#is it just really hard to find because its out of the way but it abides by normal laws of space or does it have some of its own rules?

[reiding-writing]

Heyy!! i was wondering if you could perchance do a drabble with dad!spencer and mom!bau!reader where they've gotten into the rhythm of calling each other mommy and daddy in front of the kids and one of them accidentally slips up and does it work without realising. And then the team is like "hold on 🤨" (probably morgan) and they have to defend themselves. Just something i've been thinking about and i don't have the artistic ability to right it myself but you do! Thank youuuu! xxx

SLIP UP. /spencer reid/

your at-home naming habits find their way into the office.

bau!mom!reader 1.1k fluff masterlist.

a/n | this is so funny i love it.

The bullpen hums with its usual energy—phones ringing, keyboards clacking, conversations weaving through the space.

It’s late, and exhaustion weighs on everyone like a heavy fog. Cases have been stacking up, the paperwork never-ending, and you’re all running on caffeine and whatever sugar-laden snack Garcia has left in the breakroom.

You and Spencer, despite being used to sleepless nights—courtesy of two small children at home—are still feeling the burn.

Parenting while profiling is a delicate balance, and some days, it feels like you barely hold it together. But you've found ways to cope, to slip into a rhythm that works.

Spencer leans over his desk, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose as he scans a report. His hair is slightly disheveled—likely from running his hands through it—and his tie is loosened, his sleeves rolled up. He looks exactly how you feel, drained.

You, seated across from him, are going through another file when you sigh and reach for the next document. “Pass Mommy the file, please,”

The moment the words leave your mouth, the bullpen stills. For a brief second, no one reacts. Not even Spencer, who doesn’t hesitate to slide the file over to you, his tired brain not even registering what just happened.

But then—

“Hold on, what?”

Your head snaps up so fast you nearly give yourself whiplash. Across the table, Morgan is staring at you with wide eyes, a slow, knowing smirk spreading across his face. JJ’s eyebrows are raised nearly to her hairline, and even Rossi has paused his paperwork, looking mildly amused.

Hotch looks like he’s trying very hard not to react.

You glance at Spencer, who is blinking rapidly, his brain trying to catch up with what just happened.

And then, it hits you.

“Oh my God.” Your stomach drops. Heat rushes to your face. “I didn’t mean—”

Morgan leans forward, elbows on the table, his smirk growing. “Did you just refer to yourself as Mommy?”

Spencer makes a strangled noise in the back of his throat. “It’s— It’s not—”

“Because I swear I just heard that,” Morgan continues, clearly enjoying himself.

JJ covers her mouth, eyes twinkling with suppressed laughter.

You groan, dropping your face into your hands. “It’s not what you think,”

“Oh, I think it’s exactly what I think.” Morgan chuckles, leaning back in his chair. “Reid, you calling her Mommy at home?”

Spencer makes another choked noise, shaking his head furiously. “No! I mean— yes, but not like that!”

JJ snorts, and even Hotch finally cracks, pinching the bridge of his nose like he’s debating whether or not to intervene.

You lift your head, groaning again. “We have two kids under four. There’s a lot of third-person referencing, okay?”

Morgan raises an eyebrow, amused.

Spencer, still red-faced, starts rambling. “It’s a psychological phenomenon, actually. When individuals—particularly parents—are frequently addressed in a particular way, their brains develop an associative response, reinforcing the use of the terms even in situations outside the expected context. It’s entirely innocent. Just an unconscious linguistic habit.”

Morgan whistles low. “Damn, Pretty Boy. You really just tried to profile your way out of calling your wife ‘Mommy’ in front of us,”

Spencer groans, burying his face in his hands.

Your face feels impossibly warm. “We’re tired, Morgan. We haven’t had a full night’s sleep in—” You glance at Spencer. “How long has it been?”

“Three years, three months, and sixteen days,” he answers automatically.

Morgan lets out a low whistle. “Damn,”

Emily places a hand over her heart. “That’s actually kind of adorable,”

Garcia practically vibrates with excitement. “This is the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I need to hear more,”

“There’s nothing more to hear,” Spencer says, shaking his head quickly. “It’s just a habit. Strictly innocent,”

“Oh, we believe you,” Rossi says, the corners of his mouth twitching. “That doesn’t mean we’re going to let it go,”

“Not a chance,” Morgan agrees.

You groan, dropping your head into your hands. “This is never going away, is it?”

“Nope,” JJ says cheerfully.

Spencer sighs, rubbing his temples. “Great.”

And just like that, the teasing begins.

For the rest of the day—and likely for weeks to come—you hear variations of:

“Daddy, can you pass me that report?” from Emily.

“I don’t know, Mommy, what do you think?” from Morgan.

Garcia, of course, takes it the farthest, occasionally referring to you both as “Mommy and Daddy dearest,” complete with exaggerated winks.

By the time you make it home that evening, you collapse onto the couch with a groan, Spencer falling beside you.

“I’m never going to live this down,” you mumble.

“At least they think it’s funny,” Spencer says, leaning his head back against the cushions.

You sigh. “This is your fault,”

He turns his head to look at you, eyebrows raised. “My fault?”

“You didn’t even hesitate when I said it. You just handed me the file like it was totally normal,”

His lips twitch. “To be fair, it is normal,”

You nudge him with your foot. “Not at work, it isn’t,”

He chuckles, then tilts his head, considering. “Maybe if we just… pretend it never happened, they’ll drop it,”

You snort. “You really think that’s going to work?”

“…No,”

“Exactly.” You groan again, rubbing your hands over your face. “I’m never going to hear the end of this,”

Spencer smiles softly, reaching over to squeeze your hand. “At least we’re in it together, Mommy,”

You open your eyes just to glare at him. “You better not start doing that on purpose,”

He presses his lips together, trying to suppress a grin.

“Spencer,” you warn.

His grin widens. “Yes, Mommy?”

You grab a throw pillow and smack him with it, and his laughter fills the room, warm and familiar.

Exhausted as you both are, you wouldn’t trade this—your life, your family, the teasing from your team—for anything in the world.

[drchucktingle]

As an autistic person, did you struggle to make and keep friends? And have you found friends through the writing world? I ask because my mom always said i needed to find my people. I did finally find them (they are neurodiverse trans nerds, haha), but not until i was like 30. And i wonder if its true of other autistic people too. So i guess my question is: did you find your people, and when?

thank you this is good question. i have always had a LOT of CLOSE BUDS even from a very young age. i would actually say that i am unusually socially adept in my way and that it is partially BECAUSE of my autistic trot. LETS TALK ON THAT FOR A MOMENT

'BUT CHUCK YOU SAID YOU ARE ON THE SPECTRUM AND AUTISTIC BUCKAROOS CANNOT BE SOCIALLY ADEPT' some say. and sure it is UNUSUAL overall, technically speaking, but there is also an important reason we talk about this as a spectrum of buckaroos and not a monolith

when buckaroos ask me what it is like to be autistic i try to explain like this: there are certain cues and markers from the outside that serve as a sort of identification checklist but because of masking they are not always correct. instead i see it as question of WHAT IS IT LIKE INSIDE YOUR BRAIN?

internally my brain is different. its taking in way more information all the time, including the stuff that neurotypical buds block out, and that can become overwhelming. it is hard to navigate because i do not have that automatic neurotypical 'here is what is important here is what is not' function

so yes i can be easily distracted and zone out as i watch the patterns and fractals spin off. and yes i can miss certain things in social situations. in many autistic buckaroos this makes large groups overwhelming and the OUTPUT of behavior matches what we typically know as signs of autism

FOR ME however, same thing is going on inside, but i have managed to HARNESS that information. even from very young age i see that everyone is DOING THE HUMAN ACT but instead of rejecting that and shutting off i think 'well okay i am just going to do THIS because thats what they actually want'

in other words, most neurotypical buds say one thing that has a kind of spiraling social-cue-related OTHER MEETING (they do this ALL the time) and instead of rejecting that i have trained myself to be REALLY REALLY good at knowing the hidden meaning. it is EMPATHY but on a sort of LOGIC BASED level

and because i have always been pretty good at that, people like to trot around me and say 'wow this is a good friend they understand me'. now for ME that can be a little exhausting and there are things i need to do and stims and all that to release the effort, but overall it is worth it to me

OTHER THING is that i was a successful CREATOR AND ARTIST BUCKAROO from an early age which is socially seen as 'cool' especially when you are trotting around in your youth. it is not particularly FAIR but it is true that some level of fame makes buds treat you well even if you are 'weird'.

of course it can be a sort of FAKE 'treating you well' but as an autistic buckaroo it is still more of a chance than you might otherwise get. this timeline has sort of carved out a very special little sliver of social grace for the token odd artistic weirdo to have a seat at each cool kids table

ANYWAY that is the trot of my life. it is a unique trot that i dont get to talk on much but since you asked THERE YOU GO. every chance i get to say 'I LOVE BEING AUTISTIC' and talk on HOW MUCH IT HAS IMPROVED MY LIFE i try to take a moment and do that. when i was young i had few autistic heroes

and OF COURSE it can be difficult and overwhelming and we need to have space for those stories and voices, but i want young buckaroos who get this diagnosis to know there are ALL KINDS of stories and trots on the autism spectrum. MINE IS PRETTY DANG COOL and maybe yours will be too. LOVE IS REAL

[pepsiwatermelon]

I'm actually crying right now, this is. Actually incredible. Usually I leave my comments in the tags but I gotta add this one on loud- choir music like this always hits me really fucking hard and part of that is because I met my partner through choir. Before either of us came out, and neither of us knew. There's so much here that it's hard to articulate. Way back before gay marriage was legalized in the US.

When you're singing in a choir, you're just one voice lent to a whole that is the choir itself, and it's a really beautiful and moving thing on its own for sure. But there's something new and special about this milling about that stops only when the music calls for it. Then coming down with the camera to showcase different voices just incidentally as they pass, each with a different part, a different story. It's a perspective you can only get from being IN the choir, it sounds different from the outside. There's something there, about queer experiences and how varied they are, what it's like to find yourself among your people unexpectedly, how different it is when you submerge yourself in queer culture and life.

There's so much more I could say, so much this could mean on top of what it already does, but I don't have the words for it. This is amazing.

[monolotus]

°˖✧◝ (𝘾𝙪𝙩𝙩𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙤𝙣𝙞𝙤𝙣𝙨) ◜✧˖°

includes: mentions of a fight, vernon being an apologetic puppy, mention of Hoshi

Your hands are shaking. You’ve been in the bathroom for ten minutes, and you can’t calm down, it doesn’t matter how much you splash water onto your face, or how many breathing exercises you do.

You can’t come out of the bathroom though, you won’t let your boyfriend see you like this.

Couples fight all the time, right? So it shouldn’t shake you so much this one argument you’ve had with Vernon. But you can’t help it, he has raised his voice towards you, chuckling when you would try to defend yourself. It was a dumb argument, too. Little things that had been bothered you two during the week ended up collapsing against each other, even if you had nothing to do with it.

You go past him, towards the kitchten. Is really hard to ignore his gaze on you, scanning every movement as you make your dinner.

Maybe is the sound of the knife against the cut board, but you can’t help look towards your boyfriend as you start chopping the onions.

As you rub your eye, you can only curse realizing you touched the onion with the same hand you have in your eye. Cursing, you try washing your hands, before you can dodge it a new pair of hands take the hand towel you kept close to the sink, dampening it on warm water.

You tried closing your eye, as Vernon kept applying a soft pressure with the towel on the damaged eye.

“I’m sorry” he murmured “I overreacted, i shouldn’t have raised my voice”

Feeling tears welling up to your eyes, you whispered it was the onion’s fault. Seeing his shy smile you took the towel between your hands, still acting annoyed. Turning back to your food, you kept chopping the veggies, feeling Vernon’s chin finding its place on top of your shoulder.

“We’re both adults, i should’ve talked things out earlier, and i shouldn’t be so… peevish towards you just because i got stressed out from practice.” With each apology, he would place sweet, short kisses on whatever exposed skin he could reach: behind your ear, on your shoulder, your neck.

“Mh, I will tell Hoshi. He should kick your ass tomorrow” you weren’t going to accept so quickly, no way.

“You’re so right. Let me grab my phone so you can send him a voice note explaining why i should do a hundred runs of the coreo tomorrow” Being always the first to apologize, Vernon knows exactly where and how to kiss you for you to melt, at least a little, between his arms.

With a sigh, you turn around. Being kept between the countertop and his body. Taking his face in your hands, you make sure he is looking at you.

“This will be the first and last time you don’t talk things out, get it?” Nodding energetically, the only expression on your boyfriend’s face is pure need: of kisses, forgiveness and maybe a nice dinner. Who knows.

[chrrific]

綺麗 IT’S A BAD IDEA, RIGHT? 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗆 & 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗂𝗋 𝗍𝗋𝗈𝗉𝖾 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗒𝗈𝗎

slytherin! 엔하이픈 x 𝑓. gryffindor! reader wc 2.005k ��── fluff forbidden relationship au est. relationships l’avis kissing pda pining nicknames like ‘doll’ & ‘pretty’

for : love 💌 mick’s coming back from the dead ?? this one’s for my love ai ( @jjennuine ) >< she’s mine y’all !!!! stay away 😾😾 and go support our collaboration series — lovestruck ! — @lovestruck-show-official

read more fleur

LEE HEESEUNG forbidden relationship

“y/n?”

a whisper echoed through the silent astronomy tower, the only source of light being the moon glimmering through the small window and the stars glimmering above, clearly visible through the enchanted ceiling; it wasn’t enough for heeseung’s eyes to adjust to the dark.

you tiptoed out from your hiding place, and gave him a silent wave and a smile. his lips instantly tugged up sat the sight of you, and he stepped forward, arms finding their home on the nape of your waist as he looked at you.

the look in his eyes was lovesick; wistful.

he hoped and dreamed so hard of the day when the two of you wouldn’t have to hide your relationship, and when you wouldnt have to meet in secret at night.

because this wasn’t right. slytherins and gryffindors just didn’t belong together.

the way you looked in the moonlight was breathtaking, so much so that he swears you’d put amortentia in his porridge that morning. but no, he knew you didn’t. that’s just how much he was in love with you.

PARK JONGSEONG hot boy x unnoticed

jay was the it guy of your year. girls would probably fall at his feet even if he didn’t ask them to. and for some, totally random, unknown reason, it made you almost jealous.

you could almost feel your gaze hardening whenever you saw him with another girl; a girl thats not you. I mean, it’s not like you like-liked him, right? he’s just hot. that’s all it should be, and that’s all it can.

but is that really true?

with the way he’s been shamelessly staring you down from the other end of mcgonnagal’s classroom, you’re sure he can hear your heart pounding from where he’s sat, arms crossed against his chest and gaze set on you in a way that made your breath hitch.

your gaze locked with his, the confidence in his eyes almost intoxicating.

you sighed in relief as the bell rang, snapping him out of your little staring competition before he shoved his stuff into his bag and got off his chair, almost lazily.

just as you were about to walk out of the classroom, a hand wrapping around your wrist stopped you from moving ahead.

“what class do you have next, pretty?”

needless to say, you could feel the ghosts of his fingers around your wrist the entire week.

SIM JAEYUN cocky rival

“good morning, class. today, we are going to be making the love potion known as ‘amortentia’. anyone who knows what it is?”

snape’s cold voice rang around the room, the sound monotonous. everyone knew — of course they did, they were just too scared to answer. there were only two people who were willing enough to answer his question; you and jake sim.

“ah, l/n, yes. so tell me, what is amortentia?” snape asked, shooting jake a glance from rhe corner of his eyes, as if to get him to shut up; like he wanted to see you fail, like he thought all gryffindors did.

you cleared your throat, making sure your voice was loud and clear, wanting your stone-minded, biased professor to see you shine. “amortentia is the most powerful love potion, that is characterised by its—”

you were cut off by another voice, that came from behind you.

“the scent. it is multifaceted, with the scent varying with different people”

a slight frown found its home on your lips, annoyed that jake just had to cut you off in between. “yes, professor. it’s scent.” you muttered, giving jake a glare.

“alright, since the two of you seem to know a lot about the topic, you two will be partners for the entirety of this class.”

you almost wanted to combust right then and there, from those words. why him? why not karina, or jungwon — your friends. at this point, you’d even go to the length of partnering with pansy parkinson, the slytherin girl who acts like she owns the world.

after a reluctant sigh, you shifted your things so jake could move next to you.

as you began to make the potion together, you found yourself struggling with one thing, just one; measuring the pearl dust.

it was so iridescent and was flying all over your workstation, creating a sheen layer that shone even in the dimly lit dungeon.

“need some help, doll?”

PARK SUNGHOON shy x tease

the smell of books overtook your senses as you stepped into the large library, overflowing with shelves upon shelves.

the library was surprisingly full today, and from what your eyes could catch, there was only one seat left; a seat next to a slytherin.

he was focused on whatever he was reading, and it was honestly kinda cute to you. you caught yourself staring for a moment before you got yourself out of it, reprimanding yourself inwardly for a second, before you gathered the courage to go talk to him.

“hey,” your voice rang through the somewhat silent library, even though it was relatively soft. “can i sit here?”

his eyes shifted from his book to you, before he gave a small nod.

you put your bag at the bottom of the chair, and sat down on the seat, not paying much heed to the discomfort the hard cushion underneath brought.

you pulled out a thick book on transfiguration out, starting to read it. it wasn’t like you really liked the subject like rei did, but you had to; you were very close to failing.

as you were starting to get into the book, you felt a pair of eyes on you. you glanced up, only to see said boy sitting next to you being the one looking.

he quickly looked away, pale skin undeniably flushed, staring at the table as if it was an art piece in a museum.

you smirked inwardly, before looking back at your book. maybe sitting next to a slytherin wasnt so bad after all.

KIM SUNOO sunshine x grumpy

sunoo; he just had a way with his persona. that is, he knew exactly how to trick anyone into doing absolutely anything for him, without them realising what trap they fell into.

as you tried to take a step into flitwick’s charms lesson, another person entering made you stop. you glanced behind your shoulder to see who it was, and it was sunoo — cheery smiles and all.

“go ahead,” you murmured, stepping back to let him go ahead. you were met with a too bright ‘thank you!’ before you stepped in yourself.

your eyes scanned the room, only to find that your usual seat at the back was taken already, and the last seat remaining was the one next to him. bracing yourself for the cheery sunshine-ball that sunoo was, you took a step to the desk, plopping down on the seat with your facical expression screaming uninterested.

the class began, with sunoo happily answering flitwick’s questions and taking his notes; meanwhile, you sat, barely able to keep yourself awake because of the all-nighter-study-session you did the previous night.

he shot you a glance from rhe corner of his eyes, his bangs getting in the way of his view ever so slightly. without thinking, he picked up a scrap piece of parchment, scrawling something on it in his overly near handwriting.

it was only because of the parchment being cautiously slid to you that you didn’t nod off, but the words were a bit blurry due to lack of sleep as you tried to read. yet, the second you read it, your brain immediately snapped to its senses.

“hey, you look tired. have you been sleeping well?”

YANG JUNGWON prefect x troublemaker

“another time?” his groan of frustration echoed off the walls, his fingers running through his hair. how many more pranks could you pull? well, considering your new attack, the number of times you could go again would be innumerable.

there you stood in front of his desk, slightly sheepish, but your signature smirk was still on — the one that irked him oh, so much.

“you see, your little warnings really won’t do much. in any case, they make me want to do it more.” the confidence in your tone got under his skin, causing him to look up at you with a glare, as firm as he could muster.

you couldn’t help the laugh that slipped your lips at his attempt to look intimidating, and for some odd reason, it made your heart stop slightly.

you paused, cockiness wavering for just a few seconds, before it came back stronger. “you do know that look it just making it easier to laugh at you, right?” you teased through a chortle, but the way your eyes softened a minuscule amount didn’t go unnoticed by jungwon.

and for a second, it all stopped.

the room went silent, the spirit of your laughter dying down until all that was left was a tension filled with unspoken emotion.

it only lasted a couple moments, though, before he locked back in and looked at you again, voice firm but with a hint of something else lingering at the back.

“just.. keep yourself out of trouble for a bit, yeah? you don’t wanna get yourself suspended before the school year ends.”

NISHIMURA RIKI quidditch rivals

the stakes were high, as the first slytherin vs. gryffindor quidditch match was about to begin.

niki — being the slytherin captain, and you, the gryffindor captain — had always had some sort of issue with you simply existing.

he always found ways to talk to you, always teasing and making fun of you until you’d snap and do something about it.

it just annoyed you so much; the ever-cocky smirk, the smugness layering onto his words, and the way his confident aura that made your heart stutter slightly in your chest each time you spared him a glance.

you couldn’t like him: it’s not right. you’re quidditch rivals from two different houses, and that’s all it would ever be.

but the way his gaze would trail towards you during matches, in the great hall, in the middle of classes, it all made you second guess everything you knew about him and how you felt.

the air was filled with a static kind of energy as the two teams hopped onto their broomsticks, shooting upwards into the sky as madam hooch blew her whistle.

the snitch was set free, and both your and niki’s eyes immediately locked for a moment, a hint of challenge and something else lurking beneath.

as the game went on, slytherin was winning by 130 points, and it felt like continuing to play was a lost cause. the only way you could win was if you were able to spot the sneaky little snitch.

it was all so sudden; you saw the snitch and so did he, and both of you dive bombed towards it. the next thing you knew, you were in the hospital wing with a broken arm and a pounding headache.

apparently, you and niki had hit each other in your speed, and you fell off your broom while he caught onto his somehow.

the second your eyes opened, you were met with the sight of two things; an overly bright light above your head and an apologetic niki sitting on the visitors chair next to your bed.

“hey, you feeling okay? i am so sorry about what happened.” the second he noticed you look up, trying to sit up with a disoriented and confused expression, the guilt crept back in even stronger, and he just word-vomited whatever came to mind: to hell with the so called ‘I hate you’ tag.

“o-oh, it’s fine. ill be alright.” you said, trying to ignore the fact that it felt like someone drove a drill through your skull.

yet, the guilt didn’t leave him at all.

in fact, it came back stronger, along with a weird thump in his heart.

it was probably today’s breakfast, right?

PERMANENT TAGLIST ✉️ 𐔌 ﹒ @liya07v @strvvy-anniee @flufflights @eunandonly @hannamoon143 @irasvr @ateez-atiny380 @amoressb @ikeulove @gudkc @mrsjohnnysuh @sol3chu @nerdywitchcrown @sol3chu @puma-riki @xeee334 @suhiiiies-blog @haerinheartss @layzfy @manaah02 @ijustwannareadstuff20 @enoclockz

likes + reblogs are appreciated !!

[highway-143]

baby take my hand - nishimura riki

genre: smut, fluff

pairing: nishimura riki x fem reader

warnings: loss of virginity, unprotected sex, fingering, pain, etc.

summary: your relationship with riki has always been amazing, but youre finally ready to take it to the next level.

song: connected (bang chan) - stray kids

(proofread)

"riki stop!" you giggle as your boyfriend tickles your stomach. a movie played loudly in the background, drowning out both of your laughter. your arms and legs flailed around riki as he continued to tackle you into the couch, his hands running around your abdomen

"i cant!" his bright smile shows itself in the dim light of his living room, making your heart flutter. "youre just too adorable!" he chuckles and finally takes his fingers off of you. you admittedly miss his touch, but thankfully he lies next to you, pulling you in his arms to close the gap between his chest and your back.

"you smell good," he says, his lips against your neck muffling his voice. "i could smell you forever"

you blush and lace your fingers through his, your intertwined hands pressed against your stomach, holding your bodies close together

riki loved being close to you. cuddling, holding hands, and soft kisses were frequent when the two of you spent time together. you were practically inseperable at this point.

you loved riki so much, it felt like a physical pain in your chest to be away from him for too long. he was the most precious piece of your heart now. nothing in the world could change that

so now you began to think. about sex. a lot.

you havent had that... discussion... with him yet, its always been a little too embarrassing and nerve wracking to bring up.

but you couldnt deny the steady feeling of emptiness between your legs, especially at times when he held you this close. you were getting more and more ready to jump that next hurdle, with his hand holding yours along the way.

"ki?" you ask, rubbing circles over his knuckles with your thumbs

"hmm?" he hums against your neck

"can we talk?"

"whats up babe?" he sits up and pulls you so you are facing eachother, cross legged and still on the couch.

you squint your eyes and clench your fists, very nervous. "i want to have sex with you."

he stares at you in shock. his eyebrows furrow adorably, and his lips slowly form a smirk.

"you want to.... let me finally fuck you? for real?"

"yes i-"

before you can finish he pounces on you, pinning you under him. "ive been waiting for you, babe" he whispers sultrily in your ear. " you dont know how long ive wanted this"

your face flushes under his intense gaze. "if id known i would have said so sooner, im so-"

"ah! dont be sorry. not even for a second. i want you to be ready when you are ready, not when you want to appease me because my dick is hard."

if its even possible, your face reddens further. he lets out a sexy laugh at your embarrassment. "what, do you think thats weird?"

"no, its just different... i dont know what to do or how to do it well, and im nervous, ki"

"dont be nervous, babe. you know its both of our first times. you dont need to be embarrassed with me. especially not with me"

"thanks, baby"

you wring your hands and look around the room. nothing seems right. its too bright, too cramped, too quiet, even with the movie in the background. the silence between you and riki is deafening.

"so did you just say that in general or do you want to do it now?" he teases, a wide grin forming on his insanely kissable lips.

you slap his arm. "yeah i mean now, i just dont really know what to do." you cast your gaze downward, looking at the hem of your shorts that was being rumpled in your fingers.

"then lets find out together." riki grabs your hands in his and pulls you off the couch, guiding you down the hallway of his small apartment.

when you reach his room, he puts you on the bed, shutting the door and turning off the lights. the faint glow of dusk seeps through his windows and spills into the bedroom, lighting the room in a romantic haze that has your senses on high alert. every slight motion has you on edge, anticipation rising as riki steps closer and closer to you.

"what do you want to do?" he asks, eyes softly gazing into yours, looking for any response

"i... god this is so embarrassing!" you bury your face in your hands, and riki chuckles in amusement.

"babe, look at me. please." he pulls your hands down by your wrists, bringing your gaze to him. "this isnt about being perfect. or looking perfect. its going to be sloppy, its going to be hard. but i know that we can both take it, and that we will love each other no matter what. right?"

you nod your head slowly, tears threatening to fall onto your cheeks.

"words, please" riki begs from his kneeling position below you

"right"

he smiles "okay. so where do you want to start?"

"i... i guess we should maybe take off our clothes?"

"probably a good idea"

you both start removing your clothing. your hands tremble under your fingers as you pull your shirt over your head.

and although you cant see it, riki's are too. he nervously pulls his pants down, hands shaking like he had roo much coffee.

you and riki take eachother in. your whole body heats up as his gaze trails over your bare skin. it felt so irregular. nobody has ever viewed your body this way. you stare at riki's gorgeous abs, slowly making your way to his cock.

it was half hard, not fully aroused, yet still bigger than what you thought it would be. you worry how youre supposed to fit him in you. but damn, it was just to beautiful. the tip was a pinkish color, and you could just make out a vein traveling down his shaft, dissapearing into his pelvis.

"holy shit, youre beautiful." riki says, jaw dropped as he rakes his eyes over your insecurities. you dont mind your body, but hell, you couldnt ignore the curve of your stomach, or thickness of your thighs. you use your hands to cover your stomach, but riki mives them away.

"dont you dare try and cover yourself. you are absolutely gorgeous. do you hear me?" his voice is practically a growl as he tuggs your wrists

"oky, ki." you say, smiling up at him.

he takes your lips in a soft kiss, pulling your face to his by cupping his hands on your cheeks.

"i love you so much" you say, pulling back to look at him

"i love you more" he whispers into the darkness. "what do you want next?"

"no, its your turn to choose what we do," you try to be teasing, but only feel nervousness

"well lets get on the bed. go put your head on the pillows." he points to the empty bed behind you.

when you are settled, riki climbs over you and places soft kisses on your face, caressing your hot skin with his lips as his sturdy arms hold himself up above you. you let him kiss his way down to your neck, slowly sucking on the skin near your collarbone as you wrapped your arms around his back.

he pulls away and kneels at your waist, looking at you for any sign of regret.

"are you ready?" he searches your eyes for uncertainty, but you nod in approval

"words"

"yes," you breathe

he pulls himself in between your legs and spreads them wide, getting a perfectly unobscured view of your glistening pussy

"already wet for me babe?" his eyes dialate from pure enjoyment. "and i havent even touched you yet"

"please," you scoff, "you know what youve done"

"mmm" he moans as he slowly aligns his tip with your entrance "are you ready?"

you gab his wrist and grip his hand tightly. "lets do it ki." you grit your teeth an he slowly pushes his tip onto your opening, only for it to slide up, refusing to enter.

you moan from the friction of his dick rubbing your cunt. he chuckles and pushes back do your entrance, even slower in entry this time.

but again, he slides right out.

every time he tries to breach your walls, they tighten and refuse to let him in. by the eleventh time, riki groans in pain. his cock now fully hard and throbbing in need, and his tip is coated in a smeared mixture of your combined pre-cum

you lay back, squeezing his hand as if its your life force as tears begin to fall down your cheeks. "i... i cant do it, ki" you sob. "its too big, i cant do it.... i cant do it..."

your tears paint trails on your face while riki squeezes your hand even harder. "you can, baby. i know you can. do you want me to try and stretch you out?"

you nod and choke back another sob, pulling yourself together.

this time, riki doesnt ask for words. he sees how distressed you are, and places a kiss on your hand, still held in his.

his free hand works its way between your thighs, finding your entrance. he smoothly slides one finger in, rubbing it along your gummy walls as he stretches your hole further. he slides a second finger in. then a third. and a fourth

your cunt burns from the pressure as his fingers glide inside you, not with the intent to pleasure, no. that was for his dick tonight.

riki removes his fingers, bringing them to his mouth as he moves his cock back to where he was before.

you stare at him, completely in shock, as he slurps your juices off of his own digits, a slutty smile curving the corners of his lips as he sucked on the sweet liquid

when he pulls his hand out of his mouth and back to its guiding position at his dick, you ready yourself, holding his hand tightly.

he spreads your legs as wide as they can go and finally shoves his tip into your pussy.

you gasp at the stretch. it was definetly more than his fingers, but fuck, it felt like heaven once the stinging subsided

riki moaned in joy as your core squeezed him nicely. "oh fuck, babe, thats fucking tight"

he slowly pushes deeper and deeper into you until he cant go any further. only 2/3 of his length fit inside of you, but it fit in you perfectly.

"baby, you are fucking wonderful. im so proud of you" he says, giving your hand a faint squeeze "do you want to see if we can fit the rest of me in?"

your eyes look wild at his words, darting from his face to what you can see of his abdomen.

"you... you meant thats not it?" you ask, ready to cry again. "i dont think i can"

"thats okay baby, youre doing wonderful" riki takes your other hand and squeezes both "this feels fucking perfect"

"im sorry, ki" you say, the tears that were being held back slowly falling down your cheeks now "im sorry i cant take all of you. i want to take all of you, i do, but its so much"

he looks down at you with soft eyes. "how about we try something else?"

you nod again, and riki slowly pulls out of you and picks you up. he flips over so you are straddling his waist, and he is where you were

"now try," he says, helping you position yourself on him.

you slide his dick into you, sinking down on it inch by inch until you finally have all of it inside.

you and riki grin in satisfaction as you settle down onto his pelvis, but that doesnt last long. he smoothly flips you back to where you were before, only now he is buried fully inside your aching core

"do you want me to move?" he asks, gripping your hand again

"fuck yes. please go"

riki starts pulling out, then thrusting back in. his motions start out lazy and slow, wanting you to feel pleasure instead of pain.

"faster, ki. i can take it"

he immediately quickens his pace, his hips slapping hard against your ass. his hand grips your thigh, leaving marks on the skin as he held you open

his other hand still held yours. you squeezed it as you felt his dick pounding deeper and deeper inside of you, making you see white

"shit, baby... im- im gonna cum" riki groans, his head hands limply off his shoulders, the tips of his hair slightly ticking your stomach

"then- ah- do it ki, cum in m- me"

your body shudders as you feel your orgasm building up, the band threatening to break while riki thrusted hastily into you

he holds your thigh tighter as orgasm takes over, thick jets of cum spilling into your cunt, filling up what little space you had left

your body snaps from the feeling of being so full, twitching and clenching with riki as you both rode the high, hand in hand.

riki slumps next to you, pulling his dick out. it left you with an emty feeling, but he pulled you closer to his chest to make up for it.

that didnt last long though. he immediately shot up and walked into the bathroom, only giving you a "stay there" to go on

he walked back out, his boxers back on, with a towel in his hand. he pressed the cool cloth to your forehead, slowly working it over your body until it cleaned everything, even the dripping mess between your legs

he tosses the fabric away and lays back down, pulling your back to his chest and wrapping his arms around you again. you take his hands, whispering into the darkness of his bedroom

"ill hold you forever" you say

"and i will hold you longer"

a.n.- dear god im crying. this was so sweet to write. riki is def the type of bf who isnt afraid to tease but fs knows what he needs to do to make you feel good. but now my heart is hurting bc man, i need this boy in my life like right now. okay time to put me back in my cage before i say smth more out of pocket

please reblog if you liked it, and comment with ideas bc i need more XD

[max-nicoxfandom]

If Duke had to choose between jumping off a cliff, or spending one single second with Damian's monster, he would choose the cliff.

Needless to say, Duke does not like Damian's "cat".

Because let's make one thing clear, that thing is not a cat. Not even close.

Sure it mimics one pretty well, but the size of its body isn't proportionate to a regular house cat. Its legs are too long, its body well- it fluctuates. A lot, actually. Sometimes it's wider, sometimes rounder, sometimes sharper, but not enough for Duke to really prove. He's only noticed because he stares so hard at the "cat" when they're in the same room.

Its fur is black with blue eyes from the front, and white with green from the back. Its eyes glow neon green in the dark. It coughs up the same shade in its hair balls, and get this; it's shadow moves.

No, not like follows it, moves.

The shadow will shape itself into a hundred different creatures. Human? Sure, why not. Dog? Not entirely out of the question, but rare. Serpent? Second most common, actually. Because why wouldn't this thing do that?

Duke isn't sure if he's on grounds to contact Zatanna on this, but if he isn't yet he knows he will be soon. Damian will be pissed at him if he does though. The question is which is worse, having this weird ghost cat thing in his house, or having to dodge Damian's knives for the rest of the month?

Either way leads to Duke being terrified of his own home for some amount of time. Maybe he could stay with Dick for a little while? Just until Damian calms down?

No.

Damian will find him. He'll have to flee the country. Duke's always wanted to go to the Caribbean.

Then again if he goes that far he might as well not even worry about the cat and leave everyone here to suffer. Duke will never admit it, but watching the "cat" fuck with Tim and Dick is very quickly becoming one of his favorite pass times. If he leaves the country but doesn't tattletail on the "cat" he gets to be away from it, but still receive blackmail from the family group chat.

Yes, this is an amazing plan. Cowardly? Maybe a little, but Damian has to understand it's either Duke or the little monster he calls a pet.

Seriously, Duke knows Damian can see those wriggling shadows in the back of its throat when it yawns. He knows, Damian probably enjoys it, even! He's a little freak like that! He probably revels in the fact that the entire family is terrified of his monster!

Duke and Damian have never been close, but he hoped that their relationship meant more to him than this. They're brothers, right? If Duke says something mean about that "cat", he will be the one out on the street, probably with a stab wound and bleeding out on the cement.

He hopes Tim is scheming a way to get rid of the monster. Duke would do it himself, but he values his life.

Besides, Tim owes him anyway. Getting rid of this weird ghost cat thing is the perfect way to pay him back.

DCXDP - Danny is a flerken, this causes Dick a lot of concern

Dick doesn't like Damian's new cat, or everyone thinks it's a cat, at least. It's kinda big for the size of a regular house cat, and it's whole body is like a weird trippy illusion; black with blue eyes one moment, white with green the next.

Damian claims he just picked it up off the street, and he's overall utterly unperturbed with the cat. According to him the thing was probably some sort of escaped lab experiment, and he is determined to figure out who was testing so inhumanely on animals. May God have mercy on their souls when that boy reaches them.

No one in the family quite likes the cat, except Damian, obviously.

The animal just has a way of sneaking into where it's not supposed to. It's always watching. Always just around the corner. Always at the exact place you don't want it to be at that exact moment.

Tim in particular is very annoyed by the cat. He likes to sit on Tim's paperwork, press buttons on his computer, and stick his face in Tim's coffee. The cat actively makes Tim's life harder whenever it gets the chance. Damian finds this to be the best form of comedy, because he is a little menace(lovingly).

Dick thinks he has it the worst with the cat overall though. Why? Because no one believes him about this stupid animal. Sure, they all agree that the cat is fucking weird, at the very least it's more sapient than a cat should be, but that's as far as they take it.

Not Dick.

Dick managed to sneak up on it once, and only once, and has never even attempted again. He just wanted to get back at the creature after it spent all day tripping him as he walked down the halls. It was harmless! Honestly, he just expected the cat to jump, maybe hiss, and skitter away for the rest of the day.

Instead the cat whirled around and opened its jaw so wide Dick swears its chin began to grace the floor, and then glowing green tentacles came out! They latched around his arms, covered his nose and mouth, and began to pull him into the tooth filled abyss of its jaws.

He felt the life in him leave before he was even half way pulled in. The fight slowly began to drain out of him, and the room was getting so so cold. Dick really thought this was how he was going to die, via his baby brother's freaky ass cat.

And then Damian's voice rang out, sharp and firm, simply calling the name of his cat lovingly dubbed "Phantom". The name Dick gave him, actually, because the cat travelled around the house like a ghost. Damian is the one who decided the name ghost was too childish, and thus, Phantom came about.

Damian arrived to him laying on the floor, Phantom on top of his chest purring away, as if the thing didn't try to consume him mere moments ago.

"Lying on the floor is quite unbecoming of you, Richard. However, since you are bonding with Phantom, I will let it slide."

And then Damian picked up the cat, tucked it into his chest, and walked back to where he came from.

When talking to Damian about the event later, he just looked at him like he was stupid. Tim said the cameras had shorted out (something that had been happening a lot recently), and he had no clue what Dick was talking about. Bruce and Alfred both advised him to seek mental help, believing him to be stress hallucinating. He didn't even bother telling the others.

So yeah, Dick doesn't like Damian's cat monster. He doesn't want to hurt his baby brother's feelings, but it can't stay.

Will be reblogging with more, eventually, other people's additions are VERY welcome

[lara-cairncross]

my personal sonadow headcanons in no particular order bc im procrastinating on writing a research paper right now and its either do this or throw myself off the roof:

Shadow is a few inches shorter than Sonic, but ONLY if he takes his shoes off. cue many years' worth of shenanigans with Shadow doing everything in his power to avoid going barefoot in Sonic's presence because he knows if Sonic finds out he'll never hear the end of it (hes right)

T4T SONADOW

Sonic was able to get top surgery, but Shadow's body healed itself too quickly for it to work on him. flash forward to when he gets his Black Doom abilities and one of his first orders of business is to fuck around with them until he's able to give HIMSELF top surgery

Sonic hates coffee beans (too bitter) and Shadow hates chili dogs (too heavy/savory). they've broken up over this enough times for Rouge to lose count

Sonic is so good at flirting with everyone EXCEPT SHADOW. HE GETS TOO FLUSTERED. HE TRIES SO HARD AND IT NEVER WORKS BUT SHADOW IS TOO DOWN BAD TO CARE

Shadow grew up on a space station, with no biological reason to eat, and no access to fresh food or a kitchen. Sonic literally raised both himself AND TAILS. Shadow is NOT the cook between the two of them please everyone keeps saying otherwise and i dont understand it you cant convince me shadow knows how to boil a pot of water PLEASE SOMEBODY AGREE WITH ME

Sonic ages. Shadow doesn't. 50 years down the line somebody asks Sonic if Shadow is his son. Shadow immediately gets payback for 50 years of short jokes.

they are both so smart and so capable and so dangerous by themselves but if you put them in the same room in any context outside of a life-or-death situation they become the two dumbest motherfuckers you've ever had the displeasure of engaging in polite conversation with

shadow bottoms what who said that

okay this one might be silly but I feel like they would both be good at chess??? like Sonic is surprisingly well-read and more observant than people give him credit for, and Shadow probably had a lot of strategy training from GUN + played games with Maria on the ARK. idk i just feel like it would be a fun way for them to challenge each other outside of just racing/combat yknow

they both wear jewelry with each others' colors :] i usually make it earrings but i think Sonic having bracelets to mirror Shadow's rings would be really cute too

autistic Shadow and ADHD Sonic yes please yes yes yes

Sonic is the most verbally affectionate and Shadow is the most physically affectionate IM RIGHT YOU CANT ARGUE WITH ME ON THIS ONE IM PUTTING MY FOOT DOWN GOODBYE

they like to beat each other up a little toooooo much and its kinda toxic maybe but also theyre both having fun so like. maybe its just a love language 🫶🫶

Tails is so, SO disappointed with Sonic for his choice in men. like he actively considers holding an intervention when he finds out that Shadow and Sonic started dating

theyre both somewhere on the aromantic and asexual spectrums because uhhhhhh so am i and i can project if i want to

Sonic is a chronic yapper and Shadow is a listener BUT. HEAR ME OUT. IT STARTS TO SWAP AS THEY GET MORE COMFORTABLE WITH EACH OTHER. shadow comes out of his shell and feels more at ease talking, and sonic appreciates having someone who doesnt expect him to be at full energy/optimism 24/7 and lets him be silent when he needs to be

[razorblade180]

Take it back

Jaune:*polishing sword*

Blake:Hey there, old timer.

Jaune:Heh, hello there. Is it time for us to vote on dinner?

Blake:Almost. I’m stopping by now since I’d probably have a hard time talking to you alone later.

Jaune:What’s up? Need help surprising Yang with something?

Blake:Nope. Remember back at Beacon when our two teams had to make schedules together because Weiss demanded joint training and team building?

Jaune:I remember getting yelled out for spilling the whiteout.

Blake:Yeah that was a rough day for you. Anyways, I remember having to be in charge of the schedule since some people would obsess over it while others forgot to bring or update it. I didn’t mind. Memorizing dates is easy for me. *pulls out box* Happy birthday.

Jaune:…Huh, imagine that. Thank you.

Blake:Don’t tell you forgot?

Jaune:No, I just…it hasn’t mattered for a long time. I didn’t bring it up today because honestly, it bothers me a little. Keeping track in the Ever After was hard; after a while it felt lonely. Is it weird I don’t like my birthday much?

Blake:No. I don’t care for mine either. I spent of couple of them protesting or hiding before.

Jaune:That seriously sucks.

Blake:It’s life. I let the others celebrate it cause it makes them happy. That’s enough for me, but I’ll keep yours quiet. Figure you had a reason.

Jaune:Thanks. This means a lot actually.

Blake:You haven’t even opened it yet. Anyways, I gotta go. Ruby has paid me off to help support her campaign for the seafood restaurant for their dessert. *walks away*

Jaune:Didn’t know you take bribes.

Blake:It’s a seafood restaurant. *closes door*

The boy let out a chuckle. He put his blade down and unwrapped the blue birthday paper to reveal the densest planner he’s ever seen. The cover revealed it could plan the next three years out. Who would’ve thought Blake could be so cheeky? Jaune opened it to find his birthday but instead found another surprise. The dates were crossed out.

He flipped the page. Again, all crossed out. Page after page showed each individual day crossed out well into the future. Jaune couldn’t make sense of it at first. He took another look at the gift box and found an additional items. Multiple bottles of whiteout alongside a written note.

“You’ve done your fair share of planning ahead. Now reclaim your time day by day. The Rusted Knight has had its time; it’s your turn now. May it be spontaneous and a splendid do over, dear friend.”

Jaune was absolutely speechless. All he could do was grab the whiteout and clear away today’s date, leaving it full of endless possibilities. He closed it slowly as he thought of all the ways he could really reclaim lost time. Sharpening his blade was not it. He got up and left to join his friends in living area where they were debating.

Nora:Ah! Perfect timing. Jaune, please tell these psychopaths why we should have breakfast for dinner tonig-

Jaune:I want steak.

Ruby and Nora:What!?

Yang and Weiss:*hi five*

Nora:But why steal of all things!?

Ruby:It’s boring!

Jaune:Maybe, but we’d get free desserts today if it’s a special occasion.

Blake:*smiles*

Ren:Special occasion?

Jaune:Yeah. *smiles* Today’s my birthday.

NRYRW:WHAT!?

Oscar:Oh, Happy Birthday.

[illyrianbitch]

A Grave Misfortune

Pairing: Reader x Eris Vanserra

Summary: When your affair with Eris is discovered, you find yourselves burying a body and sealing the grave with a bargain —keep quiet, never speak of it again. But not all secrets lie still when you put them to rest.

Warnings: SMUT, adultery, morally questionable eris and reader, graphic depictions of violence and injury (but its kinda funny if you tilt your head), post-orgasm manslaughter/accidental murder, partners in crime, blackmail, and a bargain :D

Word Count: 5.6k

omg....new series...my passion project...

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

“F-fuck.”

It was half a gasp, half a moan, slipping from your lips before Eris’s hand covered them.

“Shh.” His breath ghosted over your ear, cruel and gentle in the same measure. “You’ll get us caught.”

His other hand slid higher beneath your skirts, gathering fabric in careless fistfuls as he fucked into you— the metal of his rings pressing into your warm skin. It was always like this—dirty, hurried, the barest undoing of his breeches just enough for him to slide inside you.

The air in the small, dimly lit servant's closet was laced with the smell of dust and sex, the walls closing in around you as Eris’s teeth scraped against your throat. You knew he liked it like this—the power, the filth, the risk. The control. 

Eris enjoyed that. Enjoyed you because of it.

"Or should I let them hear?" His lips brushed the shell of your ear as he gound deeper.

You whimpered and he swallowed the sound, chuckling low in his throat as he brought you into a kiss. All teeth and tongue, brazen and dirty.

Somewhere, on the other side of the house, Dane was sitting with the other males at the event—polite, oblivious. He was probably wondering where his sweet wife had disappeared to, wondering when you’d be back. This time, you’d told him it was a stomach ache. It wasn’t entirely a lie. You did, indeed, have an ache—only it wasn’t pain, not really. More like a desperation, a need that had been stirring since Eris’s eyes tracked you across the room from the moment he spotted you.

Eris’s hips snapped harder, finding that perfect angle—the one that made you clench around him and grind your teeth to keep from crying out. 

“That’s it,” he breathed, looking down between your bodies. His pace stuttered for half a second, like the sight alone was enough to break his composure. “Gods, you take me so beautifully, don’t you?”

You couldn’t answer—not with the heat fogging your senses, not with the way he was fucking you like he wanted to break you open. His brows lifted, a flicker of smug amusement flashing in his amber eyes.

“Nothing to say?” His hands tightened on your hips, pulling back just enough to make you feel the loss—barely there, not far enough to let you escape. “That’s rude.”

You glared at him through the haze. “What the hell?”

“I asked you a question.” He punctuated the words with a sharp little thrust, smirking when your breath caught. “It’s rude not to answer.”

You rolled your eyes. His fingers pinched at your waist in reprimand—just hard enough to sting.

“If you wanted polite,” you panted, dragging him closer by the lapels of his coat, “you should’ve gone for Taryn’s wife.”

Eris’s smirk curved slow and wicked. He drove into you and you couldn’t stop the sharp gasp that left your lips. He chuckled, clearly satisfied, and the sound vibrated through your chest as he pushed himself against you.

"Ooh," he purred. "But she doesn't have a cunt that feels this good."

Your body betrayed you—clenching tight around him, slick and desperate. He noticed, of course, he always did, and his grin only grew smugger as he locked his hands under your ass. Your legs wrapped around him instantly, body lifting off the floor as the strength of his arms held you.

He fucked you harder then, chasing the heat coiling low in both of you. The small room filled with the obscene sound of skin meeting skin.

“Just– shut up and keep going," you moaned, nearly clawing at his skull, fingers digging into his hair. "Gods, you’re infuriating."

Eris groaned as you writhed against him, hips snapping into yours again and again and again.

“Beg for it, then,” he said, his teeth grazing the tender skin of your neck. “Maybe I’ll let you finish.”

“With a cunt that feels this good?” Your voice was barely more than a ragged whisper. “Maybe you should be begging.”

The growl that tore from his throat was pure animal. His hips snapped forward, the force of it knocking your head back against the wall. The bite he sank into your neck was a mistake—you both knew it. No evidence. No marks.

“Oh, c’mon,” Eris purred, licking over the imprint of his teeth. “It’s just you and me. No need to keep up appearances.”

“Stop talking,” you gasped, nails scoring into his scalp.  You were close— so fucking close. And you needed him to shut up. Him and that sinfully rough voice. You fought the overwhelming urge to do exactly what he wished: beg him to keep going.

“I know what you need,” he whispered, smug and syrup-slow. “And I’ll give it to you. I always do, huh?”

You couldn't answer—only clutch him harder, the coil inside you winding tighter.

"And they call me uncaring," he mocked, fucking into you harder.

"Do you just enjoy the sound of your own voice?"

He chuckled. “Almost as much as these glorious sounds of yours.”

Infuriating, arrogant, insufferab-

"Oh, fuck." Your body trembled as your cunt fluttered around him, dragging a broken groan from his chest. "F-fine," you panted. "Stop talking. Please. You feel amazing. Just fuck me."

His smirk widened, victorious. He slowed his pace, savoring the control, before he growled low in his throat. “Now, was that so hard?”

And just as the last word left his lips, he drove into you—again and again—until you shattered around him, your release crashing over you in hot, silent waves. You bit your lip hard enough to draw blood, choking back the scream building in your throat. Eris followed a heartbeat later, groaning low as he spilled inside you, his rhythm stuttering before he slumped against you, his forehead falling into the crook of your neck. 

Your body sagged against the wall, sliding down slightly as both you and Eris lost the strength to keep yourselves upright.  You let yourself float—limbs heavy, mind half-lost—following the spidery veins in the ceiling as you titled your head back. You hadn’t noticed them before. The closet had been too dark, barely lit by the flame Eris had conjured to find his bearings.

It shouldn’t have been this bright.

Your brow knit faintly, lips parting to pull in another breath. Then—

The feeling.

That awful, creeping sensation—the weight of something watching.

Your gaze dragged downward, over Eris’s shoulder, past the wild tangle of his hair.

The door was open.

And there was someone there.

Tall, broad-shouldered, dressed in deep emerald silk.

He had pale green eyes, a neatly trimmed beard, and shaggy dark blonde hair that didn’t seem to quite obey him. A gold signet glinted on his ring finger—the same Dane wore as a mark of his station in the Autumn Court's forces, ingrained with the royal symbol of the Court. Specifically, the noble ranks beneath Eris's command.

You recognized him. Some minor soldier whose name you'd never bothered to learn. He lingered on the edges of court gatherings, always circling, always watching—like a dog waiting for scraps.

He blinked once, gaze sweeping over your position. Your tangled limbs. The flush blooming down your neck.

Then, a slow, pleased curl of his lips, as if this scene—this dirty secret—delighted him.

Not shock, not disgust. Amusement.

You panicked, realizing it, even as you knew you were screwed. He was going to tell. Going to ruin you.

You shoved at Eris, scrambling to fix your dress before you ran after the male.

“Wait,” you called, voice hoarse, lying as you added, “It’s not what you think.”

The slick between your thighs—sticky and unaddressed—mocked you with every step, the purest and damning evidence of everything you were about to insist hadn't happened. You clenched your legs tighter, as if that could make it disappear. As if he couldn't smell it.

The corridor was narrow and stale, lined with wooden tables, old hunting trophies, and moth-eaten tapestries. You could’ve sworn it had been smaller before—just a few quick strides when Eris led you down it, his palm pressing low on your spine.

Now, it stretched endlessly. 

Ahead, the male’s emerald-clad shoulder rounded the corner.

“Wait—damn it—just listen to me.”

Within a few more panicked strides, your hand finally snatched at his sleeve. He wrenched free, spinning to face you with a force that knocked your balance.

“I wonder what your husband will think,” he mused, and the smugness made your blood curdle.

“You didn’t see anything,” you tried again, lowering your voice. Gods, you wished you remembered his name, cared enough to try. Surely Dane had mentioned it a few times. If only you cared enough about him to listen. “I can pay you—”

The male before you scoffed. “Whoring and bribery? What a charming little wife you are.”

“What do you want?” The words tasted like ash. They scraped from your throat—raw, desperate. “Anything.”

“Anything?” His mouth twisted. “A harlot’s price, then?”

You swallowed hard, shame crawling under your skin. The kind of shame that made you feel hollowed out, skin too tight over brittle bones. But it disappeared quickly, morphing into a feeling you knew much better: anger. 

"Beron must be told, too, of course. Can you imagine his delight?" He whistled, a grin forming on his lips. "I was just thinking I could use a bit more favor."

Your heart pounded so hard you thought you might be sick.

“I’ll give you whatever you want.” The words sliced as they left your mouth. They sounded so much like a plea—too much like begging. You hated it. 

The male leaned in, close enough for you to smell the wine on his breath. "Anything?"

He let the word stretch—dragging the syllables out like something viscous. Like honey dripping slow from the comb.

"I think," he murmured, fingers brushing the hair from your cheek in a mockery of tenderness, "I'll let them see for themselves. Smell it, too. How poetic—like cattle branded before a slaughter."

You slapped his hand away. He caught your wrist in return—rough, restricting—and yanked you forward. Panic licked up your spine. He was stronger than you. A male born and bred for war. You thrashed, your heart rattling against your ribs.

Where was Eris?

Would he let you die for this?

Of course he would. Eris didn’t care for you. 

Hung, burned, beheaded. It wouldn’t matter.

The thought made you claw harder. Eris could cheat his way out of death if he wished—fireborn and silver-tongued. You could not. You'd be made an example of.

"Let me go," you hissed, twisting. His fingers dug deeper.

"I think not."

You lunged, fumbling for anything—your elbow catching his ribs, your nails raking his cheek. The fight tipped sideways. His grip slipped—only for him to shove you against the wall, hard enough to knock the breath from your lungs. Your skull thudded against an ancient hunting trophy mounted there—some long-dead animal’s curling horns. The table beside you clattered with the force. 

"Anything you want," you said again. 

“You just gave me everything I want.” He leaned in close. You could smell him—leather and sweat and old wine. “Such fire,” he mused, “You were wasted on Dane. Is that why you were so desperate for the princeling?”

He wasn’t wrong. It angered you more. You lurched, clawing at his face—nails scraping along his jaw. He caught your wrist again, pinning it against the wall.

“Get off—”

He shifted, angling to reach for something—a knife, maybe, at his belt. Something to scare you into obedience. You thrashed, wild, barely noticing the way the walls seemed to close in. How much smaller the corridor felt now. How the air hung thicker.

Your free hand fumbled blindly, searching—until your fingers closed around something cold. Heavy.

The curved handle of an old candlestick.

You swung it without thinking, the brass base crunching against his temple. He staggered, hissing—but not enough. He was too close, still between you and freedom. His lip curled as he reached for you again.

You hit him again. Harder.

Something wet and pink burst from his split brow. His knees buckled. His weight pitched forward, slamming you both against the wall—right beneath the mounted trophy once more.

For a sickening second, you thought he was about to recover. He let out a low, gurgling snarl, shoving back upright—

And then the old, rattling mount gave way.

The beast’s curved antlers plunged down from the wall, and by the grace of the Mother, missed you entirely as they struck straight through his chest— sharp, heavy points driving through bone and flesh.

The sound he made was wet, awful—thin little gasps squeezing around the obstruction, like he was trying to breathe through a mouthful of water. His hands twitched, blindly pawing at the points of bone piercing through him. Little useless slaps, like a drowning man trying to fight the tide.

You couldn't look away. 

He twitched again. Another weak, gasp. 

You watched still. Watched as his eyes glazed over.

His knees gave out just as the candlestick fell from your grasp, both falling onto the carpet with a thud. 

You didn’t move. You didn’t breathe. Not until you heard a soft sound behind you. A sigh.

You turned, dazed, to find Eris adjusting his breeches, smoothing a hand through his hair as if he’s just stepped out of a business meeting rather than a scandalous fuck followed by an accidental murder.

He tilted his head and surveyed the scene before him.

"Well," he said, after a long moment. "That’s inconvenient."

You stared at him, mouth still agape, eyes still wide. Eris hummed, almost thoughtful, then turned and began walking.

You blinked. "Where are you going?"

“To get a different jacket."

Your mouth opened. Closed. You should’ve said something, should have reacted, but your mind was empty, wiped clean by shock.

Eris didn’t even look at you, just smoothed a hand down his clothes. "If we’re going to bury a body, it’s a little nippy outside." He paused, tapping his fingers against his chin, before snapping them lightly. "You should probably get to finding a shovel."

Your hands were still shaking as your gaze fell back upon the body at your feet.

The blood was still there, the body as well, but it was wrong now, blurred at the edges, folded into the world in a way that made it vanish to everyone else. A glamour.

 Eris’s voice drifted lazily down the hall:

"Stop staring. The dead aren’t known for their patience."

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

The grave didn’t dig itself.

You drove the shovel into the frozen earth, the metal scraping uselessly against the stale ground. Again. And again. It didn’t get any easier. The dirt resisted you, every attempt sending a dull, aching vibration up your arms.

Behind you, Eris sighed. Loudly.

“At that rate,” he mused, “we’ll be here until this court becomes winter.”

Your grip tightened on the shovel. You didn’t look at him. “It’d go faster if you helped.”

Eris hummed, as if weighing that possibility. “It would’ve gone a lot better if you didn’t kill someone.”

You bit the inside of your cheek, forcing yourself to stay quiet. If you said what you were thinking, you might've had to bury him next.

The silence between you thickened with frost. You kept digging.

Eris, for his part, didn’t help. Instead, he crouched beside the body, tilting his head slightly, like he admired a sculpture rather than a corpse swaddled in dark velvet. Then, with the careless ease of someone inspecting an expensive cloak, he lifted the edge of the fabric. Peered inside.

Then sighed. Again. “Shame. One of my favorite rugs.”

You stared at him.

He flicked his gaze up. “What?”

Your lips parted. You searched for a response—one that could possibly encompass the depth of the feelings you were currently experiencing.

None came to mind.

Eris only shrugged and let the fabric fall back over the body, as if that somehow fixed the situation. He straightened and took a long, considering look at the half-dug grave, then sighed for the third time, this time like he was doing you a favor.

“I suppose we could burn him,” he said, almost to himself.

You exhaled sharply. “Then why the hell am I digging?”

Eris arched a brow. “Because magic lingers,” he said, patient in the way a teacher is patient with a particularly dense student. “If I incinerate him, it will leave a mark—one my father would notice. And I’d rather not explain why my magic is tangled up in a murder.”

You dropped the shovel with a dull thud, flexing your fingers. “You should be helping. Not antagonizing me with solutions that aren’t even viable.”

“Why?”

“Because.”

“This is your problem.” He stretched, flexing his fingers in the cold air just as you had done. “And now that I think about it, I believe I will get going.”

“No, you can’t. You need to help me.”

He just looked at you. Unmoved. “I don’t need to do anything.”

“You have to.”

“Why?” he repeated, amused now.

“Because—”

Eris smirked. Tilted his head. “Because I fucked you?”

You stiffened.

He clicked his tongue, clearly enjoying himself. “And now I owe you some sense of loyalty? Is that it?” He took a lazy step closer. “Did you think what we had meant something?”

You didn’t. You were glad it meant nothing. 

You never tried to fool yourself into believing Eris Vanserra was a good male. You never tried to fool yourself into thinking you were a good fae, either. That’s what made the affair so easy. So nice. You could both be selfish without guilt, take what you wanted without pretending you wanted anything more.

But now, as you stood in the middle of a dark, frozen forest, with a body cooling at your feet and no one but Eris beside you—

You realized, without the distraction of pleasure, how much you disliked him.

Something inside you bristled at that.

Not just at him, at yourself. Because you were in this mess because of him. Because you let yourself get into this mess, knowing exactly the kind of male he was.

And now, here you were. Excused from your marital bed on the pretense of a stomache. Another lie stacked atop the others. Dane was likely asleep by now, none the wiser. He never was.

“You have to help,” you said once more.

Eris didn’t move. His expression didn’t shift. But something flickered behind his gaze.

“Why?” he asked again, voice lower now.

You took a deep breath, analyzing him with a careful eye. Eris Vanserra was a creature of hunger—of sharp edges hidden beneath silk, waiting for the next thing to devour. He could make you feel like prey without ever laying a hand on you.

If you were going to be damned for fucking him, you wouldn’t go down quietly. You wouldn’t let him consume you without leaving your mark—without sinking your teeth into him and tasting his blood in return.

You stepped closer. “Because if I’m going down, I’m dragging you with me.”

That got a reaction.

Eris stilled, his expression sharpening. Then—unexpectedly—his lips twitched. Not a smirk this time. Something quieter. Almost impressed.

“You’re blackmailing me,” he said, more observation than question.

“Yes.”

Another silence. Then, slowly, Eris smiled.

A secret. As if that would be enough. As if a secret could bind someone like him—a male who could cheat death itself, who could find his way out of promises the way most people slipped out of clothing. He’d done worse things for people who mattered more, had hunted his own family for sport—or so you’d heard.

It was sobering to consider all the things he'd done that hadn't mattered enough to you to stop you from bedding him, from chasing your own release. Perhaps there were countless bodies before the one that lay cold a few feet away from you—perhaps that was why Eris was so oddly composed. Not because he was heartless—although some might argue, and you might’ve been inclined to listen despite hearing his heartbeat against yours as he came inside you—but because he had done this before. What was murder to a High Lord’s heir? A sport, maybe. A skill.

And none of that had mattered to you. None of those possible lives meant enough.

You were not a good fae. You were not good or righteous.

Which made it easier to tell him, with no hesitation, “A secret isn’t enough.”

His amusement deepened. “No?”

You lifted your left hand. Cleaner. Less covered in dirt and grime.

“A bargain.”

Eris looked at your hand. Then at you. Then, finally, he clasped it in his. His hands were warm—always had been. You’d noticed it the first time he touched you. He could strip you bare with those hands, tear you apart without ever igniting a flame. 

A fireborn Vanserra, through and through. You’d always wondered how that fire worked, if there was some flicker of flame lurking beneath skin and bone. 

The heat spread through your fingers, curling into your palm, winding up your arm until a brush of magic settled, strange and unseen. 

You’d never made a bargain before. It felt oddly intimate, like two threads wrapping around one another and pulling tight. Eris Vanserra came with a lot of firsts, it seemed. Your first affair. Your first murder. A bargain on top like a neatly wrapped bow on a life-changing present.

You started to pull your hand back—but Eris’s fingers shifted. A fleeting brush along your ring finger. The ghost of a touch against your gold wedding band.

Your stomach curled.

Before you could think too hard about it, he tugged you forward and kissed you.

The kiss was rough. More animal than male. Teeth and heat and the faint taste of smoke— he tasted like that, sometimes, when he was exceptionally passionate. The heat of him melted the night frost straight off your skin.

It should’ve been horrible—kissing him here, with the scent of death still clinging to the air, with a body half-buried between you. But you kissed him back. It was much more fun than thinking about what you had done.

He pulled away with a grin, thumb dragging along your lower lip—just barely brushing the blood there. His expression shifted, eyes narrowing slightly.

“Did he hurt you?”

You blinked, caught off guard.

It took a moment to remember where the taste of blood in your mouth had come from—not from the dead male, but from your own teeth, biting into your lip at your climax.

Your face heated. You hated yourself for it.  “That was my doing.”

For a heartbeat, Eris’s thumb stayed where it was, pressed against your mouth. Then—slowly—he grinned. Relaxed. He seemed proud as the realization settled into him, turning away and back toward the grave.

The earth groaned. Just slightly. A few inches of dirt disappeared before you, no more. Barely helpful—barely anything at all.

You turned to him, incredulous.

Eris held up a finger, not even looking at you. “Magic lingers, remember.” His smirk flicked wider. “Only small amounts for now.”

Your mouth opened to argue—

“Do not tempt me,” he cut in smoothly. “I will fill it back up and make you start over.”

You snapped your mouth shut.

Eris grinned. Then stretched—luxuriously, like he was enjoying himself far too much—and walked back toward the corpse.

You went back to digging.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

Eris supposed he’d go on a hunt later.

Not for any real reason—just the idle thought that it had been a while since he’d taken the hounds out properly. Fresh meat always tasted better than the market’s offerings, and the mindless rhythm of tracking, waiting, and killing had its own kind of satisfaction. Maybe he’d take them out near the eastern woods, where the deer were fat this time of year.

It was hotter than usual today. He could feel it in the way the air settled in the halls—thick and still, pressing against his skin. His jacket, despite being tailored perfectly to him, suddenly felt constricting. He glanced down and noticed a single loose thread near the cuff, barely noticeable, but there all the same.

He was almost tempted to convince himself it was going to be a bad day.

But then he stepped into the council chamber, and none of it mattered anymore.

The second he crossed the threshold, he was sharp. Focused. The weight of the room settled over him like a second skin—one he had long since learned to wear without discomfort. Beron was already speaking, his voice edged with irritation. Another dispute between the lesser lords. Something about trade routes or taxes or whatever other petty squabble they’d dredged up this time.

Eris took his seat, adjusting his cuffs as though he were hearing it all for the first time. He’d known about this all before, of course. He made sure he knew everything that happened in his court. 

His court. 

He glanced around the table, gaze sliding over familiar faces. When it landed on Dane, he lingered. The male was listening intently, his posture rigid—always the good soldier. But Eris was staring too hard, and Dane, like any good soldier would, took notice. He turned slightly, meeting Eris’s gaze—blue eyes locking with burnished amber. And then Dane dipped his head. In acknowledgement. In respect.

Eris should’ve felt guilt.

But there was nothing there, just a strange emptiness.

You had been his affair, his mess.

But Dane? He was his soldier. Loyal to a fault. Not to him—not to Beron either—but to Autumn. Eris respected that.

Apparently not enough to keep himself from bedding his wife.

He hadn’t seen you in a week. Not that he had really been counting, but he liked to keep his life in meticulous order. It helped him to know when things fell out of place.

It was for the better, Eris told himself. As beneficial as a murder could be. The affair had been destined to bring him more trouble than it was worth. The blackmail, the threat of exposure—it was inevitable. He'd known it even as he had taken the risks. The whole thing had been nothing more than a reckless indulgence, a brief spark in an otherwise tedious life.

And yet, there was a flicker of discomfort in the back of his mind. Guilt? No. Not really. But discomfort, yes. Concerns.

His thoughts drifted back to that night—to the way Harlan had looked, slumped against the floor like something discarded. Eris had recognized him within seconds—Harlan wasn't entirely memorable, but Eris made a point to know every male that could have the ability, or the misplaced arrogance, to kill him. 

Eris liked that type of order. He was, after all, a collector at heart. Just like his mother. Of different things, of course. Of people. Of secrets. Of potential enemies and betrayals to anticipate.

He was almost tempted to say that dying was the most interesting thing Harlan could’ve done—that the mounted animal trophy actually offered some more... embellishment to his appearance.

Maybe Eris would take a hunt out to the eastern woods after all. If he found something good enough, he could have a replacement trophy commissioned. Just similar enough to replace the one that had impaled Harlan like a roasted chicken dinner.

Not that he thought Beron ever went into the corridors where the court’s help stayed. But just in case.

His father had a way of doing things like that—doing things that inconvenienced him. Like a talent, the only one he had, truly, besides outward cruelty and a strange knack for making someone love the taste of violence.

Eris hated the idea of macabre trophies, didn’t find any thrill in staring at the animals he hunted. He did it for a purpose—for the hounds, for good hide and fur to make coats for himself, for his mother. Perhaps his brothers if he was feeling unusually charitable. Rare, though. Rarely did he indulge in kindness.

It would be a hassle, too, to find someone to taxidermy it quickly. You were going to cost him another afternoon—at least this time it wouldn’t be next to a poorly dug grave.

He admired your nerve. Blackmail was such a dirty little word. He preferred to think of it as mutual interest. Besides, it wasn’t as if he’d been particularly fond of the male you’d killed.

He was only upset about the rug.

“Harlan has not responded to our summons.”

Eris’s head tilted slightly, the perfect picture of idle curiosity. Another commander spoke—something about Harlan leaving his estate abruptly, disappearing without a word. Eris hummed, fingers smoothing down the sleeve of his jacket.

“How concerning,” he murmured. “I suppose it is unlike him.”

Beron’s gaze snapped to him, sharp as a blade.

Eris met it without hesitation, letting the silence stretch.

“Do you think the rumors are true?” he added lazily. Rumors Eris had perfectly crafted. He was quite proud of the ones he’d chosen this time around. 

And then the doors creaked open.

Eris turned his head.

Harlan stepped inside as if nothing was amiss, straightening his coat with a casual tug.

He was paler than he should have been. His posture just a touch too careful. But more than anything, it was the way he moved—like something testing the limits of its own skin—that made Eris’s fingers twitch.

“Apologies for my delay,” Harlan said smoothly. His gaze swept over the room, then landed—pointedly, intentionally—on Eris. “I was… indisposed.”

Eris didn’t blink.

Well.

If Harlan's death was a mere inconvenience, his apparent resurrection was a... problem. Unfortunate.

Eris thought that maybe there was a lesson here for him to learn. He hated riddles—only enjoyed a curious, deceptive tongue when it was his. Eris wasn’t sure if he believed in fate, or karma, but he did believe in one thing: finishing the job right.

Harlan couldn't be here, alive.

Eris didn’t care how it happened. He would learn, store the information, and show Harlan why dead things tend to stay dead—at least, the ones that Eris made sure of.

But he couldn't kill him, not in front of all these people. And now he was distracted, in an important meeting, no less. He could’ve wrung Harlan's neck for that annoyance alone—all resurrection facets aside.

Harlan took a seat. Next to him. He leaned in slightly, voice low.

“Is everything alright? You look like you've seen a ghost.”

Eris wasn’t sure he’d ever heard him speak—or maybe he’d just never bothered to listen. He hummed. “Do I?”

“Yes. A bit rattled?”

“I don’t get rattled.”

Harlan’s mouth curved, something almost like amusement flickering behind his too-bright eyes. They had always been a rather dull green. Maybe death brought some life with it, somehow. Collected solely in his irises. “No?” 

“No,” Eris replied.

A beat. Then—

“I must've slept like the dead last night,” Harlan murmured. “I struggled to claw my way out of bed.”

Eris’s jaw tensed. “Sounds like a healer’s problem.”

“Perhaps.”

Eris glanced down at Harlan’s hand—at the small specks of dirt clinging to it. In strange places. None under the fingernails, where he would have presumed residue to be. They were clean, in fact—uncomfortably so.

He raised an unimpressed brow. “Picked up gardening, I see.”

Harlan chuckled low. “I took the scenic route—couldn’t resist a little time in the woods. Funny, the things the earth spits back out this time of year.”

Eris didn’t look at him. “Measly worms and once-bloodied bones? All meaningless things, ready to return back into the dirt where they belong.”

Harlan smiled. 

“Sometimes the dirt refuses to keep what it's given.”

Eris’s fingers curled once against the wood and the meeting began. 

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

You didn’t believe in gods.

Not the way others did. You didn't pray to them, didn't ask for guidance or mercy. It seemed a waste—to beg to something that had no interest in listening. If they existed at all, they'd only ever laughed at you. Or maybe this—this—wasn't a laugh at all. Maybe it was a lesson. A quiet correction meant to make you better, make you regret, make you want to be good.

If that was the case, it had failed spectacularly.

You were cold, and annoyed, and hungry. You had no plans to be good—no desire, either. If the gods wanted you to fall to your knees, they'd have to break them first.

A twig snapped behind you.

Footsteps—slow, unhurried, elegant, even. You didn't have to look to know who they belonged to.

"We have a problem."

Eris’s voice was calm. Unbothered, almost—like he'd merely come to check on a minor inconvenience. The breeze stirred through the trees, cool against your face. 

You glanced at him from over your shoulder. "You think?"

He stopped next to you, going stiff as his gaze fell on the scene before you. 

The loose dirt at your feet hadn't been disturbed—not by roots, not by rain. The earth had simply opened itself back up, as if whatever had been placed inside it had decided it didn't belong there.

You stared at the gaping mouth of the grave. 

If gods were real, they weren't laughing now. 

No. They were watching.

Waiting to see what you'd do.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

authors note: chat... what do we think :D this was the most fun ive had writing in a while....i wonder.... if you guys fw this as much as me. aka lmk what you think (desperate need of some excitement hehe) and if you'd like to be on a taglist <3

also... i loved making the lil header. so cutsey. we love partners in crime to lovers!

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[darkmarkmarauder]

How to tell if your ex is the antichrist - S.S.

!warning!minorsdni, psychological torture/manipulation, heavy BDSM, dubcon, read at your own risk

word count: 2.8k

Pairing: ex!Sebastian Sallow x you

“Somebody’s watching me, it’s my anxiety.”

You know he’s watching.

You tried to act normal.

Sat through breakfast. Ignored the way your hands wouldn’t stop shaking. Smiled and laughed when Imelda cracked a joke.

But then it started.

The intrusive thoughts. They weren’t yours.

"You should kill her."

You nearly choked on your pumpkin juice.

"Just a quick flick of your wand. You know the curse. She’s in the way."

You flinched. Your stomach twisted violently as you slammed your goblet onto the table, eyes darting across the Great Hall. Where was he?

"Nowhere you can find me, darling."

You felt sick.

No.

No, no, no. This was impossible.

"Poor thing."

You squeezed your eyes shut. Block him out. You know how to block him out.

"You really thought you could keep me out? After all our years together? After I’ve had my hands inside your mind? Inside your body?"

You shoved up from the table, chair scraping against the stone floor. Imelda’s eyes flicked up. “You okay?”

You could barely swallow. “I—I’m fine.”

"Liar."

You stumbled from the Great Hall, gasping for air. You made it halfway to the courtyard before the world tilted. Your breath came in short, sharp gasps, your vision swimming. The whispers hadn’t stopped. If anything, they grew louder, wrapping around your skull like a vice.

"Don’t run from me, darling. You know I’ll find you."

You pressed a trembling hand to your forehead, trying to push him out, trying to regain control. But the weight of his presence was suffocating. You could feel him, feel his amusement, his patience—like a predator toying with its prey.

A voice cut through the fog. “Hey!”

Ominis.

Your head snapped up, heart hammering. He was standing near the entrance to the courtyard, concern etched across his usually impassive face. “What’s wrong?”

You opened your mouth—then stopped. What were you supposed to say? That Sebastian, who had been missing for weeks, had somehow infiltrated his way inside your mind? That you could hear him, feel him, even when he wasn’t there?

Ominis took a cautious step forward. “You don’t sound well.”

You swallowed hard. “I just— I need some air.”

Ominis didn’t look convinced. “Let me walk with you.” The thought should have reassured you. It didn’t.

"He won’t be able to save you."

You shook your head violently. “No, I—I just need a moment.” Before Ominis could protest, you turned on your heel and walked away, fists clenched so tight your nails bit into your palms.

You spent the rest of the day in a haze.

Class lectures faded into the background, voices blending into meaningless static. Every shadow felt like it held something more. Every whisper carried the weight of his voice.

You stopped responding when people spoke to you.

You didn’t trust yourself to answer.

Because what if it wasn’t really you speaking?

By the time the sun dipped below the castle walls, you were exhausted, mentally drained from keeping him out. From resisting the pull of his voice. You curled beneath your blankets, pressing your face into the pillow, willing yourself to sleep.

But sleep never came peacefully anymore.

You thought you were losing your mind.

Until the hallucinations started. Sebastian standing over you, eyes black with hunger. His hands roaming your skin, his voice dripping with venomous affection. You’d wake up gasping, sheets tangled around your legs, your skin damp with sweat. You’d wake up with bruises around your throat, shaped exactly like his fingers. You’d find love bites on your thighs, his touch still burning against your skin.

At first, you told yourself you were imagining it. That the stress was getting to you.

Then one night, you saw him.

Not a hallucination.

Not a dream.

Him. Standing in the shadows of your dorm, watching you sleep.

Your heart slammed against your ribs as your breath stuttered, throat tightening with terror. You blinked, willing the vision to disappear.

It didn’t.

The dim light caught the sharp angles of his face, the unreadable expression in his eyes. He was there. He was real.

And then, just as quickly as he appeared—he was gone. Shaking your head, eyes shut tightly trying to rid the anxiety running through you.

What the hell was wrong with you? This was the fifth time this week, you were losing too much sleep. You were up now anyways might as well go for a walk to try to clear your mind. Getting up, you dressed yourself quickly throwing on the closest pair of shorts and his old shirt you’d wear when you missed him. Grabbing your wand before you slipped into your running shoes.

The Forbidden Forest was the only place that felt safe. The darkness was suffocating, but at least it was real. At least here, the only things watching you were creatures with sharp teeth and glowing eyes—not the ghost of a man who refused to let you go.

You exhaled sharply, pressing your palms against the rough bark of a tree, trying to ground yourself.

“Breathe,” you whispered. “Just breathe.”

“You always were so stubborn.”

The voice came from inside your mind. You froze.

No.

Are you fucking kidding m—

and suddenly he was there, behind you, close enough that you could feel his warmth against your back. Your breath hitched, terror crawling up your spine.

You turned, slowly, and found him watching you.

Sebastian.

His face was calm—too calm. Like he hadn’t just fucking violated your mind. Like he hadn’t just spent the last week breaking you from the inside out.

“What—” Your voice cracked. “What the hell did you do to me?”

His lips twitched, a mockery of a smile.

“You know exactly what I did.”

Your stomach churned.

Legilimency.

He had used Legilimency on you. And you—you—hadn’t even felt it.

That was impossible. You had mastered Occlumency. You had spent years learning how to keep people like him out of your head. And yet, he had walked through your mind like he owned the fucking place.

Your fingers curled into fists. “How?”

A slow smile. “Did you really think Occlumency would keep me out?”Your mind started racing—there was no way. No. That wasn’t possible.

“You can’t—”

“I can.”

His other hand skimmed your waist, pressing you back against the rough bark.

“I built a home inside your mind, sweetheart. I know your deepest fears. Your darkest desires.” His lips brushed your ear. “I know you better than you know yourself.”

“Get out,” you breathed, voice shaking. “Get the fuck out of my head.”

He tilted his head, considering.

“No.” His lips curled into a smirk. “I’m having fun.”

You clenched your jaw. “Get. out. of. my. fucking. head.”

His eyes darkened.

Fuck you knew exactly what was coming. Pain shooting through your mind shattering. It struck without warning, tearing through your skull like a knife through flesh. Your knees buckled, a strangled cry ripping from your throat as you crumpled against a tree.

Your vision blurring as your body convulsed.

His voice—inside, inside, inside—

"I never left."

You choked, clawing at your own temples, as if you could rip him out.

His footsteps were slow. Unhurried. And when he crouched in front of you, those dark eyes gleaming with something fucking insane, you knew—he owned you.

Your breath hitched.

Memories you didn’t want to relive flooded forward—him between your legs, hands fisted in your hair, voice dark and commanding as he made you beg.

The searing agony returned, a slow and twisting pressure curling around your mind, your thoughts, your emotions, like a cut throat barbed wire slicing through. They weren’t your own anymore. They bled together, dripping down the walls of your consciousness, smearing into a grotesque display of everything you feared.

He wasn’t just reading your mind, thoughts and emotions. He was controlling them. Controlling your soul.

You didn’t remember how you got here.

Your head was spinning and your body ached, ankles were raw—ropes biting into your legs, binding you tight, keeping you from running.

You were stripped down to everything but your panties and you weren’t alone.

Sebastian.

Standing in front of you, sleeves rolled up, eyes filled with something terrifying.

Your heart slammed against your ribs.

“Where—” Your voice cracked. “Where am I?”

He tilted his head. “You don’t remember?”

You swallowed hard as he slowly stepped closer. Ran a finger down your bare stomach. Soft. Gentle. Almost tender. It made you shiver.

Before you could catch your breath, a sharp, stinging slap across your thigh came. You gasped, jerking against the restraints.

Sebastian exhaled, slow and measured, fingers tracing the red mark he’d left behind.

“You were never very good at listening,” he murmured.

Your breath hitched.

“Let me go.”

His lips twitched.

“Say it again.”

“I said let me—”

Another slap. This time against your hip, hard enough to make you bite back a cry.

Sebastian’s pupils blew wide. “There she is,” he whispered. “I was wondering when you’d wake up.”

Your stomach twisted making you feel sick. This wasn’t happening.

This wasn’t real.

Except—It was. You could feel it. The sting. The heat. The ropes digging into your skin.

Sebastian stepped behind you. You tensed, but there was nowhere to go. He pressed his lips to your shoulder, slow, lingering. His teeth grazed your skin, just barely—

Then he bit down.

Hard.

You gasped, body shaking as your legs trembled beneath you.

He sucked at the mark he left, tongue laving over the wounded flesh, soothing and punishing all at once.

“Still think you can fight me?” he whispered against your skin.

Your pulse thundered in your ears.

“Fuck you,” you spat, trying to push him away.

Sebastian laughed as he caught your wrist, pinning it against the stone wall above your head. "You already have," he murmured, pressing against you. You could feel him—hard, wanting. "And you will again."

Your mind screamed at you to fight, to run. But when his lips crushed against yours, hungry and punishing, your resolve shattered. His grip was bruising, his tongue tasting of possession and madness. His free hand slid under you, fingers pressing against the soaked fabric of your panties.

"Merlin, you’re not just wet princess," he whispered against your lips. "you’re fucking soaked."

Tears burned at the edges of your vision, frustration, arousal, and rage tangling together in a toxic, intoxicating mess. "Sebastian—"

He yanked you against him, fingers slipping beneath the lace, finding you aching and needy despite yourself. "Tell me you don’t want this. Look me in the eyes and fucking say it."

“Oh fuck,” you whimper, riding his hand as he fingers your dripped cunt. Running his lips down your throat. “Can you take a third?” Three fingers slipping in and out of you with ease against your slick folds.

Your body arched, back hitting the cold stone, a whimper escaping your lips.

“You take what I give you,” he murmured, pressing a bruising kiss to your jaw, his fingers working you open, the slick sounds obscene in the silence. “And you’ll fucking thank me for it.”

Your vision blurred, heat pooling in your stomach as he pushed you closer, closer, until—he pulled away.

A whine of frustration tore from your throat, but he only grinned, licking his fingers, savoring your taste.

“Patience, princess,” he mocked, dragging his lips over your ear, his breath sending shivers down your spine. “I’m not done playing with you yet.”

He gripped your jaw, tilting your face up, forcing you to meet his eyes. “I own you,” Sebastian whispered, his lips brushing over yours. “Mind, body, fucking soul.”

Your vision blurred, then sharpened, fractured images flickering through your mind—your body arching beneath him, screaming his name; the way you rode, fucked and came for him. The memories weren’t yours. They were his. He was forcing them onto you, making you feel every moment the way he had.

You gasped, trying to shake it, but it was useless. His grip tightened, his thumb swiping over your bottom lip.

“You see now, don’t you?” he mused, voice dripping with satisfaction. “How fucking perfect you are for me? How no one else will ever know you like I do? How you are mine?”

A cruel smile twisted his lips as he spun you around, pressing your chest to the stone wall. His fingers dragged down your spine, teasing, toying with you, until he gripped your hips and pulled you back against him. “You drive me fucking insane,” he growled, his cock pressing against you, hot and demanding. “Can’t fucking contain myself when it comes to you.”

He dragged his fingers through your folds again, groaning at how wet you were. “So ready for me,”with no further warning, he thrust inside, burying himself to the hilt. Gasping, a choked moan, your fingers clawing against the cold stone as he set a demanding rhythm. A slow, deep drag, pulling out almost completely before slamming back in, forcing a cry from your lips. again. and again.

“Say it,” he demanded, his palm coming down on your ass, the sting making your knees buckle. “Say you belong to me.”

Your mouth opened, but no words came, only broken moans as he fucked you harder, his movements erratic. His hand snaked around your throat, tilting your head back,his lips right over your ear. “I said, say it.”

“I-I belong to you,” you choked out, tears burning your eyes.

He hummed in approval, pressing a slow kiss to your shoulder, tongue laving over the fresh marks he’d left. “That’s my girl.”

“Gonna cum for me, sweetheart?” he teased, fingers slipping between your legs, rubbing tight circles over your clit. “Gonna make a fucking mess all over my cock?”

Your body trembled beneath him, the pleasure mounting, unbearable, overwhelming. He knew. Of course, he fucking knew. He could feel it, sense it, the way the euphoria came over you as your orgasm coursed through you. His arms gripping your hips even harder, snapping himself into you harder, deeper.

Sebastian cursed, but he didn’t stop, fucking you through it, dragging out every last wave until you were gasping, shaking, barely able to stand. He followed moments later, burying himself deep inside you with a ragged groan, the familiar warmth from his cum filling you.

Sebastian exhaled against your skin, he didn't move, didn't let you go, just stayed buried inside you, like he could keep you there, trapped, claimed. His hand skimmed over your stomach, fingers ghosting down to where he was still inside you. "Still so fucking full of me," he muttered, pressing down, making you whimper. "Feels good, doesn’t it princess?”

You knew you shouldn’t answer, shouldn’t give him the satisfaction, but your body betrayed you, back arching as another pathetic moan left your lips. His laugh was quiet as he kissed up your jaw. "I think you like this more than you let on," he murmured. "The way you take me.” He groaned, deep and raw, as he pulled out, his hands sliding possessively over your hips as if grounding himself before he turned you over, your back hitting the cold stone wall.

The silence was heavy before he broke it. “You’re beautiful,” he said quietly, his voice low but sure, as if it was the most obvious truth in the world. His eyes, dark and unwavering, roamed over you like he was trying to memorize every inch, as if he needed to. "You have no idea how fucking beautiful you are to me."

The way he said it—so unguarded, so completely vulnerable—made your heart stutter. Because for all his arrogance, his sharp edges, and dangerous charm, Sebastian Sallow was, at his core, a boy who had only ever been taught how to destroy. Love was something foreign to him. Uncharted territory. And yet, here he was, trying.

Your lips curled slightly, teasing. "Getting sentimental on me, Sallow?" He scoffed playfully, his grip on your waist pulling you in closer to him. "Don't get used to it,"

His other hand curled around the back of your neck, possessive, firm. “You're mine,” he muttered under his breath, like a vow, like a prayer.

You rolled your eyes, biting back a smile. “Wow,” you drawled, “you really can’t just ask me to be your girlfriend again, can you? You have to own me instead?”

Sebastian paused, lips parting slightly before he huffed out a short laugh, shaking his head. Then, he let out the most exaggerated, dramatic sigh, bringing a hand to his chest as if you had gravely wounded him.

“My darling princess,” he drawled, voice laced with mockery and affection all at once. “Will you do me the great honor of being my girlfriend again?”

He extended his hand toward you, palm up, an amused smirk played on his face.

You tried—really tried—not to smile, but the warmth in your chest was impossible to ignore. You let out a small laugh, cheeks heating as you slipped your hand into his. “Yes,” you whispered, watching as his fingers curl around yours.

He then lifted your hand to his lips, pressing a slow kiss against your knuckles. Without another word, he pulled you in, wrapping his arms around you, holding you against him like he never intended to let go. You melted into him, burying your face against his chest, breathing him in.

He held you there, his face buried in your hair, inhaling deeply as if he couldn’t get enough, as if you were the only thing that had ever made sense.

And maybe to him, somewhere in his fucked up mind, you were.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

a/n: is this too fucked lmao. im sorry ts would’ve worked on me sadly like i can fix him…

ᴅɪᴠɪᴅᴇʀ ᴄʀᴇᴅ: @ꜱᴛʀᴀɴɢᴇʀɢʀᴀᴘʜɪᴄꜱ

MASTERLIST

[tannieastrology]

Composite Observations

💔 Ive noticed that alot of long term couples have asteroid briede conjunct the sun which makes sense because its literally the asteroid of marriage and union.

💔 Cancer rising couples will find it very hard to leave each other even when they arent good for each other. From the moment these two meet they feel so comfortable with each other and will feel like "home". They are each others comfort people but ive often noticed that these relationships tend to stagnate especially if the rest of the chart has complicated placements. They are also very moody around each other lmfao. The fights get intense and almost "domestic" which is why its important to be careful w cancer placements because codependancy can become an issue.

💔Gemini Rising couples are so cute and fun omg. So flirty and when youre near them you wont even feel like youre third wheeling. The fun couple.

💔 Libra Rising/ Venus in 1st house omg literally everybody shipped us together. Everyone always assumed we liked each other(which i did but he didnt) and told us we had such good chemistry. We looked really good next to each other but it was hard getting close to him beyond that. Our Venus was in libra first house but it squared our 7th house ruler mars in the 10th house, so we argued alot since the day we met. Our arguements were public and everyone had an opinion but they also all shipped us at the same time lmfao. If you do tarot you would know that justice is represented by Libra so our entire friendship had themes of "justice" in it. Our disagreements sometimes became very bitter.

💔 About 10th house mars, im starting to not like this placement ngl. I definitely feel like in this house it acts more as a malefic. There will be power struggles and difficulties seeing eye to eye if AFFLICTED. I think if its not afflicted then maybe you can push each other to grow together in yalls career but for the person I had this with it was our 7th house ruler and made multiple squares in the chart. Literally everybody had an opinion in our business and also like i said the fights were intense. The thing is we were immature kids. Im sure if we were adults it wouldnt have been that bad and we wouldnt have acted out of ego but it was hard seeing beyond it sometimes. Now as im older I feel like im starting to really admire how talented he is( I always have) but in a way now where I want to support him instead of trying to piss him off lol. Another thing is when Mars transited over our composite 10th house we had a huge fight and everyone at school knew it. I cut him off.

💔 Speaking of transits yall pleaseee look at them for the composite chart they are so so so accurate. They have predicted almost every issue I had with him. Another thing I noticed was if you set the transit for January 1st of that year it will predict the themes between u and that person off the composite transits. Every year this had been so accurate as to what happened and its worked for multiple couples I observed. For example when venus and mars was transit on the 5th house during new years the couple started dating that year. It acts as a solar return.

💔 Alot of long term couples have sun in 4th house composite and they are actually healthy.

💔 I love 11th house placements in the composite like yall will just naturally get along so well. This is the true "crush" feeling you would get sometimes more so than the 5th house but instead yall will have a friend dynamic. Just be careful not to get friendzoned LMFAO

💔 8th house placements are not for the weak and having it in the composite can be more complicated than having it in synastry. You were meant to meet this person because both of yall need to go through a psychological change through a partnership of some kind. I dont think 8th house placements are toxic if people are self aware but theres not a lot of people out there who are mature like that at a young age.

💔 Good luck if you have saturn in 12th house with someone. Yall will constantly have issues that neither of yall will understand how to fix. Boundries will be nonexistant and honestly it will be hard to form a partnership. This is IF yall hide from each other and do not communicate. You need to be vulnerable with each other. This is one of the biggest indicaters of a karmic partnership and its painful. Theres always this feeling of something feeling off and hurt in the back of your mind even when something isnt wrong. Ive seen from astrologers that saturn feels comfortable in this house and saturn here represents longevity but the benefits of this placement will not come through until yall go through some serious struggle.

💔 Chiron conjunct the mc will expose all of yalls pain to the public. A couple that had this through aries chiron transit the MC made it known eventually that they become toxic and everyone just thought of them as the couple that fights and hurts each other alot. They also broke up near this time.

💔 Ive noticed that the MC represents the status of the relationship. Having jupiter transit the MC made the couple have good luck and were trying to get together romantically. They also had asteroid anteros(god of requited/mutual love) conjunct jupiter in 10th house as a transit and EVERYONE was talking about them at school and were trying to get the two together.

💔 Lowkey I feel like davison charts(which can be read exactly like a composite) are even more accurate than composite charts. Not to say composites arent accurate but when it comes down to showing the overall long term duration of the couple I found that davisons are more accurate.

💔 If yall have venus square saturn just pack it up lmfao the universe do NOT want yall together and I often see couples trying to work it out but in the long term they often arent compatible. They force it and try to go against the grain and it never works out.

💔 I hate seeing jupiter squares in composites yalls values will be so difficult to align

💔 Jupiter in the 5th house is such a good place for romance. Ive also heard of couples doing "it" very early on in the relationship and most of them had this placement.

Hope Yall Enjoyed

-Simmi K💋

[californiannostalgia]

"After seven years on your television screen, Shawn Hunter moved to New York City, where he became an alcoholic. No, I'm kidding. He married the love of his life, Angela Moore. That's not true, either, but he did become a world-famous poet. Actually, last I heard he was the East Coast representative of The Center, a fundamentalist cult.

You may have picked up on the fact that I'm making all of this up. The dark truth is... Shawn has been locked in my basement for 12 years. It's really best for both of us. I'm able to move on (well, except when people confuse me for him), and, as a fictional character, he's much safer down there.

Let's be honest, more Boy Meets World would only further ruin his life. Being The Dramatic Storyline in a 22-minute comedy series takes its toll. It was never easy for him to live a sitcom existence, where poverty can be a punch line, where alcoholic parents can be funny, where no matter how much you learn — no matter how much Mr. Feeny sets you straight — you come back the next week, making the same old mistakes. And the laugh track roars.

Shawn was never meant for that world. He was too dark, too self-indulgent, too whiny. He was a downer! How many times can one character experience loss? Give a heart-wrenching monologue? Go on a soul-searching road trip? Conversely, he'd never survive another genre. Despite his bad-boy posturing, perhaps summed up best by his faux-retro, pseudo-biker look, Shawn wouldn't have lasted minutes in a drama. He may have acted out with some hijinks, but deep down, Shawn's pretty vanilla.

He never swears. He's never done drugs. The furthest he's been from home is Disney World. I think he's still a virgin. None of this would fly on Breaking Bad, Six Feet Under, or House. For all of his flaws, Shawn's, well, safe.

He could potentially leave my basement for a cop show. I could see him heading back to Philadelphia to join the cold case squad. Or to become a hard-bitten-but-ultimately-good detective, solving grisly crimes armed with only his street sense and a leather jacket. Or maybe he could find a hot female with whom to partner-just like on Castle or Bones- and their witty banter could lighten the dark underbelly of the city they protect. The problem there? Shawn ain't that smart. Or perceptive.

He's a C-minus student at best, which seems prohibitive to good detective work. So I think I'll keep him downstairs for now.

I treat him well. He gets plenty of food and water. He even has a window, a small square that lets him see passing feet — and dogs, if they're short enough. He tells me he loves that window. For him, it's like a television, looking out at real people, with real-people problems.

He's fascinated by how unstructured our lives are, how we drift from one moment to the next, free from the constraints of narrative, the pain of lurching endlessly from crisis to resolution. He covets your formless mood. Your un-episodic joys. The way you catch yourself off-guard. The way you wander, slowly, in and out of love. How you can go back, and revise the story of who you are, because there's no DVD box set. The way no one wants to know your ending.

Sometimes, I stay down there with him, and we share memories of the good old days. The time he blew up the mailbox with a cherry bomb. The time he peed on the cop car.

But even our best times together are bittersweet: We both know it can't last. Only one of us can return to the surface and live a semblance of a normal life. I make sure it's me."

forever thinking about rider strong’s answer to “what happened to shawn hunter”

[werezmastarbucks]

honey badger

masterlist - part 5 of 6

in which you go on a date with yoongi and he turns out to be literally the best human??? who is surprised?

yoongi x reader

word count: 3073

warnings: yoongi speaking about his scooter incident (i will throw hands)

music: crescent moon by aleph, moonlight by anthony lazaro and marle thomson

You pushed the door, with the other hand struggling to push the disobedient strand oh hair behind your ear. You thought of that one absolutely insane lock of hair that always lies next to Yoongi's ear and got an unsurmountable desire to see it as soon as possible. The bag on your shoulder was heavy with your laptop, papers and folders inside, but you spotted him immediately on the sidewalk. Black cap on his head, but his shoulders were straight today, hands in pockets, head turning right and left: he wanted to be seen. Before you managed to even say hello, you noticed the car he was standing next to:

"Of course".

A thought wormed its way into your skull: how much money exactly does he have? Is it googleable? What do you need to brace yourself for?

"What? It's the best car I have".

You felt timid. Yoongi smiled a little shyly, like before, like he didn't choose to take you to a bubble-tea cafe in a Porsche. The type of car people have sex in. At least that's the stereotype. You craned your neck to look at his left ear, where the black crescent was, and satisfaction washed over you.

"Huh? What is it?"

"Nothing", you smiled, "I really like this".

You braved up and touched the strand of hair, brushed the tip of your finger over his cheek. Yoongi didn't budge, but tensed up a little. He didn't drop his smile though.

"Oh, that. I have full head of that".

"Do you know how many hairs an average human has?" you asked, as he circled the ridiculously slick car, sitting there on the road like an expensive toy, and opened the door for you. People were turning their heads.

"No, how many?"

"I don't know".

As he got into the passenger's seat, he looked at you clutching your bag on your knees and carefully took it from you and put it in the back.

"A million hairs?"

"A billion", you suggested, "billion trillion hairs".

He sighed.

"That would be so hard to brush".

"Very heavy", you agreed. You both grinned. He started the car with that pleasant purr, and the car moved, wheel smooth under his palms. Yoongi took off his cap and threw it in the back, too, shaking his head.

"Have you eaten?"

He was asking all these small questions, like, how was your day? What did you do? How did you sleep? You knew the last question was placed carefully in the end not to sound too concerned, because he definitely remembered. All your body wanted to tense up, sitting in this car, the circumstances of going on a date with a freaking millionaire, but as you glanced at him, every time, the nervousness took a step back. That was a good sign: the sight of Yoongi relaxed you. He drove calmly with a frog face, pulling his lips to the sides, entertained by the road, and chatting with you lightly. He didn't really make a big deal about it, spreading his chill to you, so you found it easy to speak to him.

"I was never good at this", he was finding a word, "switch, you know. When do I get to tell you that you look nice? Why can't I say it when we're just friends?"

You realized you were biting your lip when your eyes were on him, and released it.

"Because there's a code, there's friendship vocabulary, and there's romantic vocabulary".

"But girls tell each other that all the time".

"Do you tell Minji if she looks nice?"

The thought of Minji was still somewhat triggering to him, because he scrunched his nose, like at the unpleasant memory.

"Okay, I get it".

He thought a little.

"But I do, sometimes. She likes to hear it".

"You're a good brother".

"Namjoon forced us to be good brothers to Minji".

He stumbled upon his own thought, undoubtedly thinking about the same thing as you,

"Except Seokjin, of course. What the fuck", he whispered to himself.

"You know, she is much happier than she was last year".

He looked at you as if to check if you're lying.

"Really?"

"Yes".

"I love Jin. I do. He is a good man; but I always believed he only loved himself".

"There's always a Minji", you grinned.

"Let's not talk about them", Yoongi sighed, turning the wheel, and the car started slowing down to the curb. You looked outside.

"Because when Namjoon finds out and starts killing people, I want to pretend I didn't know".

He helped you out of the car, took your hand, and it was gentle and firm. The street was crowded, and he clearly was in a good mood, because then his hand pushed you lightly in the small of your back:

"Run, run!"

You sprinted towards the doors of the cafe; he left the cap in the car. Whether he really wanted to get out of the street, or just played, you went along.

He asked about your work; he pushed a little muffin towards you across the table, that he insisted you eat after the salad you'd ordered; Yoongi had a habit of looking to the side, at the invisible spot in the air, when he spoke about something serious. He didn't know where to put his hands, sitting his elbows on the table, then hiding them, then running his hands through his hair; like what he really wanted to do was to hold yours. But conversation went easily and the understanding you immediately caught back then, in September, was a great foundation for pushing out the awkwardness of a first date. Yoongi managed to immediately understand what you were talking about, and vice versa. You helped him with some English words, and he confessed that he always thought that 'unbearable' is connected with a bear, the animal. More bears, or fewer bears, depending on how hard it is. You told him his imagination was not too far off. You debated with yourself whether it's worth telling him what internal conflict you have, and decided he'd understand, too.

"I was very unwilling to go to the party in the first place", you explained.

"Namjoon's birthday?"

"Yes. And then, just, I have this negative prejudice against idols".

You looked at him honestly. Yoongi didn't seem shaken at all.

"I don't feel like an idol", he said, "I think of myself as a musician. That suits me better. I like music more. I would prefer to just make music, for myself and for people".

"How did you end up in the biggest band in the world then?" hearing this out loud was so scary that you thought, you should run. The way he laughed with only his shoulders stopped you.

"They tricked me. They straight up lied to me and said I will produce music. Next thing I know, I am dancing my ass off and Hoseok is yelling at me".

He bowed his head and scratched his temple, restless hands.

"You treat me like a normal person. Like a human".

"That doesn't happen?"

His eyes searched the space for an answer. It took him a while.

"No".

"What about the other members? It's very clear you are family".

"Yes, but they are all also... not human now. You know? They don't get to do normal things. Buy food in the supermarket", he paused after each sentence, "hold hands with someone".

