#it wasn't exactly perfect in every detail for how I would have written it if I was in charge but that's an incredibly minor quibble

[redshiftsinger]

He changed his behavior. That's pretty much it, but that's important.

Well, first he was just so incredibly, intensely pathetic that the whole crew felt sorry for him despite how much of an asshole he'd always been to them, and decided that no one, not even someone as petty, nasty, and horrid as Izzy deserves to spend the rest of their life forced to crawl around and believing that they can't rely on anyone for help no matter what. And good for them! Even the most horrible people in existence deserve access to basic human dignity, including solid functional prosthetics if they need prosthetics.

And then, after receiving kindness that everyone knows damn well he didn't "deserve" from the people he'd never shown a single scrap of kindness to himself, and having had lots of time to reckon with his own knowledge of what he did, he changes his behavior. Which is the more-important half of an apology than the words. Sure, the words matter! But anyone can say words and not actually do the work to behave differently.

Izzy spends the second half of the season actively and intentionally behaving differently, in ways that highlight that he understands that he was wrong in the past. I definitely think the show would have benefited from more time to give his arc room to breathe, but they fit the essentials of it in to let us infer. In his interaction with Wee John before the party, John is initially on the defensive, as if he expects Izzy to be nasty about his drag makeup. But instead Izzy listens to him, and shows genuine openness to the idea -- followed by, the next time we see Izzy, he's coming out on deck in drag makeup himself to perform a song. He's not saying the words "I was wrong, I'm sorry" but he is very directly putting himself in the same position that he once belittled when Ed was the one being sort and feminine and singing for the crew. He's doing the things that the Old Izzy would have been horribly cruel to someone for, and there's no hint of mockery or "this is ok for me but not for you" attitude in his demeanor.

He says "congratulations" to Ed about getting laid, instead of angrily ranting to himself over what he (thought he) overheard. He takes Stede's assumption that he's come to gloat about Ed leaving without flinching, like he knows exactly where it came from and how reasonable an assumption it is given his past behavior, and then defuses it with "I think you're good for him, it took me a while to see it but I do now". First, a calm refutation of the assumption, then an acknowledgement of it being reasonable and an admission of having been wrong.

None of this is a classic formulaic apology, but it has all the crucial core elements except that the expression of regret that's usually covered by the words "I'm sorry" doesn't get said outright until the very end, rather than at the beginning of the process.

Please, someone, anyone. I know Izzy had a redemption arc in season 2, but please explain to me what exactly he did to redeem himself. I love listening to podcasts and watching reaction videos of this show, so I'm not talking about the canyon here and how they believe he didn't even have to redeem himself to begin with.

More than once, I've heard complaints about Ed, saying he hasn't really redeemed himself, that he went way too far, that he has disappointed them and he should've apologized more... But then, they'll say that Izzy has become their fav in season 2 despite not liking him in season 1 because of his antagonistic actions. Ok? Apart from Ed, who exactly did Izzy apologize to then? Or is Izzy exempt from this? Izzy must've done something to redeem himself in their eyes to become their fav after not liking him, right? Or did they absolve him of everything because he shed a tear and was feeling bad? What did Izzy do that was enough to be redeemed (apart from the writers wanting him to have that arc), but Ed aparently didn't? He cried too, he was feeling really bad as well and Izzy himself had a hand in this. So surely it was something else? I keep trying to rearrange the pieces but it makes no sense? What am I missing?

Please, help me understand. I feel like I'm going crazy over this.

#49.

[syluslnd]

omg i love love love everything you’ve written! i cannot wait to read more! 🤭

can i please request … sylus finding out that mc/reader has a spine or lower back tattoo. i feel like he would go absolutely feral bc like he WOULD most definitely start imagining the view during backshots LOL

when he discovers your lower back tattoo

It was one of those quiet afternoons, just the two of you lounging around at home. You were rummaging through a drawer, your back to Sylus, completely oblivious to the way his gaze drifted over you. You bent down slightly, your shirt riding up just enough to reveal a glimpse of inked lines peeking from beneath the fabric, running down your spine.

He noticed instantly, his eyes sharpening as something shifted inside him. "Sweetie” he called, his voice smooth and a touch darker than usual.

You turned, barely getting the chance to respond before Sylus closed the distance between you in a few swift strides. Before you knew it, he had pinned you gently, guiding you to lie on the plush surface beneath you. Your stomach pressed against the cushions and his strong hands held your wrists above your head, keeping you in place.

"S-Sylus?" you stammered, feeling your cheeks heat up as you sensed the change in his gaze.

He didn't answer right away. Instead, he let his fingers trail to the edge of your shirt, lifting it slowly, carefully, until the full length of your spine tattoo was on display. His breath hitched slightly and you felt his gaze burning into your skin, like he was absorbing every detail, every line, of the intricate design that ran down your back.

"I had no idea” he murmured, a smirk curving his lips. "Hiding this from me, were you, kitten?"

You tried to twist to look at him, your cheeks bright red, but his grip on your wrists held firm. "I-I wasn't hiding it. You just... never saw it before” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

He chuckled, low and rich, the sound sending a shiver down your spine. His fingers brushed over the tattoo, feather-light as he traced the lines, his touch leaving your skin tingling. "It suits you" he said softly, almost as if to himself. "So beautiful."

You felt a rush of warmth spread through you, your blush deepening as you sensed the intensity in his gaze, his voice full of admiration but also laced with something deeper. His hand slid down slowly, resting on the side of your waist as he leaned in, his lips grazing the back of your neck.

"Imagine how gorgeous you'd look from behind” he murmured, his voice a whisper that left your pulse racing. "With this perfect view of your back... and that beautiful tattoo all for me to admire."

You let out a shaky breath, unable to contain the way your skin prickled under his touch.

"Sylus..."

He smirked against your skin, clearly enjoying the effect he had on you. "What's wrong, kitten?" he teased, his voice soft but filled with a mischievous edge. "A little shy now, are we?"

You bit your lip, trying to hide your blush but there was no escaping the way he looked at you, like he was savoring every reaction, every soft breath you took. Finally, he released your wrists, letting his hands settle on your shoulders, his fingers gentle as he continued to study the tattoo.

"Next time” he whispered, his tone laced with promise, "you'll have to show it off for me properly. I want to appreciate every inch of it."

His words left you feeling breathless and he chuckled softly as he pulled back, letting you finally sit up, his smirk making it clear that he knew exactly how flustered he'd made you.

And from the look in his eyes, you had a feeling he'd be bringing it up again soon.

[worldsover]

Will we ever get a sequel for Heejin's birthday fic? Just asking btw

Sorry. I am allergic to completing tasks to 100%. For example, as I mentioned in its author notes, there was never even meant to be a sequel since this was supposed to be one story, but instead I posted the incomplete version because the alternative was no story for her birthday. That being said, I do at least have a bit more written, so the same thing applies here: it's unfinished, but at least it's something?

✦✧✦✧✦✧

Heejin Birthday Fic cont.

~2.5k words, incomplete draft of the continuation to Transcendence/Pareidolia ft. Heejin

This wasn't fun. Well, it's a little fun. All the games the two of you play.

The best/worst part are all the videos she sends. She starts with the typical: eating an ice cream cone, having cream drip on her fingers; covering herself with oil and rubbing it over her entire body; holding a vibrator to her clit, waiting for your text about what position you want her in; showing her sopping pussy from various angles, and you can tell exactly which angle she sent you and why.

And then her videos get dirtier. There's Heejin on a vertical video, sitting on her bed, dildo deep inside her pussy, just talking. She talks about how she imagines your cock sliding in and out of her pussy, ramming her g-spot and fucking her senseless, while your fingers rub her clit and your mouth suck her tits. You would fill her up with your cum, dripping out of her pussy, down her legs. Then she would get the taste of your cock as she cleans it with her mouth, and how the cum mixing with her juices would taste even better as she slurps it all up. Heejin has a gift for describing things with vivid detail. You never realized just how eloquent her tongue could be. You can't wait until it's on yours again.

There are the times you meet and end up making out and nearly fucking, but you manage to stop. You keep each other on the brink. Sometimes you want to rip each other's clothes off and ravage the other right then and there, and your hearts would race at the thought of all the consequences and dangers involved with doing it outside. But you had to be patient; you were the one who suggested waiting, after all.

But the weeks pass, and you grow restless. You can't wait to claim Heejin as yours, in the most intimate way possible.

And finally, October 19 arrives.

✦✧✦✧✦✧

The restaurant is a small, cozy establishment, with warm lighting and ambient music. You and Heejin are dressed in semi-formal attire, and you admire how beautiful she looks in her black dress, with a slit up the thigh that shows off her perfect legs. You're both a little giddy with anticipation. You feel like it's Christmas, ready to open the ultimate present, even if she's the birthday girl here.

As you sit at the table, Heejin's phone lights up with birthday messages from her friends, and you can't help but wonder what they would think if they knew about you two.

"Wow, you're popular."

She giggles. "I know, it's silly. But, it's kinda sweet."

You take a sip of water. "You know, Heejin, it's been fun, these last couple of weeks, edging. I've never gone this long."

Heejin scoffs. "You're one to talk. It's been hell for me."

"I believe you."

You start to eat your food. The flavors are rich and savory, and the portions are generous. The two of you chat about the usual stuff, like work and your family and the newest set of anime coming out, but no matter how you try, you can't resist being glued to her every touch. Her finger absentmindedly twirls around a strand of hair. Her thighs shift in her seat. A napkin wipes the side of her mouth. The candlelight, and the warmth of the establishment makes her glow, and you're hopelessly under her spell.

Of course, her heel brushing against your inner thigh doesn't help.

"You seem tense," she says.

"Great observation."

"You know, for some reason, I don't feel that full, even after all I ate."

"You wanna go to another restaurant or something?"

Heejin rolls her eyes. "That's not what I'm hungry for."

Your mouth rounds to a circle.

She rubs her heel on your pants. "What?"

You throw the napkin on the table and stand up. "Excuse me, I have to use the restroom."

Heejin bites her lip as you walk away. You enter the bathroom. It's its own individual room, fancy and well-kept. You walk up to the sink and splash cold water on your face, sighing.

You use the toilet. Then, you use your phone to find the nearest hotel and its nearest vacancy. Can't even wait to bring her home. You text her your plan for the night.

Seems even that is too much waiting. A knock. She texts you back.

> open the door.

You gulp. You do, and Heejin steps in, her breathing erratic, her smile mischievous. She pulls you by your tie for a kiss, shoving you against the door. Your tongue and hers are tangling, and you reach for her breast. Your knee is lifting her skirt, and she's grinding against it.

"Heejin," you say, "we gotta, we gotta go somewhere else."

"I can kneel here." And she does just that. "We can make this quick."

She unbuckles your pants and frees your cock, your limp-cock instantly hard in the warmth of her mouth, instantly in the back of her throat.

"Heejin, no, wait, we were saving..."

Pop. