinery in every movement. The portrait of his face, aglow in the glaring limbo between afternoon and evening, blurred like velvet when the sun hits Arthur's eyes. It's an image he often indulges in, but not the one he has set aside for different worship.

Arthur is rightfully captivated by Charles' hair.

He stopped midway through undressing to simply watch the process. The care with which Charles washes it. The length it reaches when saturated and weighted with water. Pooling like a fountain of ink when the river reaches his neck. Snaking around like silken ribbons when he sinks beneath the water's surface. When they wake tangled in the morning, and he is veiled by the feathery strands. When they are close to one another, as intimate as Arthur's currently pursuing gaze, and he may find with his fingers where it meets the scalp. Burying himself there, clinging and carding through the strands, soft like nothing he's ever thought to seek nor hunger for.

Charles doesn't have to look back at Arthur.

"You're staring," he says.

It's hardly audible by the distance they are from each other. The timbre whispering against Arthur's senses, resonating only warmth. He decides enough is enough, and finishes peeling his muddied clothes off himself. Eyes averted down at the accusation, he joins Charles at the river.

The water could be warmer but he doesn't pay mind to it. He wades till his heels barely scrape the muddy sand and he must balance himself with his arms out in the current. Charles watches him, soap bar in hand. With a smile, he holds it out for Arthur to take, and kisses him firm. It leaves Arthur's chin wet.

Arthur takes it. Charles sinks down, nearly floating on his back, crown to Arthur's middle, looking up at him with the same brightness. Arthur looks down with plain reverence.

He hadn't thought it possible, to shrink himself in the narrow space of his heart that allows this sort of tenderness. To even relish in it without shame or reluctance. He lathers the hair above his hand, taking each section with undivided concentration. He watches Charles' features all the while, placid and quiet. Only sparing a few peeks at Arthur, relaxed and focused as he is, for the late sun that hits his eyes when he does. It is best to close them. Arthur thinks he might do the same, and they may both fall asleep to be taken with the current. He smiles at the thought.

Each time he feels he's become accustomed to the rhythm of their affection, it becomes apparent under the assumption of scrutiny. It is easier, more so on their lonesome trek, but still persistently resurfacing in dreadful bouts. They will bounce back like the collision of two universes. Arthur cannot handle the quiet. Charles can't handle the certainty. It's too true for either of them, and something they are both terribly inexperienced with.

But in this moment, like many others, it is the easiest thing to be true. Arthur works the soap in, infused with oils and herbs he's forgotten the name of. He thinks of all the times he's wished for something like this and thanks the world for letting him have it, small as it is.

When he's scrubbed most of the soap out, and the sun has hit below the jutting valley, Charles looks back up at Arthur.

He hums contentedly, beaming. A gesture which suffices as a thank you upon the surface. I love you woven beneath it. Dunks himself once more into the water, and leaves Arthur to bathe himself before the evening chill hits for good.

When they are both settled for the night, nestled against each other before the fire, Charles asks him to braid it.

"I ain't very deft," Arthur says.

Charles' voice fills every inch of him. "I want you to," he responds.

Arthur often returns to the knowledge that Charles' want is a force he's found only a certain devotion in. So Arthur sits behind him, all but wrapping himself, and tries his best to apply what he can remember. There are layers and a handful of errant curls all around, but the process is consoling and steady.

When he's finished, they meet eyes again. The braid leaves a thin, downy curtain in the front of Charles' face. Arthur watches the cascade framing his features, unmoving but dynamic, like strikes of graphite on paper. Charles feels for the braid with his hand, whispers his gratitude, and kisses Arthur again. It speaks everything needed to be said for the night.

[antinousletmehit]

Heeyyy beautiful human 🫶

Was wondering if you could do another tiresias x fem!reader?? He sees everything in the future...except her 😮(Bella and Edward who?) and she's super blunt and straight up tell him he's pretty

Idk if this made any sense 😭

Luv u <333

୨୧┇Pairing: Tiresias x Fem!reader

୨୧┇enjoy!

────୨ৎ──── ────୨ৎ──── ───

Tiresias sat on a weathered stone, his mind was elsewhere, piecing together fragments of futures yet to unfold. You approached cautiously, the crunch of your footsteps breaking the silence. You weren’t intimidated by the prophet, but there was a way in how you carried yourself, as though stepping too loudly might unravel the fabric of his visions.

“Another visitor,” Tiresias said before you could speak. His voice was deep and calm, with a weight that seemed to come from knowing too much. “Odysseus sent you?” You shook your head, realizing that he couldn’t see you. “No. I came on my own.”

His head tilted slightly, and though his empty eyes couldn’t meet yours, you felt the sharpness of his attention. “Curious,” he murmured. “Most people come to me seeking answers, yet I can’t seem to see you.” You blinked, surprised. “You can’t see me?”

“I see all futures, all fates,” he said, gesturing with his hand. “I see past and future running free. But you…You’re an strange. I can’t see yours.” You tilted your head, considering his words. “Does that bother you?”

“Bother?” Tiresias chuckled dryly. “It intrigues me. I’ve seen the rise and fall of kings, the betrayals of lovers, the deaths of humans. And yet, you remain a mystery.” There was a pause, long enough that you started to feel the weight of his gaze—or lack of—again. You shifted your weight from one foot to the other, biting your lip before deciding to speak.

“You’re pretty,” you said, completely straight-faced.

Tiresias blinked, his usually composed demeanor faltering for a moment. “What?”

“I said, you’re pretty,” you repeated, folding your arms as if daring him to argue. His lips parted slightly, as though he was searching for a response but couldn’t quite find one. Of all the futures, all the fates he’d witnessed, this was clearly not something he’d predict.

“No one’s ever said that to me before,” he finally admitted, his voice softer than before.

“Well, they should,” you said with a shrug. “You’ve got that whole mysterious, wise thing going for you. It works.” Tiresias let out a breath that was somewhere between a laugh and a sigh. “You’re a strange one.”

“Thanks,” you replied, grinning.

For a moment, the silence between you wasn’t heavy or ominous, it was warm, almost comfortable. Tiresias tilted his head again, as though trying to see you in a way his visions couldn’t.

“Why are you really here?” he asked after a beat. You met his blind gaze with unwavering honesty. “Maybe I just wanted to see the great Tiresias for myself. Turns out, you’re not so scary.”

He chuckled again, shaking his head. “You’re either very brave or very foolish.”

“Maybe both,” you said lightly. “But if it makes you feel better, you don’t need to see my future. I’m not that interesting.”

“On the contrary,” he murmured, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “You may be the most interesting person I’ve encountered in a long time.” Your grin widened, and without thinking, you reached out to place a hand on his shoulder. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Tiresias didn’t flinch or pull away. Instead, he simply sat there.

[reidhalstead]

He should know nothing but the taste of blood in his mouth. Transfigured from satisfaction — the flesh against flesh, of bodies pressed close; sacrificing inhibitions, and life and death — to a bitter, vile thing that he's still spitting out of his mouth. Droplets of red decorated the carpet, his chin; his clothes. She wants the god of war, the newly crowned Kratos that has wrath and conquest imbued in his skin, painted the same shade of crimson. She's drawn his blood, with nails and bullets. Reid's still her canvas, but her inspiration is a shifting reckoning force.

What did you think would fucking happen? The fuck does he know? He hates himself plenty, and he doesn't need her knowing he's thinking of something as pitiful as I thought you saw something else; I believed you when you looked at me like I wasn't a monster. But he is, and it's his own fault that a shred of hope had convinced him that he might not always be. Towing the line of hope and loss, like it wouldn't crush him in the very end when self-loathing had a chokehold on him.

His head snaps to the side before he might formulate an answer, cheek blossoming warm for a second too long. The taste of metal is fresh in his mouth. He's slow to turn his gaze back to see the fury in mossy hues where only shortly ago, there had only been another kind of heat swirling within.

Reid doesn't want to fight, even if the shortfall of his condition says he should. Survival instincts whisper to him that she's vulnerable; bulletless, with a recklessness he knows too well. No. He can't. He won't — don't make me.

But he knows the brutality of Anika and her mutilated soul; she calls herself a hunter, to fill the gaping cavern of loss, and grief. Nothing alike. Nothing alike. Physical pain waterfalls right off the cliff edge, shrouding the cave that's behind; a hidden cove only those who brave the waters dare ever find.

She's banging her fists against the stone, shoving him as he flinches with each unpleasant crack of her own hand, his ribs, whatever weak, vulnerable part of his body she'd ripped open and stuck her fingers into. She's a feral coyote — hyena, screaming where laughter once was. There's a flash of colour, when her feet slam into his chest and have him losing balance completely. He hisses — he feels defeated, whether it's by her hand or his own surrendering. The monster desires to remind her, what she's provoking (and how quickly she's drained him of everything; a kicked animal bites back after so many beatings).

His hands snap up to catch hers when fists dare try to crash against his bare chest again; they're coated in his blood. "Stop pushing!" A snarl of a sound that crosses the threshold of pleading, but only enough so that he can tighten his hold on her wrists, to confirm the severity of his warning. Reid forgets how hard he shoves, when he forces her back, feeling the weakness threatening his muscles; the verbena stings where it's refusing to flush out of his system. A slow-acting poison that he's sure he'll succumb to soon enough so Anika can finish him off. He wonders if she'll give his family the news, or punish him even after his final end by telling them a lie. He doesn't know if he can stomach that.

Booker's flying back, smacking the rear of the sofa on her route. Reid's mouth opens instinctively when he realises his fangs have slipped and he's baring them at her. "Enough, Anika. Fucking, enough." It's too late to pretend he's anything but exactly what she sees him as. Bloodshot eyes have his vision darkening and he's looking at her whilst feeling every gruelling injury she's inflicted; from the bullets to numbness in his thigh, where a moth punished him once — the ghostly pressure at his throat, where another insect had fluttered against the flesh. He can't falter now, don't hurt her, he says to himself as he watches how easily she'd been sent backwards. Even with all those wounds he's contending with. Reckless. They both were. He follows after her, light steps of a killer wrought to the surface. Kill her. He winces when his movements become staggeringly fast. They're sloppy in his tattered form and there's no wall to act as a crutch, just the healing body of a vampire, facing a hunter scorned. No, don't. Some part of him just wants her to hurt a little when he wraps an arm back around a waist that doesn't want to be close, and a hand tightens a stiff claw beneath her chin, clasping the top of her throat, drawing her near. Monsters don't ask; he'd asked her all night the right things when he'd gained her permission to taste her skin the first time; that memory is lost to the void, a fever dream now; a delusion.

That self-loathing is spiralling right into the innate self-preservation that she's coaxed out with every violent press of a trigger.

"This, is what you want, isn't it?" He squeezes below the sharp of her jaw; he doesn't need a trigger to take the wind out of her. She wants it all to feel like she's hunted him down and it's an execution, right? Reid's given her all the opportunities to dust him and spit on his ashes. He's simply stood there and taken it. Broken and hateful. But he's done with this. If she needs an excuse to feel whatever trivial peace, he'll convince himself he owes her that. Regret is a burning pyre set alight between the points of his ribcage. He'll form the half-lie in his hunger; blinded by the beast, because she has all that he needs in her veins to numb it all. It's her that's got them here, as much as it's him. Sourly, in his gravelly harshness, he tells her, whilst the sun teases his periphery again, "It's on you, that you didn't notice the signs." A tch weaves past his teeth, "That's what is truly pathetic. But I think you know that, princess." It's why she's coming at him so hard, without a final strike.

Loss and lost remain to be the crashing waterfall they're drowning beneath, there's no hope of finding the hidden caves in the rocks behind when they're so familiar with the cool, aching familiarity of what it feels like to be adrift in the deep.

Finish him. It wasn't her voice, but another, in the forefront of her mind. Whispers that turned into screams in her ears. The familiar echo of a sound she knew too well; a familiar ring to each scream, chanting to end his life. And a promise, she swore to keep. Her hands twitched and shook, when the last bullet found his skin and then the floor leaving bloody evidence of a barrel all lost on a beast she couldn't kill. A promise. she swore to keep, but couldn't. Not because she didn't want to, but because her hands did not feel like her own, and her face — numb and pale, did not feel like her own, and her heart slamming uncontrollably against a fragile cage, did not feel like her own. She'd never felt her body more alive; every nerve set on fire, skin hot to the touch. Before him, her heart was as fucked up as his was; black and motionless.

Anika couldn't remember the last time she let a beast walk away from her. The last time she granted somebody her mercy. Pity wasn't something she felt — not for someone like him, not for anybody.

Every man she'd ever met had been nothing but cruel. When was the last time someone pitied the woman who had to kill parts of herself to survive? When was the last time a beast showed her mercy?

Because it was monsters like him that had taken everything from her. And yet, her eyes were filled with sorrow for the dead man on the floor, squirming in agony, twitching violently, gasping for air. She only stood over him, with a gun long empty. The sharp blade of her self-hatred glided across her throat, threatening to rip at the skin with every moment passed that allowed him time to heal.

All those bullets meant nothing, when not one of them punctured his heart. Not one of them rid her of him. He was still alive, in the most monstrous way. Dragging himself upwards, struggling to keep his body straight, to become once again a worthy opponent, a punching bag for her to use and then dispose of. She was supposed to dispose of him, not the other way around. I regret you. No, no — not the way this was supposed to be. His fault. This was his fault. His fault, for giving an abandoned hound like her attention, because now she wanted nothing but.

She hissed through gritted teeth: "Good." What a terrible time to be given something she didn't want to lose. What a terrible time to be given something that would completely shatter her to watch turn to ash. What a cruel fuckin thing to give her, when she had decided a decade ago, that she would rid herself of wants and needs, and stupid things like finding comfort under someone else's covers, the only person she'd trusted enough to fall asleep next to, wake up next to — their own little fucked up, domesticated, mundane universe, in which she was blind and foolish, and he was alive and warm. And they were both free — of self-hatred, and pain.

She watched that world disintegrate, while it spat them out into the vast cosmos. And back so quickly, into a world familiar and dark, deadly and completely ravenous where he was a monster and she was his executioner. Only she couldn't swing the axe high enough to slice his head clean off, instead uncertain, trembling hands got the weapon stuck half-way — not letting him die, but not letting him live either. "That's your fucking problem now, isn't it? At least I didn't fucking know, but you did. And still — what did you hope for here, huh? What did you think would fucking happen?" bitter tongue spun cruel words into existence, fabricated them from lies to truths.

Cruel, and despicable things were her lies. Cruel and despicable like putting him on her path and expecting her not to fall for the touch against her spine that whispered safety, the brush against her arm that grounded her — offered her trust, the kind that urged her heaviest burdens, and her heaviest losses to spill out of her. The ones that twisted her, and bent her out of shape, that made her less mortal man and more his kind of beast. The kind of tenderness she hasn't known for years, and had to give up after only a moment. She couldn't mourn the loss, not when she could do something better, something familiar, that was very much her, the version of her that she'd built for years, only for him to turn into dust over a couple of months. It was him holding the stake over her, buried deep into a hollow chest. That sorry excuse of a heart that only he— Don't be fucking ridiculous, Anika.

She wanted his fury, and his hatred. Let's see how far that regret go.

Her hand swung at him, backwards with the sharp metal of the gun slamming into his cheek. Stop fucking talking. His head almost unscrewed itself right off. Burning eyes, like a forest on fire, screamed at him — to be seen, to be acknowledged for the raging disaster it was, "Fight back!" spat out, as if an order. Then she banged small, but mightily fists into him; across his chest, and over his face. Pushing him into the corner of the room, right against his door. "Fight back—" louder, like a beast. She wanted to take every broken whisper, every trusted word, every shared weakness and shove them down his throat. She wanted to fuck him over, like he had. Those kicks to the gut came quicker and harder. "I said— fight the fuck back." Anika would relish in his hate. He was right. It was better, easier— than to mourn the loss of his love.

[erigold13261]

I WANNA HEAR ABOUT THE ARACHNIKIDS ALWAYS BEING WITH SAYU CREW AU THAT YOU JUST TALKED ABOUT (sorry if this sounds too demanding but I’m so intrigued!!!!)

lol, you're good! I was able to tell this was more intrigue than being demanding!

[Adding this after I wrote everything. This came out a LOT longer than I intended. I said I wasn't gonna get into the history or that this would become a fully fleshed out AU (I still don't think it is honestly) but I did write a lot more than I intended. I probably forgot some stuff or went off on tangents and didn't connect back, but your ask made me start thinking a lot so have fun reading all of this! Especially if you were really excited about this AU, I hope I did it justice lol]

I will say, this probably isn't going to be a super fleshed out AU (not like most of mine are half the time lol), so instead of some complicated backstory as to why the Arachnikids and Crew ended up as a group, it will be more simple (so I'm not going back into super past history during like the border war or something to justify the group forming). [[I say this and then I kinda go into a justification as to how this group came to be later on down the line lol]]

I also don't have exactly much for this AU at the moment. I did see your ask you sent about your ideas for the AU, I forgot what it was at this moment since I just skimmed it since I want to give a version I think would happen before possibly altering it with other people's ideas (plus I might want to doodle something with your ask if I get time). So I'll give what I think this AU would hold.

So firstly, I honestly don't think that ALL the Arachnikids would be in the group. Well I guess that depends on who you consider an Arachnikid actually. If you see Hobie as one, I don't see it really being in the group, same with Noir or Porker.

I do see Pav, Miles, and Gwen as definitely being in the group. By extension I can also Gaya since Pav would be in it. For Margo and Peni, it can a toss-up honestly where they could be or could not be.

This actually does call into question how Nueva York would be affected by this without Miles. Looks like Hobie, Noir, and Porker aren't getting out all that soon unless they complete the programs. But anyway, let's just ignore that can of worms for right now and just get onto the mermaid part lol.

Also, so I'm not constantly using Sayu Crew and Arachnikids, I'm just gonna say like the team so I don't have to keep using both titles.

Anyway! I think the team would still start with Tila and Remi interacting at first (Tila stealing Remi's art for one of her songs/covers then apologizing after realizing what she did). Then instead of bringing on Dodo and Sofa, it is Gaya and Pav who join next because of Remi and Pav's relation to Eve.

I can see Pav and Remi being friends after meeting as kids when Eve took Remi to see her side of the family at some point (Eve being so much older she was hanging out more with older members of the family while Remi gravitated to Pav and that age group of the family).

Once Remi and Tila kinda teamed up I can see Remi telling Pav this (either in person on a visit or online) in a very excited manner and then it turns into Pav and Gaya wanting to join in and have fun.

It's mainly just animatics and drawings with some voice acting, sometimes a short full animation would come out, but it got quite a few people interested online. That would be where I can see Gwen getting really into these mermaids online since they expressed a kind of teenage femininity that she wanted to be, which then led into Miles getting into these mermaids to try and have something to talk about with Gwen (and later becoming a pretty big fan himself).

Once the team so far saw how popular they were getting, Remi and Tila recruited Sofa and Dodo respectively since they were already friends and knew those two had skills that could help them out, which only helped the quality of their project to keep getting better.

Miles and Gwen being really big fans of the project probably made their usernames known to the team. Especially if Miles and Gwen made fanart and tried making some music , which made them really popular in this little fandom that started to be made online.

Overtime I honestly see Miles and Gwen virtually becoming part of the team (like how Pav and Gaya were mostly virtual compared to the Crew was still physically close to each other).

Miles and Remi would work as designers for the mermaids. Gwen would help make music (Miles would help with lyrics) but also became another voice for a third mermaid (before it was just 2 with Tila and Gaya. Before it used to be one with Gaya the talking voice and Tila the singing voice, but that changed as they got more popular, some fans still get confused why Sayu's voice changed lol).

Pav also helped out with inspiration and stuff, making cool looking realms, landscapes, designs and more with his powers (kinda looking like AI art from the early days, before it started becoming like photo realistic and junk like that) and having Gaya take pictures to send to the team to work on.

I can also see Pav doing cool stunts that Gaya would record and send in to the rest of the team. Things that Dodo just wouldn't be able to capture with mo-cap either because he lacked those skills, the environment wasn't right, or it went beyond what mo-cap could actually capture at the time.

All of this was going well and good, except that Sofa was basically doing all the editing and putting the whole project together by themself, and were starting to get very overworked since almost none of the others could really help them out in this area. I think Miles definitely would have started learning more editing skills to try and help Sofa out at this point (maybe Ganke taught him or Ganke might come in at this point, I don't know what Ganke's lore is and if he has a tech background).

However, what I see happening is the team kinda asking for help with their project, like if any of their fans would want to help them out in this area or knew someone who could be hired (these are still teens who aren't part of NSR yet, so it's not like they are completely rich or rolling in money).

But the team is in luck! One of their more recent fans is really good at tech stuff, especially things like 3D animation or rigging up avatars! This would be when Margo ends up joining the team. She and Sofa work on the editing and software of the mermaids, with maybe Remi and Miles helping with video editing at times.

Now, at this point, I would say that the mermaids (Sayu, Aoi, and Yua are definitely made at this point, or at least versions of them are) have been around for maybe like 2 years. I can see the team is still about a year away from actually being signed onto NSR. I do think it took the OG Sayu Crew a long time to get enough skill and recognition to be at the Megastar level we see them at (not to mention having to get hologram tech at some point because I doubt Sayu was on the screen when first performing at a Light Up audition).

So right now, the Sayu project, or Mermaid project (whatever it would be called because I doubt it would be called the Doki Doki Mermaid Club in this AU, as that was a spin-off game that was made after Sayu was NSR in my version of things), has Remi, Miles, Tila, Gaya, Gwen, Pav, Dodo, Sofa, and Margo.

The mermaids I'll just use the names I gave them, but honestly with this AU they might change drastically because of the added people in the creation process. Sayu is voiced by Tila, Aoi is voiced by Gaya, and Yua is voiced by Gwen. I can actually see Gwen at some point during the time working on the project probably came out socially to her friends as trans and so when Yua was being made a decision with the team was made to one day make her transition (which happens before joining NSR) so that Gwen could grow with the role as time goes on and she does more voice training. As of now though, Yua is probably like a merman or a mermaid but the backstory hasn't been fully revealed yet and so just has a slightly deeper voice (as Gwen at this point hasn't done any voice training at all).

Miles, Pav, and Remi are all working on visual art for the project. Gwen, Miles, Tila, and Remi are working on songs. Dodo, Pav, and Gwen are working on the motions/mo-cap. And Margo and Sofa (with some help from Miles and Remi at times) are working on the editing and software of the project.

All of this is well and good, but like I mentioned earlier, they are gonna have to figure out a way to get Sayu into the physical world in order to ever be able to try out for a Lights Up audition. In the OG version, I can see Eve actually helping Remi get connections, but in this AU I can actually see Peni being the person they go to.

I like the idea that Peni's family is very tech savvy (most of them probably are technomancers) so she would have the resources to help them. This is probably before she accidentally killed her father with her powers messing up his medical equipment at the hospital.

Honestly, I think it would be really nice if being a fan of the Sayu project could have helped her with her technomancy. Like I can see her making mini robot figurines and stuff because she was inspired by seeing the mermaids and thought their designs were cool and just naturally honed her work through a hyperfixation. So yeah! In this AU kits father is probably still alive! How cool is that! :D

Anyway, I can see Peni making some cool hologram or something of Sayu, something still pretty wonky and not perfect, and posting it online in the fandom/community space. Which absolutely catches the attention of the whole team as it was something so cool, done by someone so young (I see her as the youngest of the Arachnikids).

There would definitely be a line of communication that opened up about how cool kits work was and all that. Peni would be so happy to have been recognized for kits work and show kits parents happily! Something something, I don't really know how this part would happen, but I can see Peni joining the team.

Maybe her dad travels a lot and (considering I see him as a technomancer) probably has connections to robotic works in other areas (like Vandelay or J-1), which would allow Peni to go visit the main part of the team (the OG Sayu Crew) and talk about making an actual working, life-sized hologram of the mermaids.

Either that, or I can see Peni being able to visit Miles and Gwen (as they are closer than Pav and Gaya or the OG Crew), and there they make "live action" videos of the Mermaids. It would required a lot of editing and really good internet, but I can definitely see the team working together to make this video happen (it definitely would not be a livestream for a while as they sort out all the bugs or find a way to get everyone into one area).

Actually, this could be how Ganke gets roped into the situation! He could have been the videographer for any life action stunts as well as like a boom operator with his silencing powers. The team never had to worry about weather conditions thanks to Ganke's powers!

This skill would later help the team when they were working on shot compositions and stuff. Making sure all the mermaids were framed correctly at all times. This would be one less thing Margo and Sofa would have to focus on which allowed special effects (especially in livestreams) to become so much better since both editors could work at the same time without having to focus on 3 mermaids.

This new addition of a different media like this would really push the mermaids' popularity skywards. Especially considering people are now asking if they could meet these mermaids in person. Fans started comparing them to robot stars like 1010 or other robotic artists, which was just a huge boost in confidence for the team.

Honestly, I can even see a new mermaid being put into the mix. The only ones left are Haru and Renho, and I can kinda seeing Peni's voice and personality fitting Haru a lot. That kinda leaves Renho out of the mix, which I am sad about.

The only way I can really see all 5 being in the mix is if Margo ends up also being a voice actor (the team probably wanted to keep mostly feminine voices with an exception for Yua who would later get a more feminine voice as Gwen voice trained).

I can see Margo actually taking up a voice acting role, but that would shift the roles around a bit, but if Ganke is also on the team, as well as Margo and Peni learning how to use their powers more, this is definitely something that can happen!

So in this case, to have all 5 mermaids present before they ever end up at NSR (which I think would kinda be a goal at this point for the team, but they also just want to have an established group of mermaids) the roles would kinda look like this:

-Voices: Tila (Sayu), Gaya (Aoi), Gwen (Yua), Margo (Renho or Haru), and Peni (Haru or Renho).

-Mo-cap/movement: Dodo (Sayu), Pav (Aoi), and Gwen (Yua). Margo would learn to use her powers (astral projection) in a way to be more tech savvy thanks to Peni and would be able to control both Renho and Haru without actually having to do mo-cap (Peni can communicate with Margo through the computer, I can explain this more in another post if I remember lol).

-Live Editor: Sofa and Ganke mainly for live edits (Margo used to do this before being the main mover for Renho and Haru).

-Post Editor (not live): Sofa, Ganke, Margo, and Peni. Miles and Remi help with video editing.

-Hologram/robotic engineer: Peni. She is also the connector between the holograms and the mo-cappers. Without kit the mermaids literally cannot be holograms (this problem gets fixed after the team becomes Megastars as they have the money and resources to make a mechanical connector for IRL holograms to work).

-Animator/Artists: Remi, Miles, and Pav for the most part. 3D animations or anything with models is a group effort honestly but that would fall more into the post editors' hands (2D animation and comics are solely Remi and Miles job though, with Pav helping them get their ideas out physically with his powers)

-Music (lyrics): Tila, Gaya, and Miles are the main lyricists. I can see Dodo helping in this regard as well as Pav.

-Music (non-lyrics): Remi, Gwen, and Dodo. Miles is learning to make music. Sofa and Margo help with editing the music (Sofa more than Margo as they were brought up in a musical city and has more experience with EDM music than she does).

Uh, I think that's all the roles for now that I can think of. I tried to make it realistic in what they would do in terms of work load and skills they have/could have. Honestly looking at this, Tila and Gaya have the least work it seems lol. However, they are probably the ones making the bulk of the lyrics for the music and probably the dialogue/script for any animations (especially if the two get in character and end up making a lot of funny banter).

Anyway, once all of this was settled and all 5 mermaids were introduced, I can see the group trying to get a Lights Up audition. It definitely took some parents more convincing than others (like Gwen's and Miles) but with all the progress that the team has made, I can definitely see them having enough evidence for all their parents to let them go and try out for NSR.

I bet almost all the parents didn't believe they would actually be successful. Thinking that most likely these kids would be turned down and they would have to try again when they were older. So it came as a HUGE shock that the mermaids actually made it and were accepted with basically a fully acceptance from the standing Megastars at the time and from Tatiana.

Which basically meant that the team literally just skipped over a ton of work of having to prove themselves and work their way up to being Megastars. They were literally right at the cusp and a few months of work would grant them the title of Akusuka's charters!

That is to say, it would IF their parents actually let that happen. We know that the OG Crew's family does end up letting this happen (one way or another, I didn't even think about the Crew's emancipation from their families so that had to have happened at some point during all of this). But the other parent's might not be as willing to let their kids go off to a new country and be superstars.

Pav's family is definitely letting him go. He has family in the area and with Eve being a Megastar already, she could help him control his powers (which he is already really well in control of, I will try to talk a bit about the powers more at the end of this, I hope I remember).

Gaya's might be on the fence. On the one hand, this is something she put years into and it has shown she is very talented and could potentially become very rich, famous, and happy. On the other hand, she if still very young and they don't want her to go alone or to move the whole family (I can see her father willing to go with her, giving up his job where they live and trying to find another one if this is truly what Gaya wants, but the rest of their family might not approve).

Peni's family is probably not found of the idea in all honesty, but her parents would definitely be willing to move to Vinyl City if the dad could also get a contract specifically with J-1 or any other tech company in the area (which he would get and be willing to move Peni and the family there, plus they probably have better cybercare there than anything Vandelay could offer which is another plus).

Margo's family, depending on how you see them, would be either pushing her to go or trying to keep her there with them. She says in the movie her home life isn't great, and there is a lot of yelling (and probably neglect as she can just sit on her VR headset all the time in their minds), so she might just be able to promise to send money to them and they would allow her to leave.

Okay, so now Ganke, Miles, and Gwen's families. I do not see them at all being on bored with this decision. They all want what is best for their kids and this does not seem like it would be a good fit. Not with them all being so young and Vinyl City being so far away.

It also would cut in deeply to their education which I see all three of those families taking very seriously. Peni is probably gonna be homeschooled for a bit, Margo would take online classes, the Crew basically drop out, Gaya and Pav would enroll in a Vinyl City school probably. But Miles, Gwen, and Ganke are already in very good schools of their own (and Miles' family need a scholarship for that school I'm pretty sure), so even if the world runs on music, this change from a good schooling to just playing music probably doesn't seem like a good idea for their parents.

I can see Ganke's parents eventually giving in and letting Ganke go work for NSR as long as he get into a good school in Vinyl City and keeps his grades up (they would try to find a way to move to Vinyl City in the meantime as they can't fully uproot their lives right at that moment and this deal is a very limited time offer).

Miles' parents are probably extremely against the idea. Think this is not something that will be a forever career, or that it will become unstable (especially if the blackouts of Vinyl City are well known, which Miles would fight against and saying this could help the city and the world if they could produce enough power with their music). It would just be a very big back and forth but eventually they would see how much this truly means to Miles and let him go. I can see his mom going with him but his dad has to stay behind so he can try to transfer jobs or tie up loose ends.

Actually, depending on when this is, Aaron might still be alive (in this case, instead of meeting Gwen in a support group, they just met online in the mermaid fandom). So instead of Miles fighting alone in why he should be able to go to Vinyl City, Aaron would be there right with him and is the one to convince Jeff and Rio to let Miles go (Aaron probably went with Miles instead of the parents since it would have been hard for them to leave while Aaron could easily accompany Miles to a new life).

The main problem now is Gwen. Since Aaron is alive, Peter probably is too, at least in this AU (because I am now just realizing this, I don't know how to really put Peter into the story, so let's just say he was always helping support Gwen but couldn't really care about the mermaids themselves and so never got into helping with the project himself). Gwen is also still pre-transition and definitely not out to her dad. Or at least she wasn't before the auditions happened.

See, in my head, Gwen did get voice training thanks to the team helping her, but she never used her feminine voice around her dad at all. So when her dad heard her voice, he didn't even realize it was Gwen. Only after he looked up more about the mermaids (as I can see Gwen keeping a lot of this secret or super vague) did George realize Gwen was voicing the transgender mermaid with a very feminine voice. He looked through a lot of the old videos and could hear the voice transition over the years and kinda realized Gwen is probably trans and just never told him.

Instead of waiting for her to come home to talk, he called her up while she was still in Vinyl City or on the plane and tried to confront her. If she was on the plane, I can see her running away to Peter's once she landed and trying to hide from her father. There she would do her best to find a way back to Vinyl City, especially after she realized that she was the last one of the team that needed to get some kind of permission or give and okay. So she just has Ganke, Peter, and Miles help her get to Vinyl City without her dad knowing (probably using Remi and Pav's connection to Eve to do this).

If she was still in Vinyl City, she would have not gone back home and tried to stay with the Crew or with Eve if Remi explained what was happening and Eve offered her own place.

At this point in both options, there would definitely be some corruption and abuse of power on Eve's part to make sure that Gwen would be allowed to stay in Vinyl City and work against her father's wishes even though she is a minor. To Eve, this is helping Gwen get out of a potentially bad situation, but to George it feels like kidnapping or some horrible shit going down and he is losing his daughter. He'd do his best to get her back and would quit his job and move to Vinyl City to try and make things right.

Since he had time after his phone call with Gwen (they probably didn't talk on the phone about this) he never freaked out for a moment and said something to push Gwen away. No, instead this whole issue happened because Gwen was terrified of the potential that her dad would not like hearing she was trans. So instead of a reactive runaway scenario, it was a preemptive runaway scenario.

Anyway, that could probably be a small plot for the Revolution (imagine George and Kliff teaming up to try and take down NSR for their own reasons! ooooh!).

So yeah, once all of that had been squared away, the team is all set to work as the mermaids! They would spend the first few months getting used to everything as smaller Akusuka artists, and work their way up quickly to charters! From here it would be relatively the same as canon NSR for the most part except with 5 mermaids instead of just one of them (I'll think of fight mechanics later because I have to think of how the mermaids would be different now).

Oh! Right! I was gonna talk a tiny bit about Nueva York!

See, the whole thing with this AU hinges on the idea that the arachnikids do not get put into Nueva York really early. Pretty sure I said that Hobie was one of the longer instituted residents at 3 years at the time of the Power revolution.

So that would mean that... uh, pretty sure his one year mark at being at Nueva York that is when the Rock Revolution happened. And I see OG Sayu as having worked at NSR for like... 3 years I think it was?

That means 3 years of mermaid development, 2-3 years of NSR work, and then like 2 years of a timeskip before the Power Revolution (close to 3 kinda? sometimes, idk, still working on that for the OG NSpiR AU honestly lol).

At that time of the Power Revolution, Miles is about 14-15........ That would mean the mermaids were first developed when Miles was 6-7 years old by this logic... It would also mean that Remi was about 7-8 years old when he and Tila started the project....

Okay, so that doesn't work. At all. Specifically because I think that means Peni would have been 4 at the start of the project (and like 6 when kit joined the project). Which obviously doesn't work as joining a project like that is different from like being a prodigy and joining an organization with the help of your parents (looking at you Yinu).

I think I can fix this though. Maybe? I think if I just move the timeline over a bit, so that the mermaid team was brought on when they were older instead of younger (Also I think I'm gonna stick to the 2 years of work instead of 3 years because it messes things up later on I think). So like, instead of Remi being 14 and Miles being 13 at the time of the ROCK revolution (because 3 years of development and 2 years of work), instead I could change the order of the bosses and ages a bit because of timeline reasons.

So for me, I like the idea that the bosses in reverse order is how they got to NSR. That means that instead of Sayu being brought on before DJSS, instead DJSS was brought on BEFORE the team.... Wait no, because Nova had to have been fired from his professor job to get to NSR in the first place.

Okay! New plan! Nova get put in at the same time he originally was, BUT the mermaid team waited until they were super ready for NSR. Meaning that in this AU, there was an entirely different charter for Akusuka that would later be replaced by the team as they traveled up the ranks once they were actually brought on.

So, here's the idea I have. 5 years is the total time it takes from mermaid development until the Rock Revolution (I'm just ignoring the timeskip because I just needed it for ages at the moment and I'll be using 2 years of NSR work, not 3).

[This also means that the Revolution technically takes place later because I am moving the timeline up a little. Maybe something happened and B2J didn't get an audition for an extra year or two].

-At the beginning of development it is just Remi and Tila

-Quickly Pav and Gaya join

-Before the half year or 3/4 year mark Sofa and Dodo join

-At about the 1 year mark is when Gwen and Miles join

-1.5-2 year mark is when Margo joins (they start getting serious)

-At 2 or a bit after Peni joins along with Ganke quickly after

-Then a year of final development before joining NSR

-2 years of work and then it's revolution time!

I put this up here to kinda help me with ages. Since Peni is the youngest I am gonna work with her to help me figure out the ages. Peni is 14 when the timeskip happens, so that means she is 12 when the Rock Revolution happens, 10 when she joined NSR, and 9 when she joined the mermaid project.

I can see that as something happening, especially if Peni's parents are pretty lenient which I can see them as that (especially with someone like Yinu who is working at 9 in OG version lol, meaning she joined NSR even younger). So by the time of the revolution the approximate ages would be:

-Peni (14), Gwen (15), Miles (15), Ganke (15), Pav (15), Gaya (15), Remi (17), Margo (17), Tila (18), Sofa (18), and Dodo (19).

Because of these ages, I think this means that this AUs Rock Revolution happens 3 years after the OG Rock Revolution would happen. That is because Remi is 17 and I have him in my notes as 14 (I used to have him at 15 but for some reason I had to keep checking my notes because I kept saying 14 in my head, so I just changed it to 14 a bit ago since that is what my brain thought was better. So the rest of the Crew got bumped down at that time as well by one year).

Anyway, this means the ages of the other characters also ended up getting changed:

-Mayday (24), Zuke (30), DJSS (44), Yinu (12 going on 13), Mama (43), Neon J (60), 1010 (28), Eve (30), Tatiana (51), Kliff (48), and DK West (34).

Don't know what happened in that 3 year time span that made B2J not start a revolution, but something had happened to delay them.

Oh my fuck... I just realized I went on that whole rant of ages because I was supposed to talk about Nueva York but I went into NSR ages instead! Okay! Nueva York time!

The whole reason I was going to talk about ages was because at this point in the OG NSpidR AU, something would have happened to each of the Arachnikids during the mermaids development time that would have sent them away to Nueva York.

However! Because they had the mermaid project to occupy them and help them find creative solutions with their powers, they never had that outburst moment that got them sent to Nueva York. They learned how to use their powers through positive affirmation and community instead of through fear and repression.

The sucky thing about this is that some people get stuck in Nueva York. Hobie, Noir, Porker are all there without the help of Miles (or the rest of the Arachnikids) so there is very little chance that a Power Revolution will end up happening.

Well, actually, I guess since NSR doesn't get attacked as soon, Ex-Jay would actually have more time to look for Hobie since they aren't being contacted by NSR for at least another 3 years (so I think that would mean Hobie has been in Nueva York for 4-5 years at this point which would be enough for Ex-Jay to just try and get Hobie out themselves since it was put in there very unfairly).

Honestly, it would be cool in this AU that the revolutions were reversed! Like the Power Revolution happened since there was less resources put into Nueva York (since the Rock Revolution couldn't have been used as propaganda) and so that had elements of rock to it thanks to Hobie and Ex-Jay which would be a small inspiration for B2J once they got rejected by NSR during their auditions.

There was an abuse of power in Nueva York, and now there is an abuse in power in NSR. Which would actually tie in nicely with George and Gwen's story plot as this could be propaganda that helps push B2J to take down NSR. Especially if it came out that Eve helped Gwen get away from her father using her power and privilege, it would keep George around after the mermaid fight enough push B2J to get to Eve and then Tatiana (where Kliff's intentions become fully known to the group).

So yeah! I know I said I didn't have much to say, but uh... Well I lied lol! I apparently had a lot to say about this haha! Hope you liked reading my ramblings! :3

[nerdie-faerie]

I personally love it when my mum tries to guilt trip me, certainly doesn't leave me conflicted

[oscill4t3]

Im so dangerously prone to codependency but codependency is dangerous. Being dependent = safety. You never have to ask for help.

[khioneee]

tap out. pt ii.

warnings. mentions of death, emotional distress, grief and loss, pregnancy.

a few years later, another tap-out ceremony arrives, but this time, the air feels different—heavier, somber. simon’s been gone for over a year, his deployment unexpectedly extended due to an incident overseas. you’d been told he couldn’t come home for a while, but that didn’t make the waiting any easier.

today, you stand among families who aren’t just here to tap out their loved ones but to say goodbye to those who didn’t make it home. tears stream down faces as loved ones gather around caskets, grieving the soldiers they’d lost. the sight fills you with a mix of dread and relief, knowing simon is still out there, waiting.

simon stands in formation, rigid as always, but he has a sense for you. before you even appear in his line of sight, he knows you’re near. but imagine his surprise when he catches a glimpse of you in his peripheral vision, a small bundle wrapped securely in your arms.

his heart hammers in his chest, quickening as he realizes what this means. his breath catches, his eyes fixed on you as you approach. you look up at him, your eyes sparkling, a knowing smile on your face as you watch the subtle changes in his expression—the slight twitch of his eyebrows, the way his breathing picks up as it dawns on him.

both of you had been trying for a baby before he left, and now, standing before him, you hold that precious life in your arms. it had been a struggle going through pregnancy without him, feeling his absence during every kick and every sleepless night. but seeing him now, looking more than ready to meet your child, all the pain fades away, replaced by a joy so profound it fills every inch of you.

‘daddy’s home,’ you whisper softly, tilting the blanket so simon can see her tiny face, fast asleep, a perfect mirror of him in miniature. she’s got his nose, his quiet strength already etched into her tiny features.

with tears in your eyes, you reach up, your hand finding his cheek, tapping him out in the gentlest of touches.

the moment your hand connects, simon moves, breaking formation as he pulls both of you into his arms, holding you close as if he’ll never let go. his voice is thick with emotion, barely a whisper as he murmurs, ‘my loves.’

you knew your husband had a reputation in the military—a man as cold and unyielding as steel, a fortress no one could break. but as he held you and your newborn in his arms, that carefully built facade cracked, revealing a vulnerable side of him that only you ever saw. the tough soldier was gone, replaced by a man whose heart lay entirely with his family.

‘do you want to hold her?’ you ask softly, watching his eyes light up with a blend of surprise and joy.

‘her?’ he whispers, voice catching on the single word, as if it’s almost too much for him to believe.

you nod, smiling through a haze of happy tears. ‘her.’

with slow, reverent movements, you pass your daughter to him, watching as she looks impossibly tiny cradled in his strong arms. simon looks down at her with a mixture of wonder and fierce protectiveness, as though he’s already memorizing every detail of her face.

as if sensing her father’s gaze, the baby yawns, a soft little sound that makes simon’s eyes shine with awe. you catch the faintest smile pulling at his lips, a rare, tender expression that he reserves only for moments like this.

he leans down, pressing his lips gently to her forehead. ‘never gonna let anything happen to you,’ he murmurs, voice thick with love and quiet promise.

while simon was lost in his quiet moment with your daughter, a loud shout cut through the air, breaking the peaceful silence.

‘is that our baby i see?!’

simon’s head snapped up, his expression immediately shifting to something harder. he turned to see soap grinning widely, practically bouncing with excitement. with a sigh, simon reached over and smacked the back of soap’s head, though his movements were careful not to jostle the sleeping baby in his arms.

‘there’s people grieving, you idiot,’ simon muttered, but soap only snickered, completely unfazed.

‘and what do you mean, ‘our’? she’s y/n’s and mine. you’re not part of this relationship, mate,’ simon added, his tone dripping with mock irritation.

but soap, undeterred, just ignored him and held out his hands, wiggling his fingers in a display of exaggerated excitement. ‘oh, come on! let me hold our child!’

simon groaned, looking down at you with a glance that seemed to ask, ‘do i really have to put up with this?’ but he couldn’t hide the tiniest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as soap’s enthusiasm filled the air around you.

reluctantly, and with another sigh, simon finally leaned over, carefully passing your daughter to soap, though not without a low, ‘if you don’t keep her calm, you’re not holding her again.’

soap just grinned, taking her into his arms as if he’d won the lottery, cradling her gently and cooing softly.

soon after, the rest of task force 141 gathered around, drawn by the excitement, each member eager to catch a glimpse of the new addition to the family.

you and simon stood to the side, watching with cautious eyes as they took turns holding her, each one adopting a careful gentleness you wouldn’t have expected from hardened soldiers.

price held her with a proud grin, murmuring something about ‘training her to be the next captain,’ while gaz made her giggle softly with his gentle cooing. even the usually reserved roach softened as he held her, a rare smile tugging at his lips.

you glanced up at simon, watching his face as he stood beside you, arms crossed in a show of casual indifference.

but you knew him too well. beneath the mask of stoicism, there was something warmer, a subtle softness in his gaze as he watched his team, his family, sharing this moment with him. this gruff, unbreakable soldier, who had once thought he’d lost everything, had found a new family among them, one that shared in his joys and sorrows alike.

reaching over, you took his hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. he didn’t say anything, just gave your hand a quick squeeze in return, a quiet acknowledgment. but you could see it in his eyes, that gratitude for a family he never expected to find—a family that had now become part of yours.

[slytherinslut0]

jealousy. | slytherin boy headcanons

author’s note: im completely unhinged, as always. no surprise there. love me some angry snake men🥵 please enjoy.

-your boyfriend sees another guy flirting with you in the hall.

Draco Malfoy.

Sees you from down the hall as he’s walking with his friends.

“You know what, guys, I’ll catch up with you after.”

Would literally ditch his friends to make his way over, collecting himself as saunters up to you and mystery man.

Would instantly grab your ass, no hesitation, grip firm enough to bruise. When you gasp, caught off guard, he’d shift his arm up and around your shoulder, pulling you against him.

“What’re we talking about?” He’d sneer.

His voice would be laced with feign interest, smirking down at you with blaring eyes before shooting daggers at the boy.

He’d simply chuckle at you when you tell him nothing, just school stuff, leaning down to place a possessive kiss on your cheek as he grabbed your hand.

“Wonderful. let’s head to class, yeah?”

He’d pull you away from that dude, shooting him another look meant to kill, a silent warning not to fuck with him.

Finally gets you alone in an empty corridor or bathroom; would waste literally no time at all before pushing you against the wall and grabbing your neck/jaw.

“Who the fuck was that, hm?”, “he was practically eye-fucking you…give me five good reasons why i shouldn’t have him expelled or hexed into bloody Azkaban.”

He’d be furious, but he’d also know that you’d never choose some other guy over him, so he’d soften once he hears the innocence in your tone.

“You’re mine, princess,” he’d loosen his grip, kissing you softly. “Say it.”

Blaise Zabini.

Was listening to music while walking down the hall, instantly rips out his headphones the second he sees you laughing a little too hard with some dude he doesn’t know.

He doesn’t necessarily stop walking, but he’d definitely slow his pace, kind of just watching, not wanting to interfere but also not wanting to look creepy stalking you from a distance.

When the guy doesn’t leave, he’d tired of waiting, saying “fuck it”, before marching over naturally.

This man is so fucking cool calm and collected he’d just saunter right up and join in, making himself at home.

He’d practically take over the conversation because he’s literally just that chill in every situation, seamlessly fitting right in, so fucking charming and loved by everyone.

You’d kind of just end up staring at him, smiling in silent awe, knowing that this was his way of asserting his place, letting the guy know what the fuck was up.

After the dude leaves he’d just causally look at you, smirking that charming smirk, wetting his lips as he hooked an arm around your shoulder and pulled you close, leaning down for a kiss.

“Ain’t no one getting you without getting me too, babygirl.” He’d murmur against your lips. “let that be known, right now, forever, always.”

Lorenzo Berkshire.

Would literally stop everything. The second he’d see you laughing and smiling he’d be completely unable to focus on anything else and would completely zone out of any conversations with his friends.

Would get like super anxious and flustered pretty much immediately.

Wouldn’t want to intrude so he’d just kind of hang back, wait for you against the wall and try not to stare too much.

His adorable little cheeks would flush, and he’d know he seemed utterly ridiculous so he’d try to busy himself with his shoelace or something while he waits.

You’d quickly cut off the conversation and move over to him, instantly being able to tell that he’s overthinking.

He’d smile at you, though you could still see the concern on his features.

“Who was that guy, darling?”

You’d tell him he was just a friend from class, no one special at all, pulling him in for a hug and giving him a quick smoochie on the cheek.

“Don’t worry enz, no one could ever take your place.”

He’d blush, trying to play it off. “Sorry love, I know you’re my girl.”

You’d take his hand, squeezing him hard, never wanting him to doubt that for a second. “Only yours baby, forever.”

Mattheo Riddle.

“Who the fuck-“

Would literally whip his bag at Theo, hastily shoving through the crowded hallway with blazing eyes, tunnel visioned as he tried to figure out where the fuck this dude found the audacity.

You wouldn’t even have to turn around to know he’s there, you’d be able to literally feel the anger radiating off of him.

You’d already know exactly where this was heading, but you’d also know there was no attempting to stop him because it’s pointless. Everyone in the school knows that.

Matty does what Matty wants, and right now, he wants to fuck up this guys face for even thinking about flirting with you.

You’d simply look up at him, noting his tensed jaw and his dark eyes as he glances between you and the dude, before fixing back on you, wetting his lips before he says,

“Is this fucker bothering you?”

Unable to help it, you’d smirk, shaking your head as you calmly attempted to talk him down.

“No Matty, he just asked if he could borrow my study notes-“

He’d heard more than enough.

“Study notes? Yeah, I don’t fucking think so,”

Without giving the guy a chance to react, he’d reach for his collar, shoving his back against the wall, teeth barred and face contorted in a snarl as he’d hiss:

“Bother my fucking girlfriend again and the only study notes you’ll need are the ones on how to drink out of a fucking straw, understand?”

Not interested in the response, he’d shove the guy away, eyes softening instantly as he moved back over to you, thrusting a hand through your hair as he kissed you like it’d been a hundred years, right in the middle of the hall for everyone to see.

And judging by the intensity in his grip, you’d already know, later that night, he’d be extra fucking sure to ask you who the fuck you belong to while he’s fucking you.

When he finally pulled back, he’d smirk at you. “Some bloody nerve on that guy, huh?”

You’d just shake your head and laugh, taking his hand as the two of you headed for class.

Theodore Nott.

He’d spot you from down the hall, his eyes instantly narrowing, gaze darting around as though he was missing something, as though this was some sort of sick joke.

Surely, this dude is mentally unwell, right? There’s no fucking way that he’s-

Doesn’t bother to think about it for even another fucking second, instantly shoving through the crowd to make his way over.

Proceeds to wrap his arm around your waist, other hand finding your jaw and pulling your lips to his before you could even process it.

Would proceed to full-on make out with you in front of the dude, and I mean tongue and all, his grip on your jaw so tight you’d know exactly what he was trying to do.

His hand around your waist might even slip lower, grazing over your ass, and then that’s when you’d attempt to gather yourself and push him back, completely embarrassed.

He’d just shrug, smirking down at you before he’d finally acknowledge the guys’ presence with literally nothing more than a glare meant to kill.

“Move along,” he’d say to the guy while pulling you away, grip tighter than ever. “This one’s fucking taken.”

As soon as he got you alone he’d be damn sure to remind you that you’re his, and only his, making you beg and whine his name before he fucked you like you deserved the pain.

Tom Riddle.

“AVADA KEDA-“

Lowkey kidding but not really.

No one would even dare because that man would make it clear as fucking day what would happen if they tried.

[seranextdoor]

tw. dark content, brief gory descriptions, smut, size difference.

pairing. mr. crawling x fem! reader. 1k words.

- i wish there was more on blissful love life end route, wish i couldve fuck this cute little shyt until he blabberin' :p i love this gameeeeeee! sorry for suddenly writing about homicipher after months of ghosting u guys.. hehe...

The smell of death lingers in the air ever since you brought along the certain entity to the overworld. It's faint enough to let you know that he was watching.

Not that you mind, he practically latched onto you like a barnacle the first time he met you at that strange hallway. Mr. Crawling, despite the oddities that comes along his unique charms, was a pleasant companion. Maybe it's the fact that you'd noticed the dark figure, slouching at the corner of your room, or the fact that you'd woke up with him next to you, the high-pitched giggling causing you to stir awake at the darkest hour.

You wonder if Mr. Crawling gets bored at times. You can't blame him, the underworld where he is from an endless maze with sharp corners here and there, not to mention the occasional earthquakes that change the layout of the map. Comparing his world to your little apartment was laughable. Maybe that's why you started feeling his cold fingertips running underneath the thin fabric of your clothes. Not that you'd stop him, Not that you want him to anyway. You taught him a few things, mainly how humans express their love. It's nice to have someone dote on you for bringing them a bowl of fresh human flesh.

'It's better to be with Mr. Crawling,' you thought.

Being with a human means it'll increase the chance of you getting caught and you wouldn't be able to go on another killing spree. At least Mr. Crawling accepts you for who you are.

"You... like?" his croaky voice puts your running thoughts to the side as you tilt your head, your eyes looking at him before they avert down to his wandering hand. His fingers are abnormally slender with a grayish tint as he slowly brushed them on your stomach before they went lower and lower until his fingers practically hovered over your lower body. He gives you a look, "need you." he points down at your clothed pussy, your cheeks quickly warms up at his words.

"Can touch?" he asked, tilting his head to the side. His fingers trembled the more he waited for your response like he itched to touch you. "Can." you give him a brief nod as his fingers slowly slipped under your shorts, spreading your folds before he pressed down on your clit causing your breath to hitches. You watched with staggered breathing as his hand moved in a circular motion, rubbing your clit slowly as your sopping hole clenched around nothing. "Good? Enjoyable?" he asked, giggling when you gasped and nodded at his words while he traced your slit, getting your juices all over his nimble digits.

His kisses are sloppy, and the metallic taste of blood from the flesh he consumed for dinner comes in as the aftertaste when you pull back for some air. Mr Crawling quickly chases after your lips, pressing his cracked and cold ones on yours as his tongue shamelessly swirls around yours. With enough juices coating his fingers, he easily slipped it into your entrance as it squelches, his other hand holding your thigh to keep your legs spreading. “Look down,” he pulled his fingers out with a small pop, proudly showing his wet and pruney fingers to you before he slipped them into his mouth. “heh, good. Me happy!” he giggled, moving on top of you as you rested your legs on each side of his body.

“Mr. Crawling...” you whined, watching him with blurry vision as he pulled the black clothing up, just enough for his cock to peek through. It's almost as if the entity wants you to see it, wants you to see how desperate he is. His pre-cum glistens and gather at the tip of his cock, bulging vein runs on the side of his shaft as your eyes shifts to the patch of dark hair on his pelvis. His knees dig into the mattress, his hand aligning the tip of his cock into your entrance. “Me... go into you slow.” he gently prods your hole with the tip of his cock, shifting his eyes on your face and down to your pussy as he pushes his thick cock past the ring of muscles.

You wince, the girth of his cock is stretching you to the maximum. "Hurt? Pain? Desire me go out?" he asked, looking down at you before you shook your head at his question, "I'm glad." he smiled at your reaction. Your fingers holding onto his biceps as your nails left crescent marks on his skin. "Pat, pat." he rubs your head, cupping your cheek as his cock throbs inside of you when your velvety walls flutters to adjust to his size. "Pretty." he whispers, leaning down to peck your lips. He lets you roll your hips, slowly fucking yourself into his fat cock while he holds your hip. "Like this? Happy?" he asked, his hips stuttering as he thrust back into you, matching your slow rhythm.

"Like it..." you replied, breathless as he began to pick up his pace. He was consistent, the tip of his cock brushing against the spot that sends you seeing stars on your ceilings with every single thrust, your nails raking down on his back, leaving claw marks which heals up as quickly as it came. The sound of skin slapping reverberates around the walls as Mr. Crawling gasps and pants in your ear each time he desperately slammed his cock into you. His long, black locks falling over your face, tangling with your hair and sticking to your forehead and chest. “Like you... Like this..." he chants, sharp teeth nibbling on your neck and down to your collarbones, leaving a trail of dark bruises in his wake.

“Close... me close,” his thick cock throbs inside of you, rubbing furiously against your walls as he holds your hips. His breath brushing against your lips as he gasped, “Come? Need you come," he begged, slobbery tongue poking out to flicks your swollen lips as he coaxed you into cumming on his cock by sharply rutting his cock inside of you as the lewd squelches from taking his cock deeper and deeper increases.

He pushes his hips into you when you came all over his cock, he quickly pushes his cock as deep as he can before his hot seeds spill into your womb, spilling out of your whole when he pulled out to rest his cock on your pelvis. He's still cumming, spurting the strings of loads on your stomach as you panted, your chest heaving up and down as he lazily kisses your neck and up to your flushed face,

"...Pretty."

[lvrsfilm]

Lieutenant Simon Riley has a favorite nurse. She's sweet as sugar and polite, stitching up every bloodied soldier with gentle words and touches so light they barely feel the push and pull of the suturing. Appreciative, whether they return the soft conversation or not. He likes the way she floats around the medical wing, the way she smiles softly at everyone, even him. He's sure she knows what he's been doing, but she isn't stopping him, so he assumes she doesn't mind.

Every morning, without fail she gets up and comes into the wing in a different colored pair of scrubs. A new color every day, never the same one twice in a week. She sits at the front desk or at another station somewhere around and sips a can of ginger ale through a straw, pretending she doesn't see Simon's eyes on her while she works.

"Wha's it t'day?" Simon says gruffly as he approaches her, bypassing the other nurses almost completely. "Blackberry," She says softly, looking up at him and displaying the can. He takes a look at her scrubs, and of course, they're a dark purple, matching the can. It suits her, he thinks. Not an obnoxious shade, one that matches her skin tone well. "Good?" He asks her, like he always does. "Not my favorite,' she says as she sets the can back down. He hums lowly in reply as his eyes linger on the fabric of her scrubs, the way the cloth dips over her soft curves.

"You hurt?" She asks him cheekily, "Or just taken an interest in the medical field?" He grunts, pulling his eyes away from her scrubs and meeting her own. "Nae," He says lowly. "Just passing by," he adds, shoving his gloved hands into his pockets to keep from touching her. Or reaching out to smooth out a wrinkle in her clothing, or tucking some of her hair behind her ear.

He doesn't know what else to say, wanting to keep her attention on him. "Suits ya," He ends up saying softly, trying to sound as gruff as possible, but his eyes are trained on hers, his hazel eyes staring into her own irises. "The purple." He grumbles, cursing inwardly because why is he acting like he's never spoken to a pretty bird before?

"Thank you, Lieutenant." She says sweetly, a nice red tinting the apples of her cheeks. Simon shifts his weight from one foot to the other, unsure what to say next. Small talk hasn't ever been his strong suit, but walking away feels wrong, like cutting a thread that’s barely started to weave.

"You sure you're alright?" she asks again, but this time there's something softer in her voice. A note of genuine curiosity, her hands stilling on her keyboard. "You don’t usually linger this long."

He scowls—not at her, but at himself for being so obvious. "Dinnae know I was bein’ timed," he mutters, stuffing his hands deeper into his pockets.

She chuckles, the sound low and warm. "You’re not. Just... noticed, is all." Her gaze flicks over him, quick and subtle, like she’s trying to piece him together without openly prying. She's familiar with Simon, knows how private he is. "Busy morning?"

He shrugs. "Same as usual. Training, Paperwork."

Her lips quirk upward in a faint smile, but there’s a shadow of worry behind her eyes. "Sounds like you could use a break."

"Aye," he says gruffly, a hand leaving his pocket to scratch at the base of his balaclava. "Reckon this is it."

Her smile softens at that, and for a moment, neither of them speaks. There’s a weight in the air, something unspoken that presses against his chest, and hers. He wants to say more, to keep her talking, but the words are tangled up in his throat.

"Y’know," she says after a pause, "I think purple might actually suit you too."

His brows furrow softly, squinting at her a bit behind the mask, and for a split second, he wonders if she’s teasing him. But her expression is sincere, her eyes glinting with a quiet kind of amusement.

"Me?" he scoffs, shaking his head. "Don’t reckon that’s in regulation."

She shrugs lightly, leaning against the desk. "Wouldn’t hurt to try. Maybe a mask or something. Just a little color." There’s a playful glint in her eyes now, and he feels the corner of his mouth twitch despite himself.

"Don’t think I’d pull it off," he mutters, though there’s a faint warmth creeping up his neck, hidden by the black fabric.

"I disagree," she says softly, and the weight of her gaze feels heavier than before. He looks at her then, really looks, and finds himself rooted to the spot.

"You always this cheeky with the patients?" he grumbles, trying to mask the fact that she’s gotten under his skin.

"Only the ones who hover around the nurses' station without a good excuse," she quips, her smile widening just a fraction. "But I don’t mind. You’re welcome anytime, Lieutenant."

His heart gives a traitorous thump at her words, but he swallows it down and grunts in reply. "I’ll hold ya to that," he says, his voice rougher than he intends.

As he turns to leave, her voice calls him back again, soft and lilting. "Oh, and Simon?"

He stops dead in his tracks. She’s never used his name before. Slowly, he turns his head to glance at her, his hazel eyes locking onto hers.

"Next time," she says, lifting her can of ginger ale in a mock toast, "you could at least bring one of these to share."

His lips twitch into something dangerously close to a smile. "Aye," he murmurs, his voice low. "I’ll see what I can do."

And as he walks out of the wing, he finds himself already wondering what color she’ll be wearing tomorrow.

[abysswalkerastraea1]

Sporadic Contingency

The predicament you found yourself in was utterly unfathomable. Death was yet to come for you, perhaps it was because you had a lot to offer the clown; he in turn reciprocated. Perhaps he thought you were amusing, for now.

Your morals must be twisted because one thing was for certain: There was no denying the unshakeable, terrifying tension building between the two of you.

12,400 words

Slow burn

Rough sex (obviously!!)

Art being a fucking dom

The predicament you found yourself in was utterly unfathomable. In fact, thinking back through foggy thoughts, you couldn't really trace back to where this started.

You supposed fate aligned correctly for you. Logically speaking, you had a lot to offer the clown, and he in turn reciprocated favours.

Living within the vast forest adjacent to miles county, not many people ventured into the thick greenery. You had resided here for some time, at first with your father and then on your own once he passed.

You're grateful for the fact that your father had such a lively business. If not for that, you doubt you'd ever be able to live so well and comfortably all alone on the outskirts of the county.

You lived in an old cottage with ample firewood to stay warm and luscious land that stretched afar. A lot of it you used to keep animals.

You were accustomed to fattening the pigs up through spring while they birthed their young and slaughtering them in the winter for food supply. It was just another day at work for you; not that you had to work. You could live amiably without any need of strenuous hard work like farming, but you enjoyed it.

It was more of a passionate hobby than a job.

You travelled into town for any necessities you may need in your fathers old truck, but largely remained to yourself and a chunk of the townspeople knew that.

Some called you crazy for living in nature while that killer was on the loose, but you moving into town didn't necessarily change your chances of survival.

Thus you stayed put.

It wasn't until one clear night just after Halloween did you hear a disgusting squeal coming from one of your pigs. It was the sound of a slow death, and it startled you enough to grab your late fathers shotgun and storm outside courageously to see just what the hell was stealing your livestock.

You expected an animal. What you found instead shocked you.

A man, tall and lumbering and clad in a monochromatic clown costume kneeled hunched over one of your pigs, it's body twitching and steaming as it's hot innards met the chill of the outside air.

You heard the wet sound of his hands delving into the pigs guts and gripping a handful before bringing the meat to his lips.

This stranger was eating your livestock. Devouring them like an animal, raw and uncooked and grotesquely bloody.

You remained frozen, shotgun pointed, glancing at the black bag that lay beside him full of various menacing tools stained crimson.

If your father taught you one thing, it's that you should treat people with kindness, especially the strange ones.

The weirdos are the most dangerous, and living out here all alone meant that if one ever wandered into your land, it was probably best to treat them as a guest and act amicably, if only for your own safety.

Steeling your nerves, you cocked your head at the man, seeing the gap appear in the pigs abdomen as it's organs were devoured.

"Might want to cook that, stranger." You spoke gently, shotgun lowered to the floor.

The freakish clown paused, fingers laced in guts, head turning slowly and deliberately to the side.

"Tastes better that way, personally. Cooked, I mean." You shifted nervously from foot to foot, the chill of the autumn air getting through your pyjamas.

Maybe coming out here in nothing but some bottoms and a vest wasn't such a good idea.

The mans side profile was lanky even while crouched. His face held extremely prominent features, and you began to wonder if they were prosthetic or not.

You dared to step directly behind the stranger, his blood shot eye staring at you from the corner, pig entrails held frozen. They were cold now.

"Come with me. I can cook that right up for you, throw a few herbs and spices in and make that a great dish."

The clown let the guts slip through his fingers, gloves tainted red, and stood to his feet slowly. Your breath froze in your throat at the way his height seemed to grow and grow as he extended fully, back straight and rigid, and turned around almost menacingly to stare down at you with a dirty grimace.

Apart from the bizarre clown face paint, he appeared incredibly beat up. His one eye was completely red, and you wondered if it was simply shut from injury or if it had been gouged out. It was hard to tell with the amount of blood covering it.

He had a few large gashes littering his body in various places too. His clown costume was ripped terribly.

You both stood silently, your body shivering lightly at the blustery wind and your hair tousling gently. The clown remained unperturbed to the elements.

His good eye was narrowed into a glare, face contorting in an ugly fashion, eyeing your bare feet, your lowered shotgun, up to your bare shoulders and then finally back to your face.

An ominous smirk began to stretch across the strangers visage. It was actually rather unsettling, even without the pigs blood covering him. Merely the smirk alone set your nerves on edge.

You cocked your hip, hand resting on it comfortably as you stared up at him. "So, what do you say? It's a cold night, and you're looking a little worse for wear. Come on in, I'll help you out." Your words were true, and you think the stranger sensed that, but he seemed keenly aware of the way your voice shook.

You don't know how you knew that. Maybe it was the way his lifeless eyes shined dimly at the way it shook. Eventually, the clown nodded slowly, wordless.

You offered him a smile and a nod of finality. "Great. Follow me, if you would." You dared to turn away from this maniac, though you supposed if he wanted to kill you he could easily do that while you were looking at him; He was huge.

Not in the muscular sense, but in height he was at least a head and a half taller than you. Incredibly lanky and thin but from the way he was devouring that pig, he definitely had strength.

Walking a few steps, you paused suddenly and spun around, your silent guest directly behind you. It startled you but you tried not to let it show. "Mind grabbing the rest of the pig? Wouldn't want it going to waste. I'd do it myself, but you know how a lady gets.", you chuckled breathily; it was hard to speak when his void eyes were staring at you, smirk still somehow present and frozen on his face.

"--Don't want to dirty these pyjamas, they're my favourite. And, pardon me for saying but you're already dirty, and you'd no doubt be able to pick it up with ease, so..", you finished lamely, smiling as genuinely as you could.

It felt forced that time. He was starting to unnerve you.

Finally, the clowns expression fell into one of light thought, doing a visual sweep of your stature. It embarrassed you slightly, maybe he was judging your pyjamas. They were simple, but your favourite. Or maybe he silently agreed that yes, he could easily pick the animal up compared to you.

Dead weight was heavy, after all. And he was a big guy, in a sense.

The clown grinned this time, large and sharp, showcasing bloodied teeth, before nodding vigorously. Clapping excitedly, he hunched down to gather up the pig remains and nodded at you, as though to say 'lead the way'.

Smiling in return, you turned and led him to your home.

As soon as your back faced him, your expression morphed into one of doubt and anxiety.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

That was some time ago. It was mid winter now, and Art - the odd clown that had spelled his name to you in blood on your window - was no where to be seen.

You hadn't seen him for two weeks, he often appeared when he wanted and left for days on end too.

You had both settled into an accord of sorts.

The clown was a maniac, yes, and had often tricked and teased and terrified you with knives and hammers, pretending to finally put an end to you only to stop millimeters from your face, laughing silently and slapping his knee dramatically.

You screamed each time, gripping your chest in terror but forcing a breathy laugh to escape you, shaking your head. "Got me again, Art. When will I ever learn?" You tutted, voice shaking and body trembling.

You knew it was only a matter of time before he killed you, surely. So, you did things to keep him happy.

Like offering your old, worn out barn as his work place to fix up his weapons or create new traps. It was dingy and damp, but Art didn't even mind. His mouth opened into a perfect 'o' shape, eyebrows high in surprise, pointing to himself and then to the barn.

"Yes," you had confirmed to him, "the barn is yours. Do what you like with it, I.." you had paused. Art sensed something was left out and cocked his head at you with a menacing smile, hand under his chin as though he was ready to listen to you spill a secret.

"I'm going to be honest with you, Art. Im happy to give you the barn, you do what you want in there and I won't ask questions, but in return I was wondering if now and again, when you're free to of course, if you could help me around the place?", you asked softly, sweetly, your round eyes staring up at him so innocently he often wondered if he should pinch your cheeks until the flesh tears off or flail you.

Maybe not yet. He liked having you around for now. You were sweet and entertaining, and cooked good meals.

Art tilted his head left and right in deep thought, eyes rolling up to the sky as though truly debating with himself, before his large hands suddenly slammed down onto your shoulders heavily, causing you to gasp aloud, eyes wide.

Art began to silently laugh, lifting a finger and thumb to roughly tug at your cheek, before nodding excitedly.

You sighed in relief. Well, you couldn't very well ask him to spare your life as a favour, so you supposed asking him to help you with chores was your only option.

In a way, you think he was amused by how ballsy you were. He was terrifying, after all.

Thinking back to the present day, you hadnt seen him for two weeks, which meant he was either out on a killing spree or recuperating after a nasty fight.

You've since gathered that this man, this thing, isn't really human. He eats because he enjoys it, but you've seen him go weeks without food. This thing you've allowed into your home was demonic, and its sick how fond of him youre growing.

Sighing, you felt fatigue catching up with you as you had spent the last few hours tending to the fields, animals, and other chores such as gathering wood and cutting them into pieces.

Mindlessly lost in thought, you bent down to pick up a log, putting it into place and heaving the axe up ready to cut it. Your arms were shaking; how long ago did you eat? Well, it was around 4pm now, and you've been busy since around 7am, so it's been far too long, and you were ridiculously sweaty even in the mild winters day.

You lifted the axe, elbows suffering and shaking, before huffing loudly and dropping it back down. You really needed a break but you also really needed to start getting this wood ready for the cold winter nights.

Determination taking over your features, you lifted it again, fatigue overwhelming you but to hell with it because you had things to do before nightfall. Inhaling deeply, you lifted it high, stumbling forward as you let the axe split the wood sloppily; it was very off mark, and if your father was here right now he'd make you do it again.

The axe embedded itself into the surface below, and with both hands you gripped the handle to try and wrench it out but to no avail.

Huffing agitatedly, you gritted your teeth and tried again.

The sound of a honk startled you, your entire body jumping and a yelp escaping your throat as you spund around with a hand held to your chest.

"Art!", your tone held accusation but you still laughed. "How long have you been standing there? Please dont tell me you witnessed my horrible attempt at cutting wood.."

Art shrugged, picking up the pathetic attempt at cutting the log in half and scrutinizing it. He shook his head and closed his eyes as though disappointed.

You flushed in embarrassment. "Yeah, that really was a sorry attempt..", you turned back to the axe, gripping it and tugging. It didn't budge.

Suddenly, a pale, gloved hand gripped the handle and ripped it out with ease. You blinked at him in shock, watching at how he slyly looked down at the axe in his hands and then at you, rolling his eyes as though to say 'have I got to do everything around here?'

For a speechless clown, he was sassy. And terrifying.

You smiled tiredly. "Thanks. I'm so hungry and sweaty and gross and ugh--", you shook your head, "ignore me. Are you hungry? I'll go and--"

Fingertips touched your lips to silence you, and then a finger shot into the air, telling you to wait. The clown eagerly knelt down to rummage through his bag of..mysteries.

He excitedly rubbed his hands together as he found what he was looking for, and delved in to grab it tightly.

The clown spun around to face you, item hidden in box, and closed his eyes dramatically, then stared at you pointedly.

"Oh, um..Close my eyes?", the clown nodded happily at you being able to understand.

Your pulse increased, fear gripping you. You wouldn't refuse him. Closing your eyes slowly, you held your hands out. "I-I trust you, Art. No funny games, okay? Please.", you pouted.

Art cocked his head at your pouting lips and shaking hands. He had that unexplainable urge to squeeze you tightly and also cut your lips off with a scissors. You were adorable, he'd admit that. He wondered if a day would ever come where you'd flutter your cute eyelashes at him and he'd grab a knife and burst your dazzling blue orbs.

Maybe one day, but not today.

It was only on rare occasion that you'd catch the sadistic killer of miles county choosing to not act with violence.

You were the only rare occasion.

Pushing those tempting thoughts away, Art held the box excitedly and tip toed over to you dramatically. He was eager for you to see his gift.

Firm hands gripped your own as a box was dropped into it, only a small box.

You smiled uncertainly, eyes closed, and felt the box with your hands. Art poked at your eyelids gently for you to open them.

The box was black. Tattered. You lifted the lid slowly.

A multitude of emotions filled you. You didn't know which ones to show. Art watched eagerly, excitedly, though you could still see the sharpness of his eyes.

The box was filled to the brim with Beatles. They were squirming and hurrying over one another in an ugly display, some spilling out onto your arms before falling on the floor. Luckily, you weren't terrified of insects.

Looking at Art, he began mimicking holding an imaginary box and shaking it hard, then pointed at you.

You shook the box hard, the Beatles scattering everywhere, and gazed into the box.

Your blood ran cold.

A decapitated fox head stared at you, eyeless and bloodied with its tongue cut out and shoved into one of its eye sockets. Beatles crawled throughout its skull.

"A..Fox."

Art nodded aggressively, pointing animatedly at your chickens cooing in their pen, then at the fox, then at himself.

"Oh! You killed the fox that has been hunting my hens?"

Art clapped silently and his eyes dazzled as though screaming 'bingo! Finally!', then pointing and laughing at your pale expression and wide eyes. His gruesome smile was held wide, cutting sharp, as he buckled over in silent laughter.

Your mouth quirked upwards in amusement. Well, he was certainly keeping his end of the bargain. The fox was a pest, after all, even if his method of killing was a little..unorthodox. Not that you'd ever complain.

You couldn't help but giggle at this absurd man. "Thank you, Art. I appreciate that. Now with my hens remaining alive and well, I can make you some more of those pancakes you like once they lay their eggs."

Arts mouth opened in surprise, eyebrows raised high. He tipped his hat in a gentlemanly fashion, nodding at you as though to say it's a job well done. You agreed that it was.

Putting the box down, you gripped the axe once more, ready to return it to the shed. "Well, I'm going to have a quick shower, then how about I make us some supper?"

Art wiggled his eyebrows at you suggestively, and heat lightly warmed your cheeks. Before you could reply, the axe was ripped from your hands and Art had already gotten to work with cutting some more wood. He did it flawlessly.

He shooed you away dramatically, wiggling his eyebrows one more time before chopping through the wood efficiently.

Conflicted in how easily he embarrassed you, you made your way tiredly to the bathroom. You really needed that shower.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

You let the hot water wash away the stress of the day, eyes closed as you nourished an apple smelling conditioner through your hair.

You sighed, feeling ten times better already, muscles sore from the strenuous chores you barely managed to finish today.

Standing in the warm confinement of water and steam, you began to wonder if Art was still cutting wood. This led to thoughts about how bizarre it was having a murderer in your residence while you showered vulnerably. He didn't appear to want to kill you yet, and you wanted to keep it that way.

Wrapping a towel around your hair and body, you stared at your tired complexion in the mirror and frowned.

You really shouldn't be so comfortable with his ominous presence, but..

There was something quirky and charming about him, you guessed.

You soon froze at the sound of an alarm blaring.

You ran to the bathroom door, tearing it open. What was--

Was that your fire alarm blaring? But why? You had meat in your slow cooker, yes, but--

Panic surged through you as you darted out of your bathroom and bolted down the stairs. You didn't know how or why but you prayed that your kitchen was in tact.

Barreling through your living room and into the kitchen, you scrutinized the area, seeing no smoke, no fire, nothing.

Eyes wide, you ran to the slow cooker and switched it off. There wasn't even any smoke coming from it, how had your alarm gone off? Bending to check in your oven, you confirmed what you already knew - there was nothing in there.

Standing straight, hands on your hips in annoyance at that blaring alarm, you sighed aloud. Your towel remained upon your head, however loose hair had managed to escape and fall upon your shoulders from your erratic movements.

Glancing around desperately, Art was no where to be found. With his height, he could probably reach the alarm on your ceiling and deactivate it. You spent no time waiting for his possible arrival and grabbed a chair.

Lugging it over to the centre of the room, you gripped the top of it and shakily stood tall upon the chair. Reaching up high, you fiddled with the alarm, attempting to get a good grip to be able to remove it.

You huffed, making a sound of aggravation as your towel somehow remained firm around your figure, even if it was short. The water from the shower was cold on your body now and it only seemed to worsen your mood.

Finally managing to rip the damn thing from the ceiling, you removed the batteries and tossed it to the floor with a scowl. Stupid faulty alarm.

In a less than desirable mood, your hand gripped the chair to steady yourself. Before you could even put a foot on the floor, a honk sounded so close to you it had you yelping; you hadn't even sensed him let alone heard him.

Wide eyed, you stared down at the clown. His shoulder was practically brushing your outer thigh as you stood high. "Oh, Art, I didn't see you--"

A hand being thrust out to you interrupted you. He was offering his large hand to you, and although uncertain, you couldn't deny that he had a peculiar charm. Smiling, you gripped his hand with your own to steady yourself, lifting one leg to put on the floor.

Except you never did. You barely caught the malicious grin the clown gave you, eyes narrowed into slits and teeth bared as he lifted one foot backwards and kicked the chair out from under you.

The leg of the chair shattered from the force, splintering and bending as you began to topple to the floor. You screamed, eyes squeezed shut.

You thought you had whiplash at the way your hand was wrenched painfully towards his body, your figure pressed up against his as your head butted into his chest.

He had an arm around your waist, suspending your weight in the air against his body with no difficulty.

The clown remained frozen, grin still as wide and terrifying. Your feet barely brushed the floor. "Art!", you screeched, body shaking from adrenaline, hair towel fallen to the floor.

The clowns eyes snapped to yours disturbingly. Before you could berate him further, you were tossed upwards until dexterous hands rested at your shoulders and below your knees. He was holding you bridal style and it terrified you.

You cried out in shock, gripping his clown suit between white knuckles, bath towel beginning to slip ever so slightly. You felt a mixture of terror and embarrassment at being in the brutal arms of the county killer.

And the terror only increased tenfold as the clown removed his grip from supporting your shoulders for mere seconds, your body heading straight for the floor, before securing his arms around you again before you could make impact, shoulders moving in silent laughter.

You truly screamed that time, legs kicking out and arms wrapping around his neck instinctively. Your eyes squeezed shut, towel slipping even more; it mortified you.

"Oh my goodness, Art, you terrified me! And I bet it was you that set off my alarm?", you accused in a high pitched, shaky tone, grasping him incredibly tight as you felt his fingers teasingly loosen just to scare you.

Art nodded vigorously, proud and excited that he had been caught, and snapped his head down at you. His grin of sinister glee slowly morphed into a knowing, filthy smirk.

You blinked up at him vulnerably, wide and glassy eyed, rigid in his arms, before realising that oh my God, you were in a towel this entire time, a short towel that surely moved during the commotion--

He must have noticed the sudden panic in your eyes, for his lecherous smirk stretched terrifyingly, eyes narrowed.

Surprisingly pervertedly, Art glanced down at your body swiftly. Once, twice. An indication that you should probably take a look. His eyebrows wiggled, and without needing to look, your cheeks reddened, lips parted in shock.

Head snapping down at yourself, a flush spread from your neck to your cheeks. The towel had dropped so low your breasts were threatening to spill out obscenely. It didn't help that you were of ample size.

And although everything else vital was covered, the way your upper thigh was exposed had you squirming desperately to try and make some distance.

"Ah!", you cried, "my towel! Put me down!" You demanded helplessly, overcome by embarrassment as Art snickered silently at your need to protect your intimates.

Art dropped the arm holding your legs, letting them crash upon the floor painfully. The sudden downward motion had you squealing, gripping him hard. You were grateful that he supported your upper body, you supposed.

The way your body dropped had your towel falling fully for a split second before you ripped it back up to cover your modesty.

You tore yourself away from him - he let you - and stared at him with wide eyes, chest panting in fear and fluttering peculiarly.

Your hands shook as you gripped your towel, knees knocking together, withering under the intense stare of the clown as he foregone his usual dramatic, knee slapping laugh and instead almost seemed to chuckle in amusement, brows as low as they could go, head tilting in fascination at your half naked state.

He expected anger, frustration, undeniable fear at his actions towards you. What intrigued him was the way your round cheeks flared crimson and how your eyes, usually relatively confident when regarding him, fluttered everywhere but him.

Yes, he decided, head tilting left and right slowly, deciphering. You seemed incredibly flustered.

He felt lust, often. For blood, violence, but rarely sexually. Pain was sweeter than pleasure, he thought, but regarding you now, languidly staring at you from head to toe, an idea struck his mind...

An idea you couldn't decipher, but the way his eyes lit up and his eyebrows rose pleasantly sent heat flaring through you.

You didn't allow it to consume you any further as you darted up the stairs and into your room.

On the way past him, you saw his shoulders moving in a silent, mean laughter.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

That had been two days ago. Since then, you continued on as normal..

Or as normal as can be.

Art remained busy in the old barn, the sounds of hammering and God knows what else permeating the quiet air at all hours of the day, and oftentimes there would be silence; He had left.

It had been a full day and a half since you last took sight of him. It was unusual how domesticated you felt, preparing enough food for two with a little extra leftover, keeping only the dark towels in the bathroom from when he no doubt came strolling in covered in blood and took a shower.

You came to notice he was meticulously clean about things he deemed worthy, such as his clown suit and himself. He loved to bathe in his victims blood, yes, but after a fun days work, you often found him spotless. Well, apart from his teeth. Bizarrely, he didn't utterly stink, and you come to the conclusion that he chose his terrifying mouth to look that way on purpose.

That was good. You appreciated that even if he didn't necessarily do it for you.

The only thing you had gently persuaded him on was allowing you to at least dry his clown suit before putting it on. With a roll of his eyes, he allowed it.

There were very few things he allowed genuinely, and you seemed to believe he had grown accustomed to your gentle naggings of 'Art, please don't touch that with blood on your hands', or 'There was no need to trail bloody footprints all over my kitchen'

You never demanded. That probably helped. Of course he had days where he'd grin mischievously and smear blood across your mirrors and door handles, knowing you'd have to touch it and clean it.

You could live with that. Thankfully, after a night of killing, he was reasonably tame, eating whatever food you kept in your cupboards with a calm expression.

That wasn't to say that he wasn't unpredictable. He could snap on times and come at you with a knife, chasing you around the kitchen as you screeched and whined for him to stop, all the while watching him laugh with glee.

And on real scary nights when he seemed bored, well..

Anything could happen then. Even still, Art remained tame as of yet in comparison to the things he is capable of. He clearly saw a need in you, and repaid your generous cooking, cleaning and fixing up his costume for him with keeping you alive and leaving you mostly unharmed.

A cut here or there, yeah, and definitely a bruise but you were alive and well.

The only real affect he had on you was terror, he did enjoy popping up randomly in the dark when you had got up for a glass of water, hand roughly pushed over your mouth as your screams muffled into his hand before realising who had caught you.

Or the times you'd check on him in the old barn, just to see if he was around for dinner, calling his name out. Venturing in, you'd freeze as the door shut behind you, darkness enveloping the entire area, only for the sound of a flame thrower igniting near you making you scream and cover your mouth in terror.

Each time you'd ramble something like 'Art, stop it! I-Im making beef for dinner and I just wanted to check that you wanted some!'

The clown would tug on your cheeks with both hands, patting your head as though to say 'how adorable are you?' before pushing you surprisingly gently towards the door and shooing you away.

You'd run back to the house with your chest beating so loudly you could hear it in your ears.

Presently, you were wearing a cute brown dress, tights covering your legs as you cleaned around the place. Loving the winter, you brought out your cosy candles and fairy lights, loving the gentle glow as the nights grew longer and the sun faded earlier. It wasn't quite time to decorate for Christmas yet, so this will do.

In fact, having a little break from the clown had allowed you to really tidy everything up, get your chores done, see to the animals and bake some brownies in the oven.

All in all you felt refreshed and well, truly in your element. It allowed you to push.. peculiar thoughts of Art from your mind.

Time carried on, and the brownies were cooling on the baking tray as you sat comfortably on your settee, a white blanket decorated in pumpkins covering you. You loved Halloween, too.

Dropping off to sleep, your mind felt at peace until a muffled sound was heard from outside. Lifting your head, you didn't react as you awaited Art to barge in at any moment, only..nothing.

Sitting up, you waited silently, hearing that muffling once again.

You frowned. Art was a master of silence, if he didn't want you to even hear the rustling of his bag, you wouldn't.

So why did you hear leaves crunching loudly, and..

Oh.

That wasn't Art.

You could hear voices mumbling now, close to your window, though unintelligible. You wondered who it could be. You had no known close relatives, and no friends, really.

Not close enough to appear unannounced on a late Friday evening, anyway.

Living in the middle of no where, you learned to be cautious of such sounds. You had no neighbours, and hardly anyone ever passed your cottage. Those that did tended to knock politely, not skirt around your perimeter sneakily.

Aside from Art; he's different.

Standing swiftly, you opened a drawer, gripping a handgun. You could never be too careful out here all alone, and you doubted it would go down easy if you stood with your shotgun aimed at them.

Handgun it is. Hiding it furtively, you stepped outside with confidence.

The sight of two men dressed head to toe in black greeted you, peeking through your curtains.

"Can I help you?", you began politely, causing them to bolt upright and spin around to face you. You couldn't see their faces.

They weren't amicable strangers, that was for certain.

"That truck yours?", the tallest indicated with a nod of his head.

"It is."

"You, uh..you live alone?"

You smiled.

"I do."

The two men sprung into action. "You do, do you? Be a good girl and chuck me the keys."

"Why would I ever do that?" You remained calm, pulse elevating, adrenaline begining to grow.

"Why?", the other repeated with a scoff, and swiftly pulled a knife out from his pocket, "because I want to see your round ass walk away like a good bitch, so go grab those fucking keys before I cut your face off."

Talk about overboard.

Nodding politely, you backstepped. "I understand. I don't want any trouble, give me one moment, please."

You backstepped further into your house, keeping the door open.

As you did, you heard one of the men hiss 'im not a fucking murderer, let's just get the truck and fucking go!'

You had a few options here.

You could run, hide, call the police.

You shook your head and steeled your nerves. Hell no. This was your damn property.

The two men looked around cautiously, impatient. "Where the fuck is she? We should've gone in with her."

"She's terrified, bitch probably can't find the keys."

They heard the sound of a gun cocking. Loudly.

Turning back to the door, you supposed they never thought to see a shotgun aiming directly at them. You could see their eyes widen behind a black robber mask.

"Woah, hey, keep the fucking keys--", one began, hands in the air, knife dropped to the floor.

You remember holding this very shotgun the night you met Art. You smartly lowered it, knowing true evil and terror when you saw it.

But these two? They had nothing on Art. Just average men, trying hard to terrify a woman. A nasty smirk broke out on your face, one of anger and satisfaction.

"I'll tell you what's going to happen. You're going to get the fuck off my property before I blow a hole in your chest. How's that sound?"

The scared one nodded vigorously, hands jittering as he backstepped, ready to bolt. The other, however..

"You wouldn't do that. You don't have it in you.", the other tried calling your bluff, taking a leap forward. It started you, but you remained strong.

"Wouldn't I? Out here in the middle of no where, who'd ever come looking for you?"

The man shrugged. "You might be right, but whose going to look for you?"

Before you could respond a hand grabbed from behind, reaching out and gripping the barrel of your shotgun and forcing it to the sky.

You instinctively pulled the trigger, sound blasting through the forest loudly causing birds to flutter away.

How the hell did he get in the house?

The assailant was stronger than you, tearing the weapon to the floor before gripping you by the hair roughly.

You grunted in pain, hands frantically searching for the handgun on your person as the man at the bottom of your steps began coming at you too.

You managed to shoot him in the thigh, hearing him cry out and collapse.

The scared one took off in a sprint, never turning back.

The aggressive one currently ripping strands of hair from the root wrestled you to the floor after shooting his friend, boot pressing firmly on the hand that held the gun and kicking it away.

He got on top of you and held you down as you struggled and fought against his hold, head reeling to the side as he back handed you, hard.

Furniture and anything close by moved and was tossed over as you fought back, unwilling to let him pin your hands to the floor, punching a fist into his groin to get him to crumple slightly so you could lug him off with all your might.

You scrambled to your feet and made a dash to the door, barely getting halfway before a strong body wrestled you back to the floor, your hands aching from the wall as he ripped your dress from the back to keep a hold on you.

You continued scrambling ahead, reaching out for anything, hands gripping the large sewing needle you had lost some time ago and turning to stab it into his cheek.

The man hissed, face turned into an ugly snarl as he staggered back in pain, holding the wound.

You up and ran, panting and panicking as you frantically made it outside.

The man didn't let up, he ruthlessly grabbed your hair causing you to cry out and slapped you so hard across the face you saw stars.

Blood dripped from your mouth as you stumbled back, held upright by the man's grip on you.

He grabbed your cheeks hard, squeezing the blood from your mouth, snarling. "Pretty thing, I'm going to put you in your fucking place--"

You cried out a sharp 'no!', kicking him between the legs and pushing him away.

You both fought tooth and nail for a while, you managing to run a short distance before being dragged back and hit even harder in the face.

This time you gasped helplessly for breath, blood spurting out of your nose and down your mouth.

What scared you the most was a hand gripping your thighs and trying to spread them.

"I'm going to fuck you before I kill you, bitch. And it's going to hurt." The man seethed the ugly promise, tearing your dress up high and grabbing your tights to rip a hole in then.

You cried out, kicking him in the jaw but to no avail. Without any weapons you had no chance in winning against his strength.

You saw an opening as he stumbled back at your kick and bolted it as fast as you could towards the trees. You knew this land well, so you knew where to hide.

Frightful and shaking, tears littered your cheeks as you heard the sound of the man getting to his feet to chase after you.

You gasped painfully, unable to breathe, and all but screamed bloody murder as you ran directly into a chest.

An arm wrapped around your struggling body, a hand smothering your scream as you fought and cried out desperately against another assailant. This one was like a brick wall, unmovable to your attempted attacks, even if he himself wasn't attacking you.

Two hands gripped your shoulders and shook you hard, causing you to look up at his face in terror only to pause, wide eyed.

That familiar, monochromatic clown tilted his head down at you in a thoughtful frown, mild confusion pooling in his irises as he studied you from head to toe, moving a gloved finger to wipe at the blood trickling down your chin.

"Art!", you cried, chest heaving up and down, "Theres--These men--attacked me and--and tried to-to--"

You could barely get your words out, watching as Art cocked a surprised eyebrow up and attempted to decipher your rambled sentences.

He didn't really need to. Upon further inspection, he could see the bruising of your face, the very blatant tear of your tights which showed a lot of skin, and how your dress had been ripped.

He knew something was off when he heard the sound of gunshots. He knew you had guns, but for you to use one meant something was amiss. Something compelled him to come and look, dropping the dead body he had been mutilating in the woods, eager and..somewhat impatient, to get to you.

That was a foreign feeling, and now having actually studied your shaking hands that gripped his costume and the amount of blood that covered your face as tears dribbled down fatly, staring up at him in utter relief, he was unused to such an expression, and truly didnt mind it coming from you.

Gazing outwards at the forest, an intense ire began to build in him. You weren't going to die today, he doubted you ever would because you were his, and only his.

Having finally made a decision, Art grinned cruelly, fingers eager and twitching excitedly to meet this so called attacker.

Letting his arms drop from you, he took a step forward to make his way to the house, stopping as you gripped his arm in fear.

"W-wait, please don't leave me--"

Art held up a hand calmly, shushing you, and went through his black bag, retrieving a hammer. He patted your head, as though telling you not to worry, and made his way towards your home. He walked excitedly with a bounce in his step.

You knew what that meant.

You were so happy to see him, as fucked up as that is, but he clearly made the decision to protect you. You felt relief and fondness, sitting against a tree with your knees up to your chest, waiting.

You wanted them dead, truth be told, but may God have mercy on them for what Art is about to do..

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

You remembered hearing gut wrenching screams and splatters of vomit as various tools were used to maim the trespassers.

You remember your body moving on auto pilot as you entered your home, Art briefly stopping his flaying of the man who threatened assault on you, to lift a hand and wave at you, fingers dancing playfully.

You waved back slowly, trudging up the steps and into your home where your living room was a mess from the commotion. There were patches of your blood on the floor, a lamp upturned and glass shattered messily.

Body and mind exhausted, you laid down on the settee and fell asleep dreamlessly. You didn't even awaken to the sounds of a chainsaw and guttural screaming.

You don't know how long you slept for. You were in and out of consciousness for a while, waking up to your ribs aching from the attack, or your lips burning from being split, the blood drying on them and irritating them.

You were still a mess, hair dishevelled and face bruised, dried blood flaking off your face and your clothes in almost tatters.

Your face was still puffy from crying, eyes opening slowly and slightly bloodshot. Moaning weakly, you stretched your legs out and hissed as your ripped tights dug into a deep cut in your thigh.

The TV was on. You barely registered the comforting hum of some early Christmas film that was on, volume low and tranquil.

Slowly standing, you made your way to the kitchen. Your chest fluttered at the sight of Art, sitting calmly at the table with a plate of sweet treats you had in the cupboards, including biscuits and cake, and what looked to be a cup of hot chocolate.

He was eating them very civilised, too. You were proud of that. It wasn't like he needed to eat, at least you thought, but he really did enjoy sweet food. Same as you.

Clad in a surprisingly clean clown suit, he waved at you, his hands stained red. He must have cleaned himself up for the most part, and..looking around, you sighted a mop bucket, so he must've really made a mess and cleaned up after him.

That was oddly..sweet. It made you smile.

"I must have been asleep a while." You gathered aloud, taking a seat at the table across from him.

The clown shrugged, held up a hand with 4 fingers. So you slept for about 4 hours then.

You rubbed your eyes, exhausted. The clown tilted his head at you slowly, frowning softly in thought with a finger to his chin.

"Yeah, I'm a mess. I can't believe those guys." You huffed, glaring down at yourself. Your anger spiked at the sight of your attire.

"He ruined my favourite fucking dress!" You exclaimed, arms folding frustratedly. You were a mixture of huffs and mutters as the clown cocked a calm eyebrow - how had you both switched places? - and listened to you curse and swear which he had never heard before.

It made him chuckle silently, head in hand as he watched you. Feeling eyes on you, your frown softened. "Im sorry, I'm not myself. I thought I had it all under control when I saw the two of them."

Your gaze dropped lower to the floor, reminiscing. "I didn't really notice the third. I have no idea how he got in." You almost whispered defeatedly, eyes misted and glassy as you remembered the way that man treated you and touched you.

You suddenly felt incredibly dirty. What if you hadn't managed to outrun him? He was about to violate you. And what if Art had never showed up? He'd--

Your thoughts draw to a pause as Art taps your hand gently, points to himself and does a stabbing motion, then points outside.

It made your lips quirk. "Their dead?"

Art nodded excitedly, grinning wide as his fingers tickle your hand. You begin to giggle, and grip onto his hand. "I'm glad you turned up. I mean, I managed to fight him off barely, but imagine if..."

You froze, eyes staring at your intertwined hands, and shook your head. "Assholes."

Art suddenly lit up like a lightbulb, face making one of surprise as he held a hand up to wait. Comically running out of the room, you awaited his return as he came near you with one of the robbers mask. Something was wrapped inside it.

Art got down on one knee and presented it to you with arms outstretched, wiggling his eyebrows, and you giggled again. Gripping the fabric, you found it soaked with blood. Opening it, a human heart stared back at you. It was relatively fresh.

You blinked slowly, not at all feeling usual feelings of repulsion and fear. Instead you felt..warm. The symbolic meaning of presenting you with the heart of your attacker wasn't lost on you, and as fucked up as it was, you blushed faintly.

"I.."

You smiled incredibly gently, Art thought. It made him happy to see your face finally light up after those filthy, rotten humans dared to touch what was his.

"I'm incredibly grateful for that. Thank you, Art. Who'd have thought you'd make such a great protector?" You winked playfully, laughing when he returned it dramatically with a nod.

"Oh! I almost forgot!", you rose and grabbed a nearby dish. "I made brownies!", you pouted at the fact that they weren't warm and delicious anymore, and Art thought that if you kept acting so cute he'd have to hurt you. In a good way, of course. He was still confused about that.

Art revealed one of his rare smiles, lacking it's usual slyness or sinisterness, and grabbed a brownie delightedly. It made you beam.

There you both sat, his hands bloodied and your face bruised with a heart sitting between you both as you shared the brownies.

There was an undeniable connection, and as you cuddled up in your blankets after a fresh shower, staring up at the ceiling, you thought about that.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

The dynamic had shifted. Art could still be sly and mean in his ways of scaring you, but he certainly toned it down. He seemed to want to hear your laughter more, launching tickle attacks on you until you were a squealing mess on the settee, wriggling and fighting against his grip as tears of laughter wet your cheeks.

"Please!", you squealed, "no more! You win!", you'd shriek, body contorting until his fingers finally stopped and he stared down at you smugly.

For a moment, you both stared in silence, you catching your breath and him observant as ever.

With a burst of excited energy, you fled his slack grip and bolted to the other side of the living room, jumping in your spot. "Just kidding! I got away so I won!" You giggled ecstatically, watching as the clown slowly stood to his tall height.

Your laughter died down, nervous excitement replacing it. He held a glint in his eye that could only mean trouble. Art tilted his head dramatically, finger to his lips as though saying 'Oh, you've won, have you?'

You shook your head in panic, hands held up in surrender. "i-i didn't mean that! Honestly!"

Art mimiced your panicked face, holding his hands up in surrender as he jumped towards you. You jolted, stumbling back as an uncertain laughter bubbled up.

"Believe me, I know I could never outrun you..", you glanced towards the kitchen door, plotting.

Art lifted a hand to his chin, silently humming in thought, before holding up a hand with fingers spread wide.

He dropped a finger, holding up 4.

Then 3.

2.

"Wait--wait why are you counting?!"

1.

Art froze, grin held wide as he remained unmoving. You shifted nervously, about to say something before Art suddenly came to life again and darted towards you.

You screamed and bolted away, running instead to the stairs that were closer and hoping to make it to your room.

You did, and as you ran through it and turned to slam the door shut, Art was already in the doorway and wrapping his arms around you as you shrieked and cried out apologies for challenging him.

Art showed you no mercy, throwing you to the bed and holding you down with ease as he assaulted your ribs again with his fingers.

He laughed silently at your torture, gleeful and delighted at your non stop screaming and laughing.

"Art! Wait! I can't take it anymore!--" you wheezed, grabbing his wrists and pushing as hard as you could.

He didn't even budge. He was like a stone wall. Art paused, cocking his head down at your futile efforts and back up to your terrified face.

You froze, realising that you just challenged him again.

With a flash of black and white, Art jumped atop you, straddling your hips as he held your wrists down with one of his hands, watching you squirm and whine.

He chuckled evilly, silently, eyebrows low and grin spreading wide.

But there was that same look from the other day again. Peering down at you, he watched you analyse the position you were in, eyes fluttering up to his face in shock as a flush tainted your pretty skin.

Art knew that look. He was very meticulous when it came to the human body and the emotions it can feel.

You were panting, chest fluttering and warmth radiating off of you as Art smirked down at you knowingly. He raised his eyebrows, hand to mouth in shock as though to say 'Are those dirty thoughts in your head?'

Although silent, it was as though you knew that he knew what you were thinking. You felt dazed, so red and undeniably enjoying the vision of him above you, holding you down.

There was no denying the guilty thoughts you had had of him in the privacy of your bedroom at night, faceless men turning into monochromatic, super natural clowns each time you reached your peak.

You felt vile at first. But after his protection against those men the other day, your feelings definitely shifted, and since then you couldn't stop your thoughts from trailing to him..

The sexual ones, too. The private ones where you thought about pale, strong hands holding your head down against the bed as you were taken from behind.

The ones where your head was wrenched back by an iron fist in your hair, too euphoric to the point that you could only babble words.

You knew he could take you there. And his incessant flirting in real life, where he'd wiggle his eyebrows at you if you passed in a towel or if you bent over, or where he'd stand teasingly in your way of a doorway, forcing you to squeeze past him as he smirks and winks. Those things made the thoughts all the stronger, and at times you wondered if he knew what you were going to do once you got back to your room.

Sometimes, the way he smirked and waved at you with a wiggle of his fingertips just after you finished getting yourself off made you wonder. He must've known, this freakish demonic man.

The memories brought heat spreading down to your neck, your tongue tied as you struggled to break the tension. You struggled to get a word out, eyes fluttering in nervous anticipation. It was hard not to romanticise this charming clown.

"I--"

The clown leaned down close, void eyes staring into yours that were so full of emotion, raw and naked. His strong hand that was capable of such violence began tracing your jawline delicately, as though you were porcelain.

You inhaled shakily, feeling the digits drop to your neck, pressing against your fluttering, rapid pulse.

From anyone else, that would feel uncomfortable. But Art doing that felt so suffocatingly intimate you didn't know how to react, eyebrows drawn together in mild confusion at your feelings.

The way Art smirked made you realise he knew exactly what he was doing. Lifting his hand to his mouth, he gripped the glove with his teeth and tugged it off, freeing his pale, veiny hand and bringing it to your cheek, thumb tenderly rubbing the area.

You felt like your head was going to burst from how red you were. You think its because the utter shock at having Art act in a way that wholly juxtaposes him and touch you delicately made you feel so exquisitely special that you didn't know how to register it.

How can a mere innocent touch melt you so much?

His fingers traced the lines and curves of your face in fascination. There was no doubt a morbidity to his thoughts, but there was also mild, genuine adoration in his lifeless eyes.

Your pulse quickened, butterflies dancing in your belly at the thumb that now traced your plush lips. Body reacting faster than your thoughts, your tongue wet the tip of his thumb.

A glint began to shine in his eyes, ferocious and wanting. He tilted his head down at you, unsmiling but not in a scary way; he appeared quite tranquil, and something else.

His thumb dipped into your mouth slightly, experimentally, and he was pleased at the way you wholly accepted him in, swirling your tongue intimately around his digit.

Your eyelids drooped, overcome by this display of raw connection, your lips glistening as he slowly retrieved his thumb, giving your lips one final stroke before gliding his hand down your neck again, tickling the skin with gentle fingertips before moving down to your collarbone.

You held your breath, biting your lip as the usually menacing clown above you glided further down, and down, until his hand brushed the outline of your breast, barely skimming across your nipple.

You inhaled sharply, how were you this sensitive? You could feel heat pooling between your thighs already.

Art tilted his head, examining the large, soft globes that hid beneath your clothes. Eyes flickering up at you, Art smirked before gripping the front of your shirt and tearing it open with ease.

You gasped aloud, eyes wide and mouth agape as your breasts bounced free, nipples hard and begging for attention.

You flushed so deeply red that your face began resonating heat. You were so embarrassed at being half naked in front of him, and you didn't know why. Maybe it was because of the teasing way he winked appreciatively, removing the other glove from his hand swiftly before grazing your breasts barely, hands gripping handfuls of them boldly soon after.

His thumbs skimmed over your pebbled nipples, watching your head loll back against the pillow as you inhaled and exhaled shakily. Bolts of arousal were shooting to the junction of your thighs every time his calloused thumbs teased your perk nipples.

Art was entranced by your visible display of arousal, so sensitive and so wanting; he had never felt this way about a person. Even he knew he was being unnaturally kind, inducing you with pleasure that was sure to have you tingling.

Art never did things unless he wanted to. He didn't want to hurt you. No, his dominance and roughness that he could just tell you craved would come later. For now, he wanted you wet and yearning.

He was proficient in knowing how to hurt the human body, which means he's acutely aware of how to pleasure it; that simply came hand in hand.

And, glancing down at you, having been brought from his thoughts by your breathy exhale, he could tell that what he was doing was incredibly pleasurable. You squirmed, legs widening and relaxing unconsciously below him, your pretty green skirt riding up your thighs.

"Art-", you whined in a whisper, nerve endings alight and tingling, begging to be touched.

Art flashed a smile, head tilting once more as though wondering what to do with you. He could leave you here, undeniably wet and sticky and yearning, begging sweetly, or he could indulge, nudge your pretty thighs apart and fuck you like you've wanted him to for a while now.

You didn't hide it well, especially after touching yourself mere minutes before seeing him, pupils blown wide, hair tousled and sweaty, legs lightly shaking. You should probably stop leaving your wet, soft underwear on your bedroom floor too. That's a big give away, if you didn't already know.

The sarcastic thought had him grinning, and after moving his head back and forth in thought, weighing out his options, he flicked his thumbs over your nipples a few more times, watching you react immediately and arch your back towards his hands.

"Ah-", you gasped, shuddering, gnawing at your lip with hooded eyes.

Art rolled his eyes up at the ceiling, then shrugged lightly to himself. He wasn't necessarily a sexual creature, but he was still in the body of a man. Tweaking your nipples teasingly, Art nodded.

He wanted to fuck you, hard.

But he wanted to tease you first.

Arts eyes dropped to the way your legs had spread for him, dark underwear on display from the way your skirt had ridden up your thighs.

Trailing a hand down your waist and to your hips, Art studied you as his hand moved lower, teasing your inner thighs, pinching the fatty flesh there before pressing two fingers against your apex.

You reacted immediately, shuddering a breath in and out as your legs spread fully, bent at the knee.

Pale fingers traced your soft, wet lips through your underwear, tickling from where your hole would be and up towards your pulsating clit, circling the bud with light pressure.

You moaned quietly, legs squirming slightly as you yearned for a direct touch, his teasing becoming relentless. Your hands balled into fists as white hot tingling sensations barreled through your stomach and your clit, demanding to be touched but to no avail.

Art knew this, and pressed two fingers firmly against your clit, circling.

"Oh--yes--", you whined, looking fucked out with your head lolled back when Art had barely done anything. He wondered how you'd react to the plans he had for you later if this is how you were after a few strokes.

His teasing continued, trailing down to your hole and dipping in slightly, soaking your underwear, before running his finger to the edge of the useless garment and hooking two fingers in, tearing it apart.

This time, Art used both hands to grip your thighs, spreading them far. He studied your pink, exposed slit with incredible interest. The mess of wetness was excessive, coating the length of your sex, your inner thighs and gliding down to your tight rim.

You squirmed in his hands at his staring, to which he tightened his grip, making you shudder.

"Art..", you whined

His eyes snapped up to yours expectantly.

"Please, I--", you gasped at his fingers tracing maddeningly around your labia, refusing to touch you directly. "Please touch me. Please, I--..I need it so bad.", tears filled your eyes with frustration, "so fucking bad, you have no idea.."

But Art did know. He's always known, and just to prove his point he searched for something in his pockets, retreaving it and dangling it in front of your face.

You froze. It was your used underwear from yesterday, when you masturbated before a shower, throwing the garment to the floor. You thought you had imagined throwing it to the floor, because upon coming back to the bedroom, it was gone.

You looked mortified, hands covering your face. "You've known all along?" You whined, unable to face his grin. You felt humiliation creep up your chest at being caught red handed, biting your lip hard to ground yourself. Pathetic tears threatened to fall in frustration.

You gasped as two hands gripped your own and pinned them above your head, using one to keep them there while the other hand wagged it's finger back and fore, Art shaking his head and tutting silently.

You were forced to face his smug, teasing stare, your own face pouting. Art lifted two fingers, wiggled them, before bringing them to your lips.

You accepted, swirling your tongue around them, before they were retrieved swiftly. Wiggling them again, Art made a show of demonstrating just what he was about to do to you to bring that smile back.

Winking in a way that had you melting in a puddle of embarrassment, Art pressed two fingers to your wet entrance, grinning before gliding them into your wanton hole.

Your reaction was instantaneous, a keening 'oh!' torn from your throat, back arching as you squirmed beneath the hand that pinned you down.

Art began to thrust his fingers deeply, pulling out to the tip before delving back in, watching you writhe and gasp. You were desperate for more, hips lifting higher.

Art pulled his fingers out of you, showing the wet lubrication that coated them, scissoring them apart to watch the way it attached his fingers with stringy gooeyness.

You released a frustrated whine this time, fighting beneath his one hand. "No, no don't pull them out, please--" you pouted pathetically, desperately.

Art wanted to torment you more, but his desire to see you screaming in pleasure outweighed that at the moment. He wanted to break you.

Shrugging innocently as though to say 'well, you asked for it', Arts two fingers sunk into you to the knuckle, pumping in and out firmly and roughly, curling rhythmically against that spongy area he knew would have you seeing stars.

"Oh--Oh!", you cried, hips tilted up into his assault, the lewd sound of your wet hole permeating the air as his fingers went in and out, in and out, restlessly and roughly, giving you exactly what you wanted.

Art smirked darkly, increasing the pace rapidly, so fast he had to hold your kicking legs down as he brought you too much pleasure, too much torment in the sweetest way he could give.

You cried out loudly now, unable to hold your voice back, body convulsing lightly as your peak approached.

"A-Art, Oh, Ohh--" you moaned, panting and thrashing back and fore as his fingers forced an orgasm out of you, intense and sudden, squirting down his wrist and soaking your bed.

You gasped for air, legs falling slack as your mind felt like it was floating.

You didn't have any time to think as Art gripped your hips tightly, flipping you over effortlessly and pulling your ass into the air. He smoothed the skin gently, before giving it a slap, watching you jolt.

You were soaked, legs quivering as you braced yourself. Your knees knocked together, staring back at him desperately.

You had dreamed of this for some time, you thought, gnawing at your lip anxiously. Judging by the sudden, bare feel of his hard cock against your folds, you knew you were in for a ride; he felt huge.

He was definitely thick, but even more than that is that he was incredible in length. He wasn't an ordinary man, so you shouldn't be surprised, but a tingle of fear and excitement gnaws through you all the same.

"W-will that fit?", you whispered in awe, salivating, and Art merely shrugged, wiggling his eyebrows as though to say 'ill make it fit', before putting a hand on your head and pushing your face into the bed.

You felt arousal course through you at his actions, being pinned down and bared for him to use. You pushed your round ass into him as much as you could, desperate and whorish, feeling his body judder with silent laughter.

He teased you at first, pushing the tip in, then retrieving, only to push just a little bit more in, and then retrieving again.

You huffed, unable to hide your frustration, but choked on it as Art slowly pulled out, then slid all the way in to the hilt.

You cried out loudly, hands balled into fists in your blanket, head pushed into the bed hard as Art gave you no time to adjust and began fucking you.

Your insides were on fire, pain and pleasure at his large intrusion mixing together, pulling moan after moan out of you. You could barely breathe, struggling to say his name as Art now gripped both of your hips and bred you.

A hand was lifted from you before coming down hard on your jiggling flesh, one stroke after another, getting harder and harder until you were writhing and whining.

He didn't stop, testing just how far he could go, switching to the other cheek when he felt your screams were getting particularly painful.

The stinging was unbearable, but it made you so wet, so pliant for him to absolutely manhandle you into the bed, gripping a fistful of your hair before he ravaged you just the way you wanted.

You were already a babbling mess, cock drunk when Art had hardly done anything. He rolled his eyes at you, though he was definitely amused at the unintelligible song you sang for him, something about his large cock and something else about breeding you.

You filthy girl.

Arts hand tangled rougher into your locks, before he gripped it hard and wrenched your head back, spine arching.

Your whines increased, becoming incredibly high pitch and feminine for him as he forced your head back.

Your neck was burning, but you loved this feeling, having a firm hand tug your hair back and an incredible, curved dick hit your insides just right.

The way he fucked you hard made you want to pretend to be bratty in the future, just so he could put you in your place. In fact, maybe one day when you're feeling particularly moody or low, you could get him to fuck it out of you, sweeten you up. The thought of being forced to take him deep as he fucked the brattiness out of you had you sopping, thighs drenched and shaking and barely standing.

"Ahh--Art, it feels so-", you moaned brokenly, thighs collapsing as the demon above you took to forcing your face back into the bed, other hand forcing your wrists above your head.

Having your thighs together now made his cock feel utterly massive, forcing the air out of you as he glided in between your plush cheeks, invading your sodden hole.

It made you feral.

"Oh my God oh my God--", you cried weakly, sobbing. Tears rolled down your cheeks in over stimulation, and Art leaned his body over yours, pushing you into the bed as he used one hand to smother your mouth, hooking his fingers into it.

You babbled, sucking his fingers desperately as you drooled down his wrist and your chin.

His fingers stuffed your mouth, thick length now ramming into you harder. You could barely hold your head up anymore, resting weakly against his wrist as you cried and whimpered, mascara blackening your eyes and cheeks messily.

Suddenly your hips were gripped and your body was forced onto it's back. You whined at the loss of him inside you, legs wrapping obscenely around his trim waist, needing more.

"Fuck me, please fuck me-", you breathed, head lolling back as fat tears burned your eyes, soaking your cheeks. Your lips were formed into a frustrated pout, fists clenched as though you were about to have a tantrum unless his dick resumed fucking you.

Art grinned truly maniacally down at you, gleeful and amused at your cries. It was a stunning sight, seeing your usual reserved self acting like such a slut.

He pouted right back at you, holding two fists up to his eyes and rotating them back and forth to impersonate dramatic crying. He was mocking you cruelly, laughing at your fucked out expression.

Forcing his fingers into your mouth again, Art pushed them down your throat, watching your eyes widen as you gagged and choked. Saliva pooled in your mouth excessively, and he scooped it out with both fingers to smear it messily over your cheeks and down your chin, laughing silently and pointing.

"No, please stop mocking me..", you whimpered quietly, lips wobbling as you pleaded at him with your big eyes. Your hips bucked desperately, thighs sticky and warm.

Art dropped his grin and rolled his eyes at your antics. You really wanted him to fuck you? Sure.

A malicious glint lit up his eyes, tenderly wiping the black tears staining your cheeks from your makeup.

Before you could blink, a strong hand was wrapped around your throat roughly, and a moment later his hot cock was pummeling into you mercilessly.

You couldn't even scream, sounds trapped in your throat and escaping in high pitched exhales, your head falling back against the bed as he strangled you.

It terrified you, but as your breathing became less and your head became clouded, a sudden, indescribable pleasure ripped through you so powerfully your eyes rolled back into your head, drool openly gliding down your cheek.

Your body felt weak and unresponsive, unable to even grip at his wrists for some reprieve, but the pleasure..

The fucking pleasure was mind numbing.

Your eyes drooped, face turning almost purple as he fucked you so deep you felt sick.

You couldn't gasp anymore, weak breaths barely getting past the brutal grip on your throat.

You were delirious now, feeling in a dream like state, ecstasy exploding behind your eyes and lighting your nerves on such a burning fire. You felt like your soul was ripped out of your mortal shell, experiencing the biggest high of your entire life.

Art cackled madly, silently, a sick adoration twisting in his eyes at the way your consciousness began to slip. He held your neck dangerously tight, tighter than he planned but judging by the way your hot, wet pussy gripped at him, he knew you loved it.

The sounds of your joining bodies was obscene and lewd, squelching and loud as his cock forced your lubrication out of your body.

Art gritted his teeth at the morbidly stunning view of you drooling excessive saliva, tears soaking his hands and mascara clumping your eyelashes, your eyes now bloodshot and heavy.

They rolled back, and soon you become quiet.

Bringing you to the very edge, Art removed your hand and allowed air to enter your lungs.

You gasped painfully, choking and sobbing as you were given no time to inhale greedily, instead getting ravaged inhumanly fast.

You couldn't lift your head, eyes blinking dazedly up at Art, who lifted a hand to wave at you mockingly.

You tried to speak but couldn't, mouth held open in permanent ecstasy. Your hips snapped upright as fingers roughly rubbed at your engorged clitoris, abusing the greedy nub.

A cry tore from your raw throat, head thrashing side to side and legs shaking violently as your orgasm rendered you incoherent.

You screamed out, squirting almost violently down your quivering thighs and over Arts rigid, brutal cock.

You sobbed, face screwing up pathetically as genuine, uncontrollable cries wracked your form. You could barely intake breath, body and nerves unable to handle the level of soul wrenching pleasure and borderline pain that was inflicted upon you.

Art gripped your shaking thighs and lifted them above his shoulders, face devoid of his usual smirk and instead scowling down at you with smouldering eyes. He fucked you harder, faster, animalistic before his hips stuttered once, twice, and a hot, thick load of cum filled your gaping pussy.

The amount was unnatural, not human, but your body lapped it up all the same as your insides convulsed and quivered. You moaned weakly, keening in a higher pitch as your lips wobbled and your eyes remained misted and delirious.

You didn't even feel Art pull out, stuck in a dream like state as aftershocks lit your body up. Your legs were dropped from his shoulders, falling unceremoniously to the bed, wide open.

You babbled incoherently, arm covering your face. Art stared down at you serenely, gazing from your dick dumb espression to the mess of cum coating your thighs, globs of it dripping down to your asshole. Your hole gaped and twitched, greedily gulping up all that it could take, thoroughly fucked and bred.

You felt two fingers scooping up the mess and pushing it filthily back into your pussy.

You whined, dropping the arm from your eyes to finally look at the demonic clown that had surely taken grip of your soul and tore it out.

Art smirked down at you, winking playfully. He revelled in the mess he made of you.

"Art that was--I--Mmm--", you moaned, responding to the gentle caress of your clit with his fingers. You were so wet and full of cum, biting your lip.

You didn't move as you felt his form pull away from you. You were so out of it you felt drunk.

You didn't feel him tucking you into bed, only remembered being beneath the blankets as he tilted his head down at you contemplatively.

He felt something foreign, that was for certain. He felt a possessive adoration over you, wanting to break you into a crying, sobbing mess, strangle you until you stood on the precipice of death like earlier, but also..

Watching you now, eyes drooping as you gripped his hand softly, tiredly, he made the final decision that he wanted more tender moments like this.

You were the rare occasion, the only occasion.

He was going to consume you whole.

[rindreamery]

it's just instinct, all i want is you.

how long it takes for the blue lock men to realize you’re the one. featuring: itoshi rin, itoshi sae, nagi seishiro, michael kaiser, oliver aiku 𝜗𝜚 content: fluff, suggestive

note. desperate and yearning hcs next??? who knows

it takes itoshi rin 6 months.

rin likes to think that he’s slow and deliberate with his relationships— that he’s not the type to have such decisive thoughts about someone so early on. he’s spent years building up a wall to protect his feelings, and he’s not about to let a (potentially fleeting) person ruin what he's worked so hard to maintain. he's only been with you for 6 months, and he has his doubts about whether you would want to stick around. but all it takes is, “i’m so proud of you, rin,” and his world is completely tilted off its axis.

he tries to tell himself that it's nothing; he's been complimented by other people before.

you probably didn't even think much of it when you told him. it’s just a simple phrase, one of many that people say without thinking. but it's different, it's special, when it's coming from you. your words repeat in his head, like some mantra. it's like his senses are overwhelmed by you. he finds himself focusing solely on your voice, the way you look at him with such gentle eyes, the sincerity behind your words— you. it’s scary how much it affects him. it rattles something deep inside of him, and it shakes him to his core.

he doesn't want to hear it from anyone else, he quickly realizes. those praises don't mean much when it's not coming from you. they don't make him feel unstoppable, like he’s on some high that he’ll never be able to get down from. and he's hit with a jarring realization—

“say it again,” he's standing in front of you, ignoring the incessant flashing of cameras that surrounds him and the deafening cheers of the crowd. he's only looking at you.

“i’m so proud of you,” your voice is quiet, but all he can hear is you, “rin.”

—he's fallen for you, much deeper than he thought he would. he’d be damned if he let you slip away.

it takes itoshi sae 1 year and 3 months.

sae had no intention of falling in love with you. needless to say, his affection for you wasn’t some calculated move. the thought of liking you hadn’t even crossed his mind, and he’s not even sure if he’d ever considered you as a friend. you’ve just been around for long enough that he’s stopped questioning it, that he’s grown to tolerate your presence. at least, that’s what he tells himself. he lets you come over when you want, eat all the snacks in his pantry, use his netflix account— to everyone else, you’re basically a couple. before he knows it, you’ve settled into his life the way a familiar song gets stuck in his head without him noticing.

it’s hard to deny the noticeable shift in sae’s behavior whenever he’s around you.

the way the frown on sae’s face vanishes to a more passive state whenever he’s talking to you, and he's much less irritated at the aspect of having to answer your random (but stupid, in his opinion) questions. he’s not aware, but a part of him subconsciously looks forward to it. “would you still love me if i was a worm?” comes another one of your stupid questions, and he answers without thinking.

“yeah.” the expression on his face remains the same, he’s as indifferent as he always is. but his answer takes both of you by surprise. under his cool facade, his mind is scrambling to make sense of his answer, as if he hadn’t expected himself to say such a thing.

you’re flustered, and it’s evident in the way you stumble over your words. a part of you begins to wonder if that was simply a figment of your imagination, like some hallucination from sleep deprivation. “what— huh?”

so he plays it off, he acts as if he meant to say it. “you heard what i said.” he realizes his heart had decided on you longer than he’d ever been aware of.

it takes nagi seishiro 3 months.

nagi’s used to being alone— he’s used to neglecting himself and every aspect of his life because no one is there to tell him not to do so. he’s not used to having someone be a constant in his life, to have someone who isn’t thrown off by his apathetic and lazy attitude. sometimes he wonders if he acts this way to keep people out, and he wonders why you choose to stay despite. but slowly, you color your way into his bleak routine.

at first, it’s subtle. you linger around him, but your presence isn’t demanding for his attention. you’re there, but you let him be.

and then your presence becomes something a little more prominent. he starts to notice the little post-it notes you leave in his locker, and how you remember to sneak in his favorite snacks. or how his pillows start to smell like your shampoo, and the way he becomes used to having you there in his living room as he plays video games. or even the fact that he finds himself waiting by the gate when classes end, and how he doesn’t mind being pushed around by the crowd as he searches for you in the endless sea of students so he could walk with you. so he could be with you.

he starts to feel like he’s truly living, like there’s something to look forward to every day.

when you say, “see you tomorrow,” he deflates at your words. it’s a weird feeling— he feels weird at the thought that he doesn’t like being alone anymore. that he misses you in the way he misses his phone. he feels bored without you there, and a part of him feels so empty when he doesn’t have you beside him.

when he drops you off at home that day, he realizes it feels strange to be alone again— “can you stay with me?”— he needs to be with you.

it takes michael kaiser 7 months.

kaiser lets his ego get in the way of his relationships. he thinks he can have anyone he wants, and that's why he wholeheartedly believes that he's above the idea of yearning for someone. the idea of wanting someone so much that his thoughts would be consumed by them, and only them? it’s unimaginable. he’s used to being admired, worshipped even, by others. he doesn’t need anyone— he doesn’t need you.

so the prick of irritation he feels, when he sees you laughing at another man’s jokes, catches him off-guard.

it shatters his pride, and he tries to ignore the heat that bubbles under his skin. but he can’t ignore the feeling of possessiveness that washes over him at the sight. you’ve always been his— the heated touches, the way you wear his cologne on your skin, the way you linger around him like it’s natural. you're mine, he always thinks to himself, but he never says it out loud. he’s above yearning— but the idea of you being with someone else makes him feel sick. and he’s not about to let another man take you away.

“come with me.” his voice is sharp and demanding, his mere presence filling the space with an unspoken challenge. but before you can speak, kaiser’s gripping your wrist, pulling you into him without another word of explanation. you don’t fight him, you don’t fight the excitement that it brings you. there’s something in his gaze, something so possessive and raw, that makes you follow him wordlessly. you’re mine, the thought echoes in his mind and for the first time in months, he can’t deny the feeling that has been brewing under the surface.

he yearns for you, and he’ll never let anyone strip this feeling away from him.

it takes oliver aiku 4 years and 2 months.

oliver would never deny the fact that he enjoys having you around. but you’re simply his friend— nothing less, and definitely nothing more than that. you’ve been in his life for years now, lingering in his orbit in a way that keeps you both close, but so far. you’re a constant in his life because he doesn’t need to act around you. he never needs to impress you, never needs to win you over with sugary words. you’ve never given him the typical attention he’s used to, the type of attention that he naturally demands. and that bothers him in a way he won’t admit. yet, it’s this disinterest that pulls at him like gravity. it keeps him coming back, keeps him by your side.

but he doesn’t want anything more from you— he doesn’t need it. it’s these words that keeps him from tainting you.

he doesn't like the dangerous and greedy feeling of wanting to have more of you, wanting to see you in ways that no one else has, and that dangerous feeling that makes him want to devote himself to you wholly. and that’s what gets to him. he’s used to being the one in control, the one who dictates the terms.

it's a futile attempt, he realizes. it's always been you who's had the upper hand.

he can no longer deny that he wants you, more than he’s ever wanted anyone. no one else has his heart racing ‘til he can hear his heartbeat in his ears, no one else has him hooked in the way you’ve been stringing him along. and suddenly, all those meaningless flings feel like distractions, like he’s been wasting time when what he really wants is right in front of him.

it’s not about lust, not about the chase—he just wants you. and this time, he’s not about to let fear or pride hold him back.

© rindreamery, 2024

[cherienymphe]

Lead Us Not Into Temptation

Father Charlie Mayhew x Reader

Warnings: NON-CON, mentions of prostitution, mentions of infidelity

➥ banner by @vase-of-lilies 

summary: turning your life around is easier said than done when you tempt the very man meant to lead you to salvation.

♱

“Bless me, father, for I have sinned…”

The familiar words tumbled from your lips, and your gaze remained on your lap, eyes following your finger as you traced patterns into the solid black skirt on your frame. It kissed your ankle as you shifted your feet, and the reminder of the long fabric had you swallowing down less than gentle thoughts. You slowly reached up to touch the collar of your shirt, eyes briefly falling closed as you cleared your throat.

You’d spent hours agonizing over how you’d leave the house…

“It has been seven days since my last confession. These are my sins.”

Like clockwork, you listed the time you cursed for some accident or another and the time you took the Lord’s name in vain and the brief impure thought about that attractive man you’d seen in the grocery store. Every week, it was the same. Sins that you yourself would never have considered as such months ago that you were now hyper aware of. They climbed out of your throat seamlessly, remembering every single one until only one was left.

The silence between you and the man just on the other side of that wall stretched—a familiar occurrence—and you took your lip between your teeth. You could taste blood as you worried it, swallowing it down before clearing your throat again. You smoothed your hand over your skirt, and you furiously blinked, struggling to blink away the tears that had started to collect. As you sat in silence, you wondered why you were trying so hard to impress people that had already written you off?

“I’ve had…some hateful thoughts as well.”

You struggled to get the words out, always struck by just how emotional this made you. You looked up towards the ceiling, eyes roaming, and you hadn’t even realized that your breathing had started to pick up until he spoke.

Father Mayhew.

“Take your time,” he gently encouraged. “Speak when you are ready.”

It wasn’t the first time you’d heard those words, recalling your first ever confessional and how you’d cried. It was as embarrassing now as it was then, but it was necessary. You were determined to live differently now—to be different, now.

“Although I have abandoned my former life and…occupation…” you thought you heard him shift. “...I feel as if I will never truly be forgiven for it.”

You swiped your tongue between your lips.

“...will never be accepted.”

You recalled the eyes that often found their way to you during mass—the judgment, the disdain, the way in which some stared at you as if they didn’t know how to place you. 

Every sunday it was the same. You’d wake up and agonize over how to present yourself in a place as holy as this. You’d fret that this skirt was too short and that dress was too tight. You’d fiddle with your hair for far too long and every lipstick you wiped off would stain your lips a little more than the last. You were constantly at a crossroad, torn between wanting to look nice for church and concerned about looking like…well…a whore.

You struggled to swallow.

“I see the way they look at me,” you eventually whispered, staring at nothing. “I can’t hear what they whisper, but I know it’s about me.”

You touched your throat, hating how tight it felt.

“It’s…discouraging.”

You didn’t want to use that word, but it was the only word that was appropriate. It made you sad, and you often wondered why you kept returning to a place that made you sad. Surely a church wasn’t necessary to ‘find God’...right? You didn’t think so, but you had wanted to start somewhere, and considering that none of your friends even owned a bible, they had been of no help. Stepping foot into a place that had only ever served to be ominous and oppressive in your eyes was the most terrifying thing you’d ever done.

…but then you had laid eyes on Father Mayhew.

He’d been the only one in the church at the time, and you would never forget the curious glint in his dark gaze. You’d had no doubt that he could see you were scared and unsure and in an environment you were wholly unused to. You’d appreciated the gentle way in which he talked to you, guiding you towards a pew in the front as you asked him questions that some people had answers to their entire lives. He hadn’t treated you like you were stupid, but more importantly, he hadn’t treated you like you didn’t belong.

You were willing to bet that he hadn’t even known about you then.

Although, months later, you were willing to bet that he did now…even though you’d never told him.

“Humans are flawed,” his smooth voice reached your ears through the wall. “We all fall short—even the most devout of us—and we find ourselves falling prey to the temptation of judgment…pride…lust…”

You intently listened. After all, he’d never said these words to you before, always giving you some speech about God’s love trumping all.

“I have no doubt that it is trying, but I am sure you will come to give them grace for their sins just as they will give you grace for yours. We are all God’s children striving to lead a life in his image…”

His voice lowered at that, and you frowned slightly, looking towards the wall and thinking to yourself that he almost seemed to be talking to himself now.

“He wants his children to love one another, a feat that is not without difficulty I’m sure you know…” that actually made you hold back a chuckle. “...but God’s love is powerful and he always grants forgiveness to those who genuinely yearn and ask for it.”

At that, you did smile.

You told him that you were truly sorry for your sins, and he told you to say ten Hail Mary’s, and you stepped out of the confessional feeling better than you did thirty minutes ago. You didn’t know how long the feeling would last though, and so you wanted to hold onto it for as long as you could, but you knew from experience that was easier said than done.

You touched the crucifix around your neck as you stepped out of your building.

It had once belonged to your mother, and despite how long she’d been gone and how down on your luck you’d been ever since, you could never quite find it in you to pawn it. It was real gold—probably the only real piece of jewelry you ever owned—but you just couldn’t do it, and you supposed that you were never meant to. Despite the many years you’d lived life as the complete opposite of a God fearing woman…it felt right sitting just below your collarbone.

Even if many would not agree.

You were no stranger to several men in this town—and the ones who often passed through on their truck routes—but that had not stopped you from seeking solace and guidance from a place you’d never stepped foot into in your life. You couldn’t lie and say it didn’t feel…strange to be in the same building as some of the men you’d serviced before, their wives and children at their side as they furiously avoided making eye contact with you. It felt even worse to watch the way the women would congregate together after church, excluding you all the while talking about you.

It felt somewhat pathetic for your only ally in the place to be the priest.

Although you sometimes wondered how true that was these days. You’d never once confessed that you used to be a prostitute—although the kids called it sex work these days—but you weren’t stupid. As godly and devout as they claimed to be, you knew that the church was filled with gossip and there was no telling who’d let it slip to the dark haired man. You knew when he knew though…

…because he looked at you different.

It wasn’t a bad different—thank God for that—but just…different, and while it wasn’t necessarily bad, you still didn’t think you liked it. Confession—being anonymous—never allowed for you to tell him your name, and considering you’d only ever spoken to him once outside of confession months ago, you didn’t know if he ever knew it was you he was talking to. You didn’t know if he knew that the woman he spoke so gently with each week and listened to cry on the other side of some window was the same woman who often shrunk under his heavy gaze as he looked down on his congregation.

You never felt like he was judging you, no, but you also never felt like he was looking at you as he did that first day, a gentle curiosity in his eyes. He wasn’t your friend—far from it in fact—but he felt like the closest thing you had to one in this church, and so you often forced yourself to find excuses for it. He watches you because he wants to make sure you’re settling in okay. He watches you to observe how other members of the church are treating you. He watches you because he’s wondering if you’ll ever come to confession, convincing yourself that he’s never recognized your voice all this time.

That is why he watches you, you told yourself.

No other reason. 

“You always come to pray at least three times a week…”

The familiar voice startled you as you stood, hand lowering as you’d just finished signing the cross. Your hand was still on your chest as you turned to face him, a small smile on your lips as he stood directly in the center of the aisle. You hadn’t even heard him make a single sound, and you wondered how long he’d been standing there.

He slowly returned your smile with one of his own, although it was smaller, and the silent way in which he stared at you reminded you that he’d said something to you. 

“Yes,” you finally said, moving away from the altar. “It helps with…um…really everything.”

He blinked at you, and you noticed that a strand of his hair was threatening to go rogue. He always looked so neat and perfect that it was hard to miss. Father Mayhew was handsome—if anyone had seen enough men to know it was you—but he was handsome in a way that you would categorize as flawless. Divine even. In a way that was untouchable and only meant to be admired in the most innocent of appreciation. 

He slowly nodded at your response, and you didn’t miss the way he studied you—dark eyes drinking you in and taking note of every stylistic choice you’d made today.

“You know, I think I might see your face far more than those who have been coming here for years,” he lightly told you, a slight laugh on his lips.

You laughed with him, only offering him a shrug.

“I’m still new. I’m sure it just seems that way because you aren’t used to seeing me.”

He started to shake his head before you could even finish talking, and you watched him move closer.

“No,” he murmured—so low you almost didn't hear him. “I think you are perhaps my most…devout congregant.”

He touched your crucifix as he said this, dark eyes tracing the shape of it, and he was so close that you could smell his cologne. You blinked at the scent, finding it strange to know that he wore cologne. It shouldn’t be strange, you supposed, but you realized then that you didn’t quite view priests—view him—as human. As normal…

His eyes lifted then to finally connect with yours, and a crooked smile danced along his pink lips.

“It’s admirable,” he whispered. “More of my congregation could stand to follow your lead.”

You couldn’t ignore the way your chest bloomed at those words, almost hating how much validation you wanted from this place. Validation that you were a good person…you weren’t who you used to be…that you were worthy of something more, you didn’t know. It just felt relieving to hear such a compliment from Father Mayhew when no one else in the church would even give you a chance.

“Thank you, Father,” you quietly replied to him. “That means a lot to me.”

You watched him slowly inhale as he dropped his hand, and he seemed even slower to step out of your way. When you walked past him, you could feel his gaze on you—always watching—and you smiled when he called out to you, telling you that he looked forward to seeing you on Sunday.

No one was more sad than you when you had to disappoint him.

An unexpected cold had you bedridden for days, and while you knew that an illness was a perfectly valid excuse to miss church, you couldn’t swallow down the disappointment. You hadn’t missed a single Sunday since you first started going, and you thought to yourself that the first thing you’d do when you returned was explain your absence to Father Mayhew.

You had never anticipated him showing up at your door to get it himself.

No one ever knocked on your door these days, so the sound had taken you by surprise. Your friends—while supportive of the direction your life had taken—didn’t quite understand it and so you didn’t see them as often, and as for anyone else… Well, there wasn’t anyone else who would come knocking on your door. You didn’t do that anymore so no customers were going to be greeting you on the other side with their money in their hand and an eager grin on their lips, and you doubted any of the women in town would want to sit down for a chat anytime soon.

Your shock at Father Mayhew’s presence was all over your face.

“Father,” you stated, the lilt in your voice hinting at your surprise.

He looked just as you were used to seeing him—clerical collar still on, not a hair out of place, and a hint of a smile on those pink lips. You stood there gaping at him for all of five seconds before it struck you how rude you were probably being.

“I…I’m so sorry. Um…come in,” you told him, stepping out of the way and widening the gap in the doorway.

He didn’t respond nor move right away, looking past you into your small house with a look in his gaze that you couldn’t name. If he were anyone else, you might worry that he was judging where you lived. You watched his jaw briefly tighten, a noticeable strain in his face, and it only just occurred to you that maybe this wasn’t appropriate? Although you were positive you’d heard of priests and pastors visiting the sick before, and while you certainly weren’t on your deathbed, you didn’t see why this would be different.

Before you could say another word though, his foot crossed the threshold, and you closed the door behind him.

“I do apologize for the unexpected visit,” he said to you, gazing around before his eyes landed on you again. “...but when I noticed that mass was absent of a face I’d grown to look forward to, I became concerned.”

You couldn’t stop your smile at his words

“Oh,” you softly said. “Well, there’s no need to be concerned. It’s just a small cold that will be gone in a day or two.”

You watched him exhale at that, nodding to himself, and you studied him, surprised to see that he looked genuinely relieved at that.

“I’m glad to hear that’s all it is…”

At that, your brows furrowed, and you watched him slowly walk about your living room.

“I had feared that some of your fellow church goers had scared you off.”

Your lips parted at his words, and he turned and looked at you.

“They often fall into the temptation of judgment, after all…”

Your heart skipped a beat, and you didn’t know how to react with the knowledge that he knew it was you who came to see him once a week. You’d only spoken to him face to face twice, and you swallowed, looking away.

“I thought it would be a shame if they scared you off,” he confessed, and you noted that he was closer now. “I wondered what I would have to do to convince you to come back. Drag you, perhaps.”

You gave a soft laugh at that, although he didn’t join you, and it awkwardly faded. He stared at you in silence for what felt like a long time, and just when you were considering asking him if he wanted anything to drink, he reached out to touch the crucifix around your neck again.

“So devout,” he quietly said to himself. “It almost makes me ashamed…”

At that, you gave a heavy laugh, wondering how you could ever shame a priest.

“Why?”

“...because I see why they flocked to your door…money in hand.”

His gaze lifted as he said that, and you were still as you both just stared at each other. His words made you blink, and you were suddenly very aware of his hand practically on you. You couldn’t stop the slight frown that fell over your face, and for the first time in months—since you first stepped foot into that church—you felt…wrong.

“I see why their eyes trace every inch of you when you’re not looking…as if to relive the memory of what you felt like—tasted like.”

You finally took a step back, hand coming up to cover your necklace as if protecting it from his touch.

“What memories they must have of you…”

You wrapped your other arm around yourself, mind whirling to reconcile the man before you with the same man who’d always been so welcoming and gentle. Not once did you ever think he judged you for your past, and you supposed that you were right, but not once did you ever think he also might…

You hadn’t done that in over a year, but had it really escaped you so quickly that a seemingly devout man was still…a man?

“Father, I think you should-.”

“I don’t say any of this to offend you,” he interrupted, tilting his head. “I say it because I fight the urge to touch you every time you’re in my presence.”

You moved by him to make your way to the door, but like an ever present shadow you only just noticed, he was close behind.

“You can cover up as much as you’d like—wear skirts down to your ankle and shirts up to your chin…” his hand on the door halted your movements. 

You felt his chest just barely grazing your back, and his lips followed suit, the softness of them brushing against your ear as he spoke. That familiar cologne invaded your senses.

“...but none of it can hide the temptation you pose by merely existing.”

You shrunk away from him at that, tears in your eyes as he verbalized the same fears you had every time you walked into the building. You flinched when his lips touched the back of your neck, heart dropping to your stomach, but you reached for the door handle anyway.

“Father, I’d like you to leave-.”

Your words were cut off by your own sharp scream, taken aback by the feel of his fingers harshly pressing into the skin of your throat. His hand rested on the back of your neck, and you pressed your hand to the door when his lips grazed your cheek.

“They’re all like rabid dogs…just waiting to pounce,” he mused against your skin, sliding between you and the door and forcing you further into your house with every step. “Just waiting for you to give up this charade and go back to taking their money for a quick fuck.”

You blinked, and a few tears escaped.

“...but they don’t know you like I know you.”

He grinned against your cheek, and you winced as he lightly nipped at the skin there.

“They don’t know that you come to church at least thrice a week to light candles and pray…”

You were full on sobbing now, and you could feel the cool metal of his ring against the back of your neck.

“They don’t know that you never miss your weekly confession, telling me every time you so much as say the Lord’s name in vain.”

His free hand was reaching for the buttons of your shirt, popping them open one by one, and you gasped when his fingers finally met skin. He dipped his head, mouth finding the skin of your shoulder and collarbone interesting before his hand searched for your wrist.

“They don’t know that you are the most pious woman to walk through those doors,” he purred, pressing gentle kisses to the inside of your wrist. “...and that I just want to ruin you for it.”

When his hand dipped between your legs, you were quick to try and stop him, still wincing at the tight grip on the back of your neck. Father Mayhew made a noise of disapproval, and your hand faltered when he harshly bit your shoulder.

“We are…and always will be…sinners…”

Once his fingers were inside of you, it was like the point of no return. You found it funny that he likened the men in church to that of rabid dogs when he himself was behaving like the very thing he used to insult them. When your knees buckled, he followed—one arm around you and holding you in place while the fingers on his other hand curved into you.

Every thrust of his fingers made you wetter—embarrassingly so—and when he pulled your head back, he forced a kiss onto your lips. He swallowed down your whimpers and noises of protest, a moan escaping him as he tasted the inside of your mouth. With him so close to you, you could feel the muscles and contours of his frame beneath his clothes, and you were forced to recognize your predicament and his strength and what that meant for you.

When you were face to face with him again, his hair was nowhere near as neat as it was when he first walked through your door. His pink lips were swollen and reddened from kissing you and dragging over your skin. Your pajama top had long been discarded, the bottoms long ripped and pulled off of you. Father Mayhew’s—Charlie—clerical collar was long gone, his shirt pulled open and hanging off of him.

You recalled the way your mouth had parted into an ‘O’ shape when the head of his cock finally dipped into you, stretching you with every inch and making your heart momentarily stop. His hand covered a breast, the feel of his ring cooling that singular part of your skin, the rest of you so overheated. His other hand was wrapped around your throat, and you clawed at his hand as he fucked you.

The sound of skin slapping against skin was loud in your tiny home, the only sound to rival it being his harsh grunts and your strained voice. Any fight that you’d put up had been quickly squashed down, shown in the harshest manner just how strong your priest was. You hated how good it felt, hated that you didn’t want this but was now forced to enjoy it. Nevermind the fact that you hadn’t enjoyed sex for the act itself in years…

…but of all people to find yourself in this predicament with.

Father Mayhew’s hands never stayed in one place for long. He seemed determined to touch every part of you he could get his hands on, lips tasting the saltiness of your skin. Sweat clung to your frame and his, his fingers sliding over you as he kneaded your thighs and your waist and your chest. Every time you reminded yourself how wrong this was, he’d push his cock into you to the hilt, and you’d involuntarily throw your head back.

You could feel your crucifix pressing into your skin, and your eyes watered.

“I must admit that I was—am—jealous,” he dragged out, voice hoarse and throaty and wholly unlike how you were used to hearing him. “Your devotion to God inspires an envy within me that I never knew existed.”

You took note of the scars on his back underneath your fingers.

“...a desire to have you completely devoted to me,” he bit out, covering your lips with his own. “You so desperately desire forgiveness and acceptance…and all the things you didn’t think you were worthy of having.”

He harshly thrust into you, making you gasp.

“...and I can give that to you,” he whispered into the kiss.

The power behind his thrusts had you scratching at both his back and the floor, eyes squeezing shut at the way his fingers dug into your skin. It was like he was both holding you to him and trying to prevent you from ever walking away. Your chest arched up into his as you gasped, choked whimpers climbing out of your throat with every push of his hips. He growled against your skin as his lips traveled to your neck, the sound almost demonic to your ears.

When you came around him—your first orgasm in over a year—you couldn’t swallow down the noise it forced out of you. You could feel blood beneath your nails and a slickness on the inside of your thighs, but all the while Father Mayhew didn’t stop.

With one hand pressed against the floor, he pushed himself up to look down at you. His free hand slid up your sweaty frame, coming up to wrap around the crucifix that rested against your skin. He tightened his hold around it, and he pulled on it, forcing you to lift your head and meet him halfway for a kiss.

“I want you just as eager to get on your knees for me…”