"Don't you have any free time at all?" you wondered. He shook his head.

"It's not that. We have free time. We are just afraid, always".

You felt so bad for him, for the way the industry crafted them all, granted them with straight, white teeth, smooth skin, ethereal wolfcuts, perfect chins and the desireability of angels, and then severed their drive to live and use all of that. It was worse than claustrophobic, like they were all in chokeholds, all the time. It must be a very narrow path to choose to live like that, a path that only significantly unique people would choose. Yoongi looked at you like he was recording your face with his eyes, with a kind of anxious question, trying to predict what you'd say, what you'd think of him. You realized that he was as scared of you, as you were of his baggage. Then you realized your baggage was maybe lighter, and of different sort, but still nothing to be jovial about. You wanted to lift him up a little. He was, after all, yours for the day, and deserved to smile. It dawned on you that you might no have your happy ever after with him, but today would last for exactly as long as it's supposed to.

You left the cafe quietly happy, the both of you, and he took you home without asking for more. Only, for a second date? You nearly forgot your bag in his labyrinth-like car. He had to dive inside, his ass up, to get it out.

When you fell in love, you hated the way your brain handled it. You'd lose appetite completely, and you'd get very jumpy. You'd get dizzy occasionally, like the room would start spinning. The good side of it this time was, though, that the PTSD symptoms were absolutely rummaged and buried under the new stress factor. Now you couldn't sleep because you were nervous all the time, and not because the sounds of the street scared you. The nightmares changed: instead of the standard car crash, you started getting the weird dream in which you kept falling and falling into pinkish-dark abyss with nothing to hold on to.

You discovered that you could only eat when Yoongi was literally in front of you, like your brain used him as a hook to ground and distract itself. While it admired his face, you could stuff as much food in yourself as you could, replenishing involuntary starvation.

"Oh?" he was a little concerned.

"Why do you not eat?" he immediately pushed another plate towards you. The table was already full of it, but he wanted you to have meat in view.

"I'm too nervous", you replied, your face like a stone, "I think I am falling for you, hard".

You were too adult to mince your words about it. Plus, Yoongi said it first. Nevertheless, he got flustered and lowered his eyes, pouting a little. You noted this reaction.

"You should eat", was all he could muster.

"I am", you replied and put a huge piece of chicken into your mouth. He was chewing his upper lip for a second, then gathered his courage again.

"You are very beautiful when you eat", he said. You froze in your place, in between the two motions of jaws. He shrugged, like, I said what I said, and got to his own plate.

"Only when I eat?"

"No, not only when you eat".

"That's a strange kink to have".

He chucked into his dish and looked up at you.

"You know what I meant", then: "have you thought about a cat?"

You nodded,

"I keep postponing, I don't know, why. I have a stable job, really, I am just being cowardly about it. I just have to get a pet, a lizard, a rat, whatever".

"What's your favorite animal?" he asked. You didn't need to think even a second:

"Honey badger".

Yoongi made a face.

"Huh? What's that?"

He took out his phone and googled because the picture just didn't click in his head.

"Aah. He looks like... that... you know Hugh Jackman movie?"

"Yes, wolverine. Fun fact: the characterization of Wolverine in the comics and the movies is more suitable for a honey badger rather than a wolverine. Honey badgers are the psychopaths of the animal world. They will fight whoever, whenever, and they are incredibly tough. It's almost impossible to kill them. Some of them have such thick skin that some bullets can't pierce it. Also", you pointed the chopstick at him. Yoongi was listening with his perfect mouth open,

"The skin of a honey badger is not connected to its... uh, flesh? and muscles, so it can twist inside its own skin. If a tiger grabs it with the teeth by the neck, honey badger can twist and turn around and bite the tiger in the face. They are incredibly tough. They are savage. They are great survivalists".

He nodded, impressed.

"I thought you'd say a cat, or a butterfly, but I like it".

"What is yours, Yoongi?" He shook his head,

"Y/N, I haven't thought about his since high school. I have no idea. I love Holly".

"I don't see him much anymore", you complained, "why don't you take him with you?"

Yoongi looked caught up. He opened his mouth and stared above you.

"About that... I, ugh, had to take him to parents. They really... I decided that I travel too much, and just, constantly moving him is not good".

"Oh", you got upset, "I thought you'd ask to babysit him again sometime".

"I'm sorry. My mom also asked to see him. They really wanted him. He's very popular", he looked guilty.

"Alright", you sighed, "where do your parents live?"

"In Daegu. It's about three hours away from Seoul".

"Oh, long way".

"I like driving. I missed driving", he said, brushing his hand across his face, and smiled a little, hiding something in between his lips.

"Have you heard about it?"

You shook your head no.

"Oh right, you weren't here at the time". Yoongi's face changed to amused expression.

"I fell off a scooter and had my license revoked for two years".

"Electric scooter?" you clarified, shocked.

"Yes, I was a little drunk. I scarred my knee a little".

You chuckled.

"Dammit, some laws here are very tough. Dude, people who find it criminal wouldn't survive a day in Europe".

His smile was big and unsure. You gave him a long look.

"What?"

"I don't know if you want to hear this, with your hatred of the industry".

"Go on".

"People started sending me death threats and In was almost kicked out of the band".

"Sorry, what? For falling off an electric scooter?"

Yoongi laughed now. He was laughing now, but the tone of this laugh clearly showed what he had to go through to be able to laugh now.

"It's tough. It was tough. But I got my license back".

"So, you get it every time you do anything out of the ordinary", you concluded. He nodded. Right before your eyes, the missing pieces of the puzzle were joining and completing the picture. His quiet stoicism was coming through clearly now, explaining why he was so patient with his life and people around. Yoongi finished his glass of beer and said,

"The first time when we had a girl in our music video, we were boycotted for half a year, and lost nominations for MAMA".

You covered your ears with your hands because you wanted to unhear this.

"But it helps you to understand how to navigate in this world. It builds the character, you know, things like that".

"Hatred and death threats?"

He nodded,

"Yes. It always helped me work. You know, are you listening to music here while we're here?"

You nodded. The soft, toned down soundtrack from the radio was playing on the background, flowing from one song into another.

"We've been here, how much, an hour?" he looked at his phone for time, "Seven songs played, that I wrote".

It was nice to see him unlock this side. Yoongi's arms were resting calmly on the edge of the table. Even if he was trying to impress, you felt he had a full right. It weaved a meaningful message. It made you change the lense through which you viewed him.

"You are a honey badger", you realized. His eyes lit up a little, pleased with the unexpected words.

"That's crazy".

He lifted way more than eighty, that's what he meant. You hoped he understood that you'd never forget it, too. There was previously absent determination in his look, a shade of pride. Paired with the salmon-pink of his superior smile, it was almost completely irresistible.

You decided to walk off the weight of food after dinner. Your heels clicked rythmically on the sidewalk as Yoongi walked beside you. When he held the door for you, he took your hand to help you step over the threshold and never released it. He got tired of speaking about himself, quite pleased with the bomb equivalent of information he gave you, and switched to you, acting petulant if you asked something back. His dark cat eyes begged you to remove himself from the conversation as he silently gushed over you.

You walked to the river and took to the embankment. It reminded you of the night you walked with Holly in the dark park, and you told Yoongi about it. He smiled with the corner of his mouth, his long hair covering his eyes. You touched his right shoulder as the memory of his trauma came back, too. You were learning about his silent cues. He didn't lean forward but didn't flinch either, like a statue that craved to be in contact. As you approached a curve in the road, Yoongi's hand suddenly slid across your waits, and he lifted you up with his strong right hand. With that, he sat you onto the parapet. You adjusted the skirt of your bodycon dress to release your knees, and Yoongi stepped closer, holding you in place.

"Aren't I supposed to face river?" you asked. Yoongi stepped to your side, putting your knees against his hip.

"No", he said simply. The halo of dark-green trees behind him. May was swinging its heavy summer bat. The river smelt of grass and earth, giving strange, home-like comfort. Yoongi's hands were resting on your sides securing you in your place so that you wouldn't move, like he was aiming for surgical accuracy. Your lips touched his open plump mouth, and immediately you bit him, because you wanted to do it for the longest time, maybe even on the first day as you met him and his local pout. Maybe you should've thrown yourself at him back there at the bar, while you were in your SPOILT top, and he, in his full black mourning attire. Maybe he would've even refused to push you away.

[thaleleah]

𝓛𝓲𝓽𝓽𝓵𝓮 𝓝𝓾𝓷, 𝓡𝓾𝓷!

Pairing: Dark!Vampire!Coriolanus x Fem!Nun!Reader

Warnings: ***NON-CON***, Dub-Con, Dark!Coriolanus, Vampire!Coriolanus, Evil!Coriolanus, Nun!Reader, Virgin!Reader, P in V, Oral (male receiving), Throat Fucking, Creampie, Slight Breath Play, Slight Bondage, Predator/Prey Kink, Fear Kink (?), Blood, Biting, Branding (he carves his initials into her skin), Burning (she burns him with a cross), Dirty Talk, Humiliation/Name Calling (ex: whore, slut, cocksleeve), Corruption Kink, Murder, Death/Dead bodies on screen, Talk about bodily injuries/gore (ex: throat ripped out, breaking bones, scratching hard enough to bleed, burning skin, carving initials into skin), A lot of praying, Author probs going to hell cause this is her second fic about a nun being fucked/noncon-ed

Word Count: 10.9K

A/N: Inspired by this ask because it asked me my thoughts on Vampire!Coryo and clearly i have many.

A/N 2: Coryo might be a little OOC cause I'm not used to writing him yet and this is a different setting than TBOSAS soooo you've been warned lol. I tried tho!

Summary: Something evil has taken over the halls of the convent. Your Sisters are dying, their screams ringing in your ears as they cry and plead, begging God for mercy that He can't provide. One by one they're killed by the devil with sharp teeth and an even sharper tongue. He's coming for you next and you have nowhere to hide when he comes for your soul.

At first you think you’re dreaming it - the screaming, the cries, the pleas for mercy.

They cut through the fog of sleep, a sharp knife piercing through the veil of dreams that were too mundane to be of importance for your brain to remember. Or maybe you weren’t dreaming at all, enjoying the stillness that comes with the night and the only other moment of true peace that can be found to just be one with God and His glory outside of active prayer. 

Panic rips through you, your body tensing and jerking awake in the same way that you jerk awake from a dream where you fall from a great height. Tossing the blanket off, you scramble off the bed, the old wood creaking under the abrupt shift in weight as your bare feet find the floor. The screaming is relentless, the sound laced with unfounded terror and you stare at the door of your room in horror, looking at it but not really seeing it as much as trying to see through it as if you could see what was causing such a reaction from here. 

The screams sound like they’re far, loud enough to carry through the convent but far enough that you can guess they’re coming from the other set of dormitories all the way across the building. You’re frozen in your spot, eyes wide as you hear the screams rip through the usual quiet of the convent. It's well into the night and the Grand Silence had begun to be observed since its marker of evening prayer. It’s a time for quiet - personal reflection, rest, and prayer until its conclusion at sunrise beginning with morning prayer. Sound hasn’t been uttered in these halls during this time in all the years you have been positioned here, and certainly not this kind of sound - the terrified screams, the desperate cries.

Something horrible is happening here. Your Sisters are in trouble.

A scream almost rips from your own throat when your door swings open, but the familiar sight of Sister Agnes keeps the sound at bay. Her face is ashen, fear striking her normally good-spirited features as she quickly closes the door shut behind her. 

“Sister,” You speak, voice low and shaky. “What’s happening?”

“A devil is here,” She says, frantically. “A demon. Here to kill and torture and corrupt us all to Hell.”

“What?!”

“Sister, please!” She rushes to the chair housing your habit and yanks it off the backrest, pressing it into your chest. “Please, hurry! We must leave!”

You fumble with your habit, jerking it over your undertunic and doing your best to fit your veil on your head as you slip your bare feet into your shoes. A devil here in the house of the Lord? How is this possible? The land here is holy, consecrated under God’s divine power and kept active by His devote servants that serve here. No evil power should be able to enter. And yet, the screams you are hearing are proof that it is possible - that evil has indeed entered this sacred place and is tainting the very place you’ve felt God’s presence the most. 

The only place you’ve ever felt truly safe. 

Sister Agnes opens the door when you scramble to her side. It’s dark in the hallway, only the dim emergency lights along the walls allow you any sort of visibility in the otherwise black of the hall. Whatever it is must have cut the power before beginning its attack. Her hand reaches out to clasp yours and you allow it gratefully, squeezing her fingers with yours to keep her close as if she could be ripped away from you at any second. 

“Where is it?” You whisper. It’s in the opposite wing, you know that. Sister Anges’s room is on the other side of the convent as yours. She would have had to run across the building to come warn you of the breach. 

“Sister Agatha has fallen,” She whispers back and you suck in a deep breath of sorrow. “He came so quietly, made no sound. The front door is still locked shut, all the windows intact, I don’t know how–” She cuts herself off and continues to drag you down the hallway. Her voice is thick with tears. “He came for me next, lunged at me. Sister Theresa saved my life. She’s gone too, God bless her soul.”

You heard the screams and still, the news of your Sister’s gruesome deaths shocks you to your core. Sister Theresa was your mentor here during your first year at the convent, and Sister Agatha had only freshly said her vows. They’re gone - lives ripped away from them in a matter of minutes by a devil with no soul.  

Sister Agnes leads you through the halls towards the main entryway. You peek into rooms as you pass them, eyes frantic and head on a swivel for any movement that’s not friendly. Sister Ruth and Sister Sophia’s doors are already open as you and Sister Agnes scramble down the hall. You hope that means that they’ve already gotten out and gotten to safety. There are periods of silence where the screams are cut to a halt, a result of their owner being mercilessly ripped from this world before their time. You feel hopeless as you run through the convent towards the exit. It feels like abandoning God and the beautiful place that He’s guided His followers to build. It feels wrong that there’s nothing you can do to stop it. It feels like failure. 

The entry area has a little more light, emergency lights flickering slightly but still on as you take in the scene in front of you. There’s blood on the floor, the stream of it flowing and making its way into the grout between the tiles, following the line of it as it copies the pattern. There’s blood, but no body - although the smearing line leading to the kitchen just off the entryway is story enough to know what happened. One of your Sisters was dragged away just feet from the door.

The door itself is still closed. Locked. You wonder if anyone has actually made it out yet. 

Sister Agnes freezes at the sight of the blood like you do, her hand tightening even more around yours as she lets out a sobbing gasp. 

“Lord, have mercy,” She whimpers. 

“Come on,” You say, pulling her. “Hurry,”

You take a step, urging you both towards the door, and then you’re being shoved forward instead. Sister Agnes’s body flies forward, her hand still locked onto yours dragging your body with her as she’s tackled to the floor. You fall to your knees next to her, directly next to the Vampire straddling her hips, his hand spanning the entire length of her face as he pushes her head back against the bloody tile. Your scream matches Sister Agnes’s as he tears into her throat. Her screams of terror pierce your heart just as deeply as his teeth pierce her flesh. You can’t see his face as he digs it into the crook of her neck, but you can see hers - can see the panic in her eyes as they flick around but never actually catching on anything, can see how her mouth opens and closes with a mixture of terrible screams until those screams turn raspy and then silent altogether as he drains her. 

Her hand is still on yours like a vice grip and you’re sorry, so so sorry, but it's too late for her. Sister Agnes is still here, still in the world of the living, still moving and silently screaming but you know she’s as good as dead. You’re going to die too if you don’t do something. Tears race down your cheeks as you try to pull your hand from hers, your vision blurring the more you panic when you can’t free yourself. 

The monster reaches out, not bothering to stop drinking as his hand wraps around Sister Agnes’s wrist. Bile rises in your throat when you hear the sickening crunch of her bones splintering under the increasing pressure of his hold. They shatter like glass, the cracking sounds embedding themselves in your memory, but her shattered wrist forces her hand to loosen around your own and with another desperate tug you’re able to free yourself from her dying grasp. 

You scramble up onto your feet and watch as the last remains of consciousness drain from Sister Agnes’s eyes. She was your best friend. 

The Vampire is directly between you and the door. You can’t do it. If you try to make a break for the exit, he would catch you for sure before you even made it past the door frame. And even if you were to make it outside, it’s still dark out, the sun still hours from being overhead in any way that could possibly keep you safe from an undead demon of darkness. You make a split decision and turn to run the opposite way instead, deeper into the convent. 

This time you do scream when you run into another body. Sister Sophia, pale face made even more pale by the lack of blood in her body, lays discarded on the ground at the beginning of the hallway. Her veil is pulled halfway off her head and her blonde hair is stained with blood. She hasn’t just been drained - her entire throat has been ripped out. 

“Sister y/n!” A voice hisses and your attention is called to just further down the hall where Sister Ruth crouches beside another body, her hand resting gently on their forehead. You run towards her, chancing a glance behind you to make sure the Vampire isn’t stalking his way down the hall yet and you see that the second body is Sister Runa. Perhaps he was more gentle with her, she looks like she’s just sleeping except for the red stained white collar at her throat.

“We have to go,” She says, pulling her hand from Sister Runa’s forehead. She grabs your arm, pulling you down the hallway. She doesn’t need to pull you, you’re already running as fast as your legs can carry you, and yet somehow she’s still pulling you - urging you to run faster, hustle harder. Your life is at stake, y/n. Run! “We can lock ourselves in the Chapel! Pray to God and beg Him for–”

Sister Ruth doesn’t catch the flash of movement on her right, the dark silhouette of the man crouched on the shoulders of the statue of the Virgin Mary. He leans out into the fluorescent lights of the hall, blond curly hair and equally as curled grin already matted in red to show the evil he’s already done. You don’t have time to think about how he got there, how impossible it is that he’s in front of you right now when he should be coming from behind you. He’s quick as lightning as he jumps from his perch on the statue and grabs Sister Ruth, pulling her towards him so her back is pressed against his front and he’s trapped her arms against her own chest. The flash of fangs is all you see before he buries them in her neck. She screams when he bites her. Her eyes squeeze shut as she wails, but your eyes never leave her. You can’t look away, can’t think, can’t move.

He’s drinking from her but he’s looking at you, inhuman blue eyes swirling into black like ink as they bore into you like a predator watching his next prey. He growls against her neck, a possessive and cruel sound that almost sounds more like a laugh than anything else, and the sound of it makes a fresh sob bubble in your throat. 

“Sister y/n,” Sister Ruth rasps, and your eyes snap away from his and back to hers. Her eyes are hooded now, body quickly losing color from blood loss and her voice, once beautiful and rich, by far the best singer at the convent, sounds like sandpaper. “Run,”

You don’t hesitate. For her sake, and for yours, you do.

Your Sisters are all dead. 

Sister Theresa.

Sister Agnes.

Your shoes smack against the white and gold tile of the floor, the colors interwoven together beautifully to look like marble. Most days you like to admire it on your walk to the Chapel for morning prayer, a beautiful detail created with the utmost love in honor of God and the place He can call His house. 

It’s not morning yet, and the beautiful marble of the tile is splattered in bright red.

Sister Agatha.

Sister Runa. 

The smack of your shoes against the tile is louder still as you run faster, the echo of your sob drowning out the thick clacks of your heel as the sound bounces off the arched walls of the hallway. 

Sister Sophia.

Sister Ruth. 

You want to help her, find some way to save her. 

You can’t even save yourself. 

A devil has taken over a House of the Lord, an evil spirit in his undead body roaming the world in the cover night with sharp teeth and wicked eyes that gleam in the darkness right before he pounces and sinks his teeth into his prey. You’ve heard of Vampires before - Mother Superior had drilled their existence into your head no matter how impossible it seemed that they could be real. 

“If God is real, child, what makes you think demons are not as well,” 

Children of God reduced to prey by ones who were also once held in His holy cradle, now desecrating His love by trading their souls to the Devil in exchange for immortality. Forced to take another’s life just to sustain their own and relishing in that need anyway, finding joy and satisfaction in the hunt and the torment they cause once they’ve caught you. 

You need to move, need to get to the Chapel. It’s the only place you have a chance at being safe.

You keep running, sprinting for the Chapel. Seeing the tall ornate door frame to the Chapel feels like the first moment you saw it all over again. Four years ago when you first took your vows, seeing the intricate carvings in the wood of the frame felt like a blessing being bestowed on you. It was the entrance to a place that was holy, filled and overwhelmed with God’s presence, a sanctuary and place of eternal safety for you for the rest of your days. 

Now it's the only hope of sanctuary you have. You try not to think of the irony that the rest of your days have come this soon. 

An agonized sob wretches from your chest when you see her. Mother Superior - your mentor, your confidant, the woman who took you under her wing when you were lost in this world and had nothing, the woman who taught you how to be someone worthy of the title Sister. You love your Sisters, the people who you consider family in both the spiritual and the physical. Sister Agnes - your best friend. But seeing Mother Superior’s mangled body feels like the stab of a knife directly to your heart. 

She’s slumped against the thick wood of the doorway, white coif ripped and stained a brutal red. Her head is tilted to the side, exposed neck muddled with the matching red on her coif and adorned with twin puncture wounds. The punctures are still bleeding, but Mother Superior is no longer alive to notice. 

“I’m so sorry,” You cry. You kneel down beside her and bless yourself with the sign of the cross on her behalf. “May God be with you and keep you safe in your journey to Him,”

You can’t delay anymore. Sister Ruth has told you what to do and Mother Superior would have told you the same. You cross the threshold into the Chapel and close the doors behind you. They’re large and heavy and hard to push shut, but the adrenaline coursing through your body is very helpful in making a usually two person task doable for just one. 

“So do not fear, for I am with you,” You recite as you push the doors. “Do not be dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you,” You grunt as you pull the thick board down from the side, it thuds into place, hefty and sturdy as it locks the two doors together. You wonder if it was built to protect in a time like this. “And help you; I will uphold you with My righteous right hand.”

Deep breath. Just breathe. 

Breathe and pray and hope for mercy.

You turn around intent on going to kneel in front of the altar but a flash of green tossed along the edge of a pew catches your attention. Horror floods your body once again as you recognize it for what it is - Father Gregory’s stole. And you can see it from here, the smattering of blood along the edge and you know that Father Gregory, the poor devout priest who was only meant to be here for one single day, acting as the active voice of God to hear the burdens of you and your fellow Sisters and free you from your sins, has also succumbed to the devil stalking these hallowed halls. 

You rush down the aisle and throw yourself in front of the altar, knees pressing into the hard tile as you clasp your hands together. 

Prayer is all that can help you now.

Your words of praise are muddled with desperate pleas for mercy. The stained glass along the walls of the Chapel are usually beaming bright and beautiful with light, but the dark of night doesn’t reflect the color and only the dim emergency lights of the dying Chapel overheads is all you have to keep you from seeing demon shadows of movement where there is none. 

“Our Father, who art in Heaven,

Hallowed be Thy name,

Thy kingdom come, thy will be done,

On earth as it is in Heaven,”

You jump, a sobbing gasp mingling with the rushed words of your praying as a loud bang of a body being thrown into the thick doors echoes loudly through the Chapel. 

“Little nun, little nun, let me in,” 

“Give us this day our daily bread,” Another bang tears through the Chapel and your body jumps again with the sound, but your praying doesn’t stop. 

“Forgive us our tresspasses,” BANG. 

“As we forgive those who trespass against us,” BANG.

“And lead us not,” BANG. “Into temptation,” BANG.

You can hear the wood splintering as he throws his body against the doors, and you can’t keep from shaking, tears pricking at your eyes and racing down your cheeks as they slide over the curve of your jaw.

“But deliver us from evil,”

BANG. 

“Deliver us from evil,”

“I smell you, little nun!”

BANG. 

“Lord, please deliver me from this evil!” You sob. 

And it’s at that moment that the doors break open. 

The sound of the doors giving way under his force feels like a gunshot straight to your heart. He’s inside - demonic monster, killer - breaking down the final form of defense you have as if it was nothing under the inhuman power of his undead body. You can’t turn around, forcing yourself to stay facing forward as you sob out line after line of prayer, your panicked praise and pleas for mercy echoing through the high arches of the Chapel. 

A loud whistle rips through the Chapel as if someone is pretending to be impressed and even though you can’t hear his footsteps, his shoes making no sound on the floor as he walks with the ease and stealth of a predator, you know he’s getting closer - can feel the way the air shifts around you as he nears. Your brain is screaming at you to turn around, to try to run and protect yourself at any cost, but you can’t bring yourself to turn and watch as your ruin approaches you. 

“Well, well, look at what we have here,” He coos. “The lone survivor.”

He sounds like he’s all the way across the Chapel and somehow speaking directly in your ear all at once, his voice carrying through the holy place like his is the only voice it should ever amplify instead of the Lord’s words, and for a horrifying moment you wonder if that means this place is no longer holy. 

“Our final tribute,” Closer and closer, steps silent as he stalks nearer but you can hear how his nails, sharp pointed and lethal, designed for cruelty, tear against the wood of the sides of the pews as he passes by, dealing destruction in his wake. You jump when he’s suddenly upon you, crouching behind you and his hand slaps against your forehead, forcing your head back as he growls in your ear. “God’s last whore.”

“Our Father,” You whimper, tears blurring your vision as you crane your neck back against his hand, and all you can do from this position is look at the large statue of Jesus pinned on the cross displayed high on the wall across from you. “Who art in Heaven.”

“Do you really think there’s a Heaven?” His voice is low in your ear, soft and smooth, deceptively charming despite the chilling undercurrent and the way it sends shivers down your spine. “Is that where you think all your fellow nuns went? Do you think they’re happy up there? With your God, safe and sound and free of fear, pain? Do you think they’re waiting for you now? With open arms and waiting for you to join them in - what is it? Everlasting peace? A paradise, right?”

He nuzzles his face against the side of your head and you can feel the sharp grin against your temple. Your heart is pounding in your chest, the erratic thumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthump so intense that you can feel it in your throat, and you accidentally skip a few lines in your prayer. You stutter to correct, your words twisting over themselves as you struggle to find your place, and although his laugh is just a quiet chuckle pressed against the panicked sweat of your temple, it rings through your ears like the cruel, evil sound it is. 

“Guess what,” He whispers, cold lips brushing against your cheek. “They’re not. They’re in Hell getting fucked by demons for the rest of eternity. And they love it.”

A sob rips from your throat, terrible terrible images of your Sisters being forced on their backs or on their knees by soulless demons invading your mind, their screams of terror from earlier tonight echoing in your brain like a relentless loop. That can’t be true - it can’t be. God protects the souls of His children. He wouldn’t allow His faithful daughters to be subjected to such a fate. Sister Agnes, Sister Ruth - they have to be okay. They’re safe with Him. They have to be. 

But still, you pray anyway, finding the will despite your distress to change your prayer just for a moment to one specifically asking for His guidance for the recently departed. It’s short, just a few lines - eternal rest for the wandering souls, perpetual light shining upon them so that they don’t get lost or fall in darkness. Mercy and peace, a relief from pain and fear. 

Amen. 

He lets go of your forehead, shoving the back of your head roughly so you jerk forward. You catch yourself with one hand, breathing heavily as your ears strain to listen for him shifting behind you. You know he’s still there, can feel his looming presence even though he’s not touching you anymore, but he’s as silent as a ghost. You kneel up again, back straight as you look forward towards the cross on the altar. For a moment, nothing happens - the stillness is almost more nerve wracking than the actual monster somewhere around you. 

You gasp when your veil is flicked over your shoulder and the back of your habit and undertunic is ripped open from the nape of your neck all the way to the small of your back. The sound of tearing cloth echoes through the Chapel, reverberating off the walls and amplifying in your ears the same way the singing voices of your Sisters once did. Your back and the curve of your left shoulder are left vulnerably exposed as he pulls the material a little to the side. His sharp nails drag down the length of your back, goosebumps raising on your skin. They’re as light as they can be as they scratch down, the sharp pointed tips like daggers grazing over your flesh as you whimper out the beginnings of another Our Father. Your hands lace together in front of you, the long chain of the cross necklace looped around your neck twisting through your fingers as you cling to the cross in your hands. Then they’re back at your shoulder, digging in harder now as the tips of his nails cut into your skin. You scream as he rakes his nails down your back, pain stinging from the open wounds in the shape of claw marks and you pitch forward, only just barely staying upright on your knees as you squeeze your hands together tighter in front of you. 

You know you’re bleeding, can feel the tickling as the blood trails from the burning scratch lines on your back and you squeeze your eyes shut when you feel his tongue against your shoulder blade, licking up the dripping red. 

“Thy kingdom come, thy will be done,” You recite through gritted teeth. “On earth as it is in Heaven,”

He hums, sharp teeth nipping your skin as he licks over the stinging cuts. 

“You know,” He says, voice gravelly. “Out of everyone I’ve drank from tonight, your blood is the sweetest.” His hands curl around the tops of your arms, pressing in and holding you still as he nudges his face into the exposed crook of your neck. 

You try to keep praying, the familiar words should be burned in your memory, able to be recited without a single thought, but you’re not even sure if you’re saying actual words now. Everything just sounds like gibberish, words garbled and twisted with panic and you know that your time here on earth has come to an end. The tips of his canines scrape against the delicate skin of your neck, teasing your death as you hold your breath waiting for him to bite down and end your night of torment. 

“Let’s see if it’s better straight from the source,” 

His teeth slice into you, piercing where your neck meets your shoulder. Your scream cuts off your maybe prayer, your eyes widening but unseeing as your hands abandon their humble position to claw at his own as he pins you still by your arms. It’s painful, so painful you feel like you're burning up from the inside, your blood turning into fire in your own veins as he drinks it from your body like his own personal wine. And then something changes, a blanket of coldness wrapping around your body as you wheeze out a worthless plea that you know he hears but chooses to ignore. The fire in your veins calms into a warming hearth, contrasting with the cold of the rest of your body in a way that feels almost trance-like. There’s a pressure building in your belly, a heat that has nothing to do with the blood being drained from your veins and everything to do with something you hadn’t felt even years before you took your vows. 

No, no, no, you silently plead, but you can’t ignore the realization of what he’s forcing you to feel when the dull throbbing starts up between your thighs. 

His hands leave your arms, wrapping around your body as he pulls you closer to him. One of them gropes the curve of your breast, squeezing it in his palm, and he growls against your throat when your hands automatically shoot up to try to yank his away. His fingers curl around the neckline of your habit and he yanks it down roughly until the ripped top of your uniform sits around your waist. The Chapel had always felt warm before, filled with God’s presence and the certainty of safety, but now its cold, chilling air warring with the already contrasting temperatures of your body as it brushes over your bare chest. Your nipples harden, chest heaving as your vision blurs, dark spots stealing any clearness of sight as the devil behind you continues to drink from your reluctant body. The cross of your necklace hangs low against your sternum, the silver chain traveling between your breasts. The sleeves of your habit are still halfway up your arms, the neckline wrapping around your elbows and partially pinning your arms to your sides. 

He doesn’t even have to hold you still anymore. You can’t muster up enough strength to try to push him away. 

The throbbing between your legs only intensifies the longer he drinks and you can feel the wetness pooling in your underwear, damning and horrible even though it's making your body feel so so good. Your head spins, dizzy and euphoric, and you’re trying to pray - trying so hard to remember the words you’re supposed to say - but all that leaves your mouth is a weak moan when he finally decides to pull his teeth from your neck. 

You collapse on your hands, your arms barely strong enough to hold you up as you gasp for air. The bite mark on your neck is sore, the throbbing focal point of what he’s done to you matching the pulsing between your legs. His feet do make sound this time as he walks around your crumpled body, the heel of his dark leather dress shoes purposefully clanking against the floor as he steps in front of you. You peek up, eyes still a little blurred and unfocused as they travel up his nicely pressed pant legs, somehow only slightly wrinkled despite all the chaos he’s caused tonight. You freeze when you get to the bulge, bumping the material out as it starts to swell under the fabric. The sight of it makes the panic once again come to the forefront of your mind and you frantically try to scramble back, away from the man, devil, creature in front of you but he grips your jaw in a tight grasp, keeping you still and on your knees at his feet. 

His hold on your face is painful, strong fingers digging into the hinges of your jaw and forcing your lips to pucker slightly under the pressure. His sharp nails cut into your cheeks as he pries your face upwards, and then finally - you see him. 

You had seen him briefly before he attacked Sister Ruth, but how he actually looked hadn’t registered into your terrified brain. He’s a monster, a killer - spawn of the Devil - you expect him to be grotesque, as horrible on the outside as his soul is on the inside. The things he’s done, the lives he’s stolen, how he tortured and murdered your Sisters in their own safe haven - a House of the Lord no less - he should be as demonic looking as his actions. You expect a mouthful of sinister teeth, pointed with multiple rows meant to pierce and rip and drain their victims. You expect red eyes the exact same color as the blood he’s stolen from unwilling veins. He should look evil, skin grey and dead to match the lack of life in his own body, but the man in front of you is none of those things. 

He’s beautiful, devastatingly handsome like you believe Lucifer was when he was cast from Heaven. His blond hair is unruly, part of it still slicked back in what looked like a professional and put together style meant to tame the wild curls that are pushing through the gelled barrier. Some of those curls spring up on his head, falling along his forehead and reaching towards his eyes - eyes that are inhumanly blue, the iris swirling like living color as the black of his pupils bleed into the cerulean ring. His mouth is red, painted fresh with your blood, and his chin down to his neck is stained with that of your Sister’s, some of the remnants of splattered carnage soaked into the collar of his button down shirt. 

Your voice fails you, trapped in your throat as he grins. His prominent fangs bite into his lower lip mimicking the way his nails dig into your cheeks. Your lips form the words despite the lack of sound, starting the prayer again in the only way you can. He watches as your mouth struggles to form the shapes despite the pressure on your jaw, the thick lashes framing his inhuman eyes lowering as his features shift into a look of feigned pity. 

“I don’t think He’s listening to you. Your God,” He pouts. “Seems He’s abandoned you.”

It’s not true. It’s not true. It’s not true. It’s not true. The words echo like a mantra in your mind. God wouldn’t abandon you. He’s here, His presence is all around you. He’s protecting you, protecting your soul in a way He can’t protect your physical body. He’s with you now, ready to help shoulder the burden and trauma that the Devil is forcing in your path. The words of your prayer push forth, desperation giving a voice to your paralyzed vocal cords, and you know He’s here - He is, He is, He is…

…but you can’t feel Him. All you can feel around you is the unsettling, overwhelming, panic stricken presence of him. 

“But I’m here,” He purrs. His fingers slide across your cheeks as he moves to grip your chin instead, his thumb caressing your moving lips. “You should pray to me instead. Go on, little nun. Pray to the great Coriolanus Snow. Beg me to show you mercy.”

Fresh tears race down your cheeks when he shoves his thumb inside your mouth, the pad of it pressing down on your tongue and muffling your prayer. You fight back a sob and keep it going anyway despite the intrusion in your mouth. But when you look back into his eyes, your own eyes wet and glossy and red rimmed with eyelashes clumping together, all you see in those orbs of swirling blue and black is evil unbridled lust. 

Your heart stops when his free hand goes to the waistband of his pants. He undoes the button, shimmying his hips as he pushes them down his thighs just enough to free the thick bulge inside them. Your eyes drop down, locking onto the sight in front of you as he pulls himself free. He’s hard in his palm, thick girth filling his hand as it juts out at you, the pink tip of it already starting to glisten with wetness at the top in the dim lighting of the Chapel. He has no blood in his undead body, none other than what he’s stolen from you and your Sisters tonight. You wonder if that’s what’s helping to fill his cock right now. 

He pulls his thumb from your mouth and his hand leaves your face for one brief moment of relief before it latches itself to the top of your head. With a sharp tug, he yanks your veil from your head, a few strands of hair falling victim to the pull as they tear from your scalp. You screech, veil fluttering uselessly to the Chapel floor, but the screech and any hope you have at determinately continuing your prayer is cut off when he fists your unbound hair around his fingers and shoves his stolen blood filled cock in your mouth. 

Your hands automatically fly up to push against his thighs, desperately trying to push him away, but his hold is unrelenting as he pushes his hips further against your face. Frantic cries burst from your vocal cords, the hefty weight of his cock on your tongue is hot and overwhelming as it presses against the back of your throat, the threat of what he could do if he just pushed a little further is clear without him even having to say a word. 

“Don’t bite,” He teases, cruel laugh bouncing off the Chapel walls. “That’s my job.”

He drags your mouth along his length, pulling you almost all the way off until just the tip remains nestled against the flat of your tongue before sliding you back down, inch by inch invading your mouth and filling it up until you feel like you can’t breathe. Your nails dig into his legs, your own thighs spreading apart subconsciously in an effort to steady yourself as he drags you back and forth along this cock. The pulsing in your most intimate areas doesn’t stop as he degrades your mouth, embarrassment and shame flooding your body as he uses you to further desecrate this holy place in even worse ways than he already has. 

The taste of him clouds your brain, the wetness of your own saliva mixing with the salty taste spilling from his swollen tip and your body tenses as you gag around him, core spasming as more shame soaks into your already drenched underwear. Your heart pounds, blood rushing in your ears so much it starts to sound like you’re underwater, and you know he can hear the adrenaline rushed track of your heart the same way you can hear its song in your ears. You wonder what he’s more focused on right now as he takes your mouth, eyes closed and head tipping back towards the ceiling: how your mouth feels wrapped around him, or how the blood he has yet to steal from you sounds still rushing through your veins. 

The cool metal of your necklace draws your attention to the cross resting against your sternum. It suddenly feels heavy and cold against your flushed chest and you know that this is it - this is God reminding you of His presence with you. This is Him showing you that He has not left you all alone with a monster. Blindly, you reach for the pendant, feeling the reassuring press of the protruding arms of the cross bite into your palm as you squeeze your fist around it. Without another thought, you press it to his thigh. 

The reaction is immediate - heat swells under your hand, the metal of the cross burning like an iron as it fries through the neatly pressed material of his pants. It doesn’t burn you, the heat radiating against your palm is nothing more than a pleasant warmth against your hand. But it burns into Coriolanus’s skin, the holy figurine scorching his thigh and branding his pale skin with the bright red righteous mark of your Lord. He grunts out in pain, teeth grinding together as his head falls forward again, those inhuman eyes locked on you as you still choke around him. 

You expect him to be angry, to push you away and end your torment, even if it comes at the cost of your life. But your heart sinks when you see the twisted grin pull at his red mouth. 

“Trying to leave your mark on me, Sister?” He asks. To your absolute horror, he makes no move to smack the cross away, letting it scorch and smoke against his burning skin. “You can mark me up however you want. I’ll mark you right back. Try harder.”

You whimper as he fists both his hands in your hair, one on either side to keep you completely still. He rocks into your mouth, using you as his own personal toy instead of forcing you to move on him, and any regard he might have had for you before is gone - burnt away and up in smoke like the skin on his upper thigh. He shows no mercy as he pounds his hips against your face, making you take him deeper and deeper into your mouth until you’re gagging in earnest, choking and sputtering wet horrible sounds as thick strands of saliva drip from your mouth and his cock as he urges himself past the point that he had previously decided was good enough until he’s sheathed in your throat as far as he can get himself. 

“Look at you,” He laughs. “This isn’t your first time taking a cock down your throat, is it? You’ve done this before, I can tell. What a little professional you are.”

You want to shout no! No it's not true! Humiliation tearing your heart apart as he laughs in your face. It’s not true, it's not true. You’ve never taken a man in your mouth before. You’ve never had anyone before in any capacity. You’ve stayed pure your entire life, untouched by man and the temptations of the Devil. But the devil in front of you mocks you, violating you in the most intimate way he can, turning your own body against you as the part between your legs begs for attention that it's never truly wanted before he forced you to feel it, even as your brain screams at you to fight back all you can. 

The cross falls back in its place between your breasts as your hands fly up to claw at his own, your fingers trying to pry his grip from your hair as he thrusts faster, harder, deeper into your mouth and throat. He laughs as you struggle, crying and whimpering and gagging around his cock as he calls you every name that you know you’re not, but can’t defend yourself against. 

Whore. Slut. God’s prostitute. Jezebel. 

The air hurts as it reaches your lungs when he finally lets go of you. You cough and sputter, greedily gulping in heaving breaths of oxygen as tears and drool slide down your heated face. Your hands press against the floor as you gasp, desperately grasping at the tile as you fight to breathe. Coriolanus lets you, leisurely walking around you as though he has all the time in the world. It feels as though hours have passed since you’ve been trapped in this living nightmare, but outside beyond the beautiful stained glass windows, there’s still only darkness.

Brutal fingers grip the back of your neck, the tips digging into the sore puncture marks on the side of your throat. The ruthless press of his fingers at your bite mark sends a horrible pang of unwanted pleasure straight into the pit of your stomach, and you know it should hurt, should burn and make you scream from the pain of it all - and it does hurt, but it shouldn’t hurt like this. 

His mouth is at your ear again as he growls, “You want to pray to your God? Go on then. Bend down and pray,”

He shoves you down, his grip on the back of your neck keeping your upper body pinned as your cheek digs into the cold flooring. Any air that you were able to take in suddenly feels like it's stuck in your lungs when his free hand slides up the curve of your backside. He drags the bottom of your tunic with it, trailing it up and up and up until it sits bunched around your waist alongside the ripped neckline of your habit. You feel as vulnerable as you’ve ever felt - exposed and on display for eyes that should never be able to see these parts of you. Your hands grip against the tile on either side of your head, but even as he removes his hand from the back of your neck, you don’t dare try to push yourself up again. 

“Pray for forgiveness, Sister,” He says. His fingers find the modest coverage of your underwear and rips them clean in half with a quick flick of his wrist, tearing a hole for himself directly in the center of them and leaving the shredded remains of your modesty to hang uselessly on either side of your exposed center. “Pray for forgiveness because you’re sinning right now. It’s here, evidence of your fall from grace coating the pretty petals of your dirty, dirty cunt. You’re sinning, little nun. Sinning,”

A gasp rips from your throat as his hand lands on your backside, the sharp sting emphasizing his words that act like a dagger to your heart. 

You’re sinning. You’re a sinner. 

“Sinning,” He says again, landing another smack to your unprotected buttcheek. Fat tears flow from your blurry eyes.

Instead of being close to God, you’re drifting from Him. Being dragged, kicking and screaming further and further from your place at His side and instead of hating every second of it, recoiling in horror and finding nothing but pain and disgust from the touch of the monster behind you, your stomach clenches in twisted anticipation. 

“Sinner,” He grunts and this time you scream, loud and tearful as his hand lands cruelly on your bare pussy. 

You instinctively clench around nothing, traitorous clit pulsing against the rough treatment. Your head lifts from the ground just enough for you to shake it in denial, voice raspy and thick with tears as you struggle to begin your prayer anew. From behind you, Coriolanus laughs as he listens to your stuttered prayer, landing another sharp smack against your pussy just to make you cry out and lose your place. You can’t focus, nerves fried and body wound up so tight you feel like you’re about to explode out of your skin. The beginning of the prayer is the only thing you can remember, repeating the first phrase over and over and over again and hoping against hope that it's enough for God to hear you because you can’t for the life of you remember what the rest is. 

“Our Father, who art in Heaven,

Hallowed be Thy name,”

“Our Father, who art in Heaven,

Hallowed be Thy name,”

“Our Father, who art in Heaven,

Hallowed be Thy name,”

Your body stays frozen as Coriolanus lifts your hips higher into the air, and you don’t fight back when he kicks your legs farther apart so he can fit himself between them. Your praying gets louder, the only lines that you can remember coming out as a hurried sob when you feel the head of his cock slide against your slit. 

“What’s wrong, Sister? Have you forgotten the words?” He asks and a part of you wonders if instead of him being a devil, if maybe he’s actually the Devil. He drags the tip of his cock through your slick folds, sliding it from your hole all the way to your clit, rubbing it roughly against the swollen nub and back again. Your entire body trembles when he lines himself up, blunt tip teasing your entrance and you’re shaking so much you worry you might fly apart. “I said pray.”

Your mouth falls open when he pushes forward, no sound making its way from your vocal cords even though every other part of you is screaming. The head of his cock splits you open, your wet pussy taking him in and stretching around his thick length and it hurts, it hurts so much, but it's what’s under the pain that hurts more. The striking fullness of him as he fills you up, pushing his cock deeper and deeper inside you as he presses bruises in the shapes of his fingers into your hips. The way his cock completely fills you, leaving no space inside you for anything else and bullying its way even further still, making room for itself where you can’t imagine there could possibly be anymore. It’s horrible, the way your body yields to what he’s doing, taking him in and craving more even as the pleasure blossomed pain burns in your core. It must be something demonic, some sort of paranormal and evil power that’s blanketing you in this unwanted feeling. The monster behind you is forcing himself on you, dragging you into darkness with him with each drag of his cock against your slick walls, and is making you like it. 

You feel him in your stomach as he starts to thrust into you, deep and slow presses in and out as his hands squeeze your hips. 

“So tight around me,” He grunts, cock throbbing inside you as your hands try to find purchase against the ground. “Who knew that God’s precious angel would make the perfect little cocksleeve.”

You cry out when he arches over you, pushing your cheek back into the floor as he holds your head down with a splayed palm against the side of your face. His other hand grips possessively at your waist as he growls and grunts on top of you, moans of sordid pleasure filling the Chapel as you gasp and whimper underneath him. You’re not praying anymore, can’t get anything out more than a punched out, breathless, ‘Lord, have mercy, please have mercy, please have mercy’ with every rough thrust of his hips.

“You think someone like you deserves mercy?” Coriolanus sneers. “You’re no one. Left behind. Forgotten. And where is He now that you’re calling for Him? The one you devoted your entire life to.” His cruel words are punctuated with each snap of his hips and you whine in agony, eyes squeezing shut as the knot in your belly tightens. “Go ahead. Call to Him. Beg for Him to show you mercy.”

“Please!” You cry. 

You can feel your orgasm barreling towards you and you try to hold back, wanting to tell your body that no, you can’t. You can’t! You can't! You can’t let yourself feel like this no matter what this monster does to you. But your body doesn’t listen, Coriolanus doesn’t give it a chance. Your clit is needy between your thighs, begging to be touched as your pussy weeps around him, fluttering around his thick shaft as he drives into you without mercy. Shame floods your cheeks as wet squelching sounds become prominent in the dark symphony of sinful noises bouncing around the Chapel walls. 

“He’s not here. He left you,”

“No,” You beg. Not true, not true, not true. 

“But don’t worry, I’ll take you. Maybe He left you for me as a present, hm? You’re the fucking whore that your God left for me to ruin,”

You can’t say anything when he drags you up by your hair, pulling you back against his chest. His thrusting doesn’t stop even as the hand in your hair moves to wrap tightly around your neck, fingers pressing firmly into the sides of your throat just enough to make you fight to breathe under the pressure. His other hand wraps around your chest to palm at your breast, your nipple trapped between the cage of his fingers as he squeezes at your chest. 

“No no no no no no,” Your voice is desperate, breathless against the restrictive hold around your throat, and your eyes roll back into your head as the coil in your stomach tightens beyond control, your orgasm washing over you in waves of relentless, dark, and unfairly wonderful bliss. 

Coriolanus laughs as you shake in his arms, his sharp teeth poking into the lobe of your ear as he presses his grin into the side of your head. 

“Wow, look at you, cumming all over my cock without me even having to touch your pretty little doorbell. You really must be God’s favorite whore,”

He’s still hard when he pulls out of you, leaving you to crumple on the Chapel floor to deal with the aftershocks of your orgasm. Through your exhausted and used state, you still find the will to send a quick prayer of thanks up to God for allowing this devil to be done with you before he could release inside you. You know he’s going to kill you now that he’s gotten his fill, will grab you and drain you dry until there’s no life left inside you. But at least you hope that you’ll get to go to Heaven, be with God and the rest of your Sisters because he had to be lying about them being dragged to Hell. God wouldn’t allow it. He wouldn’t. 

If this is truly the end of your time here on Earth, then at least you were spared the humiliation of Coriolanus finishing inside you. 

He doesn’t immediately grab at you again though, doesn’t drag your head to the side so he can sink his teeth into your vulnerable neck and finish what he started earlier tonight. Instead he leaves your side, walking down the center aisle towards the door. Your eyes follow him, your vision only partially blocked from the way your hands cover your face in an attempt to try to hold yourself together. He stops halfway down the aisle, plucking something off from one of the pews, and the flash of green fabric reminds you that its Father Gregory’s stole discarded over the edge of the seat. You watch as he tucks the stole into his pants pocket before he turns back towards you, and you hide your face completely when you realize he hasn’t even bothered to tuck himself back into his pants yet. 

The hands covering your eyes allow him to sneak up on you and you don’t hear him as he takes a place in front of you again. His hand flicks out, quick as lightning, and grabs onto your necklace. Immediately, the pendant burns his skin, the smoke and smell of scorching flesh emanating from his hand, but he doesn’t care - just clutches it in his fist as he uses it to pull you forward.

“Crawl,” He demands. “Crawl or I’ll rip it off.”

You don’t hesitate, feeling the pull of the delicate chain around your neck threatening to snap against his tug. This is the last thing you have, the last form of protection God can offer you as your last moments on Earth come to an end. You can’t lose it. Your limbs are still wobbly as you scramble up the few steps towards the altar, your knee slipping on the fabric of your habit and almost making you fall enough to break the chain all on your own as you frantically try to follow his pulling. 

Standing in front of the altar of the Lord is the last place a monster like Coriolanus Snow deserves to be, but he towers over you like he belongs there, angelic blond curls falling into eyes of swirling blue and black as they glare down at you.

You sob when he rips the cross from your neck anyway, the sharp break of the chain snapping against the back of your neck as he tosses the holy pendant far away from you. 

“Now look at what you’ve done to me,” He says, showing you his burnt hand. His thigh is still damaged too, the matching marks of the cross torched into his skin. “You hurt me. Maimed me. Even after I was so merciful to you.”

He buries his uninjured hand in your hair, dragging your head close to his injured one so your mouth is a breath away from the red, scarred skin. 

“Kiss it better,”

Your breathing is shaky, evidence of your orgasm coating your inner thighs as you kneel in front of him. He allows you to hesitate for just a moment, but doesn’t release your hair from his grasp until your lips touch the marred skin of his palm. When he releases your hair, you feel untethered - accidentally swaying away from his hand without his firm hold to keep you there. Without thinking, you grab his wrist with both of your hands to help hold you steady, replacing your lips at his palm without him having to tell you to. 

“Good girl,” He coos. He tugs your right hand away from where it's clutching his arm and pulls it through the remains of your sleeve from where it's still partially pinned at your side so that he can raise it up high in the air, the paper thin skin of your wrist held near his own mouth. “Use that holy power of yours to make me all better.”

You whine when his teeth slide into your wrist, eyes sliding shut as the cloud of euphoric dizziness once again invades your brain. You feel outside your body as he drinks from you, kneeling before him and pressing soft kisses against the damaged skin of his hand, face just inches away from the still erect cock that's glistening with the evidence of your downfall. He suckles at your wrist and it takes you much longer than it should to realize that the skin under your lips doesn’t feel as disfigured as it did just moments before. 

And then, through hazy eyes, you see that it's no longer burned. Under your lips is just smooth pale skin of an uninjured palm, perfectly unharmed as if nothing had ever happened. Your eyes dart to his thigh and watch, shocked, as the damaged flesh repairs itself, torn and scorched remains webbing together and forming new skin until there's no trace of red left behind.

As soon as he’s healed, he pulls his mouth from your wrist and drags his tongue across his lips to catch any stray drops of blood. “Thanks for healing me up, little nun,” 

He hauls you up by your arm and grabs your jaw, ignoring your gasp as he presses his bloody mouth against yours, pushing his tongue between your lips just to make you taste yourself. A pleasurable heat swirls in your belly at the kiss even as cold goosebumps explode out on your skin, the horrible contrast between disgust and want twisting your thoughts into a jumbled mess. You don’t kiss him back, brain screaming at you to be strong and remember who you are even though the taste of his tongue mixed with the metallic sweet of your blood on his lips make some part of you yearn to return his touch. 

You let out a disgruntled cry when he pulls his mouth from yours and flips you around, his arm sweeping out to send the half used candles and stands clattering off the surface of the altar and shoving your body over the edge so you’re bent over it and no no no no no, he can’t! You’re not supposed to be on it like this, desecrating a place so holy and sacred. Darkening a place of such light like the Chapel is horrible enough, but defiling God’s altar - the place where bread and wine are consecrated into the living body and blood of Christ Himself - it’s unthinkable.

You immediately try to push yourself back up, but Coriolanus crowds you against the altar, grabbing both of your wrists and quickly tying them together with Father Gregory’s stolen stole so they’re bound in front of you. He drags them up close to your chest and loops the middle of the stole around your neck, keeping the free end in his hand as he hums.

“Why did you stop praying, Sister?” He asks as he lifts the back of your habit. He keeps a tight hold on the stole, pulling it taut so it constricts around your throat enough to keep you still as his other hand runs long, cruel fingers through the wetness between your folds. “You wanted to pray so much earlier.”

You’re face to face with the cross statue that he’s allowed to be left standing and even though this one has no likeness of Jesus pinned on it like the one overseeing the Chapel, it still feels like it's passing its judgement on you… and it’s finding you lacking. The combined sensation of the stole around your throat and the way Coriolanus replaces his fingers with his hard cock, sliding it through your wet folds and nudging it back at your entrance, makes your eyes roll up to the ceiling. 

Taking him a second time isn’t any easier and even though you're so wet, slicker more than ever now that you’ve had an orgasm, you still feel like you’re being stretched to your limits as he pushes back inside you. Your pussy clenches around him as he grips your waist and your hands twitch in their bindings, wanting desperately to be able to reach out and clutch the altar, reach behind you and hold onto him, or push him away - whatever you need to do to give yourself some relief as he drills you into the side of God’s holy table. But you can’t free them, can’t do anything more than take it as he uses your body and keeps you down with your hands tied and the stole wrapped around your neck like a leash. 

“Tell Him how you feel, little nun,” He growls. “Tell Him how my cock feels stretching your tight warm pussy. How it fills you up so much you can feel it in your stomach. Tell Him how I hit those spots inside you that make you go blind with so much pleasure.”

“Ah ah ah,” You moan as he pounds into you, the sound of slapping skin ringing in your ears mixed in with his sinful grunts. 

“Pray to Him,” He demands. Your eyes roll into the back of your head as he pulls the stole tighter around your throat. “Pray to Him and tell Him that this is the closest you’ve ever felt to Him, the closest you’ve ever felt to Heaven, but really it’s me who’s doing this to you. It’s me who’s making you feel so good. Fucking you. Corrupting you, Ruining you. Come on, Sister. Tell Him how good I’m making you feel.”

“Please,” You try to beg and your plea comes out raspy against the pressure on your throat. 

The knot in your belly is tightening again, clit pulsing and still untouched as you feel Coriolanus throb inside you. The new dizziness in your head comes not from the Vampire’s bite but from the lack of oxygen to your brain. Dark spots poke at the sides of your vision but it doesn’t matter because you can’t see anyway, your eyes unfocused and dazed under the pleasure swirling in your core. 

You don’t even register when he yanks the stole from around your throat, freeing the unprotected column to his deadly teeth as he drags your head to the side and pierces them into the side of your neck. His hand leaves your waist, dragging tingling fire in its wake as he slides his hand across your stomach and down further until it creeps into the ripped remaining shreds of your underwear. You scream when his fingers touch your clit, sliding through the wetness and using your own shame to glide mind breaking circles around the swollen neglected nub. 

“M-mercy,” You whimper. “P-please, mercy!”

He doesn’t speak, mouth too preoccupied with taking all that he can steal from you as he continues to feast on your neck, but you hear a voice anyway - one that seems to boom throughout the Chapel as much as it does in your head.

You don’t deserve mercy.

Your orgasm hits you ruthlessly, brutal waves of ecstasy racing through your body as you shake and cum around your Vampire’s cock, squeezing and clenching around his thrusting length, eyes rolling back into your head as you scream. His fingers don’t stop their movement on your clit, his mouth never stops drinking from you, and in the back of your mind you register that he’s cumming inside you - thick and hot pulses of release coating your insides and damning your soul to Hell. 

Sparkling black and white flecks coat your vision, the darkness overpowering the bright all too quickly, and before you’re even finished cumming the entire room fades into darkness. 

When you wake up, there’s light shining in through the multicolored stained glass windows and the beauty that is the Chapel looks like it's almost as it should be again. 

For a moment, you think you can convince yourself that it was all a dream. A horrible nightmare brewed from some unknown fear that you’ve pushed into the back of your mind that you need to come to terms with and unpack with hours of uninterrupted prayer. But the moment is gone all too soon and the state of your half naked body and ripped habit is too much evidence to naively ignore. 

A devil was inside God’s house last night. He killed the rest of your cloister, tormented you and did unspeakable things to your body, made you feel things, and yet… he left you alive?

Why?

You try to sit up, your entire body aching with overuse and exhaustion, the space between your thighs is still damningly wet, but the sharp pain in your abdomen makes you pause. 

Your lower belly hurts the most, a sharp sting raising through the area as you move, and you pull up the bottom of your tunic to try to get a better look at it. You freeze when you see it, horror like you’ve never felt sinking into your bones as your brain tries to catch up with what your eyes are seeing. 

There, on your lower belly, directly above the snapped elastic waistband of your underwear, are the carved and bloody initials C.S.

Taglist: @hidden-poet (please let me know if you would like to be added/removed from my taglist for all works)

[guzhufuren]

Hey, I've noticed you've been pretty quiet lately and I hope you're doing okay. I know we're not friends or even mutuals so I'm sorry if I'm overstepping by messaging! I hope the world will treat you kindly and that you can find comfort and support if you need it 💕

hi sweetheart wow this is so genuinely nice and kind of you, thank you so much for caring to the point of reaching out

i'm on the way there! i will be okay, hopefully soon. it's not serious, i just had a medium sized break down after receiving a very negative comment on something i made, in mix with a bit of unrelated loneliness and yearning on top of that, plus many many 4am drowsy what-am-i-doing-with-my-life regretful thoughts that i have had in the last months swimming up. like for my unwellness history it's really only about 6 points on the scale where the maximum is 10, so not big. i turned all social apps off but couldn't shake off the distress caused by that one stranger on the internet being unkind to my project, despite knowing they were misunderstanding and were also not in a state to understand at all, so i was kind of confused about what's up with my brain and why it can't move on

and it was a good choice! because after being only with myself without any internet distractions for the first time in years, figured out in just a day that mood swings have been back for a while, over one month at least (so anger issues weren't totally Yunho's fault actually bless him), some other parts of mental health worsened too

got a grip on myself, went to my doctor, got back on meds, now i'm sleepy every minute of waking hours while my body is getting used to them again, but it's gonna be fine. received advice on how to write a mood log, turns out very helpful as additional treatment to keep hypomania and anxiety under control. i even started working out, doing memory exercises and preparing my exam notes tentatively, which is so hard and scary, oh my god, but i must. job search is even scarier but i'm working myself up to finding a good one with little, very very very very tiny steps but they are moving

in the first day of self made quarantine i rewatched the queer korean show Love for Love's Sake that cured me from depression for a while and from any possibility of suicidality for a lifetime last year. it didn't work the trick again, because i'm really not living in the best or even just calm psychological environment to let it do its magical healing thing the way it should, but it did give me new clarity and make me intensely cry some shit out, so that was also very nice

accidentally found the best fic ever and it brought me so much very needed comfort in the past week. it's sweet, funny and stress free. like a warm blanket. or a cup of vanilla cocoa that makes your cold toes tingle in winter. or a hug from the love of your life. first atz and woosan fic to enter my hall of all time longfic favourites. very rare honor but it deserves it completely

also found a bunch of bloggers who post videos of the ocean in Thailand, some even stream the beach 24/7. it's so cool, i watch it in the evenings for short periods of time. helps making it bearable to just survive here a little bit longer until i am able leave

i sort of of really like that when i don't spend 12 hours a day on the phone doing mind-numbing scrolling or posting, there is so much free time to do cool stuff? i have kinda felt like i can be back on here for a couple of days, but i still freak out a bit for two reasons. first, that bad comment is still hanging there and it still makes me too upset to open notifications or my own blog page, which is ridiculous but that's how my dumbass unwell-brain-made feelings are. so i will see how that goes away and i get over it like an adult. second, i'm scared to be sucked back in the addiction to the colourful little hellsite app so i usually end up throwing the phone away in panic after 5 minutes of the app being open. maybe i will work up to it more gradually, don't know, let's see how that goes too

thank you again my little treasure, i will happily take that kindness and comfort you offered here as you are a part of the world. and you can message without worrying anytime, no mutualship or officially labelled friendship necessary. i'm very cool with small amount of interactions, just not big on chatting online one on one for long and don't enjoy it super much. and also with how often i see you around we are considered friends for sure. so thank you again for being so sweet i really am so grateful to you for this, one hundred friend hugs in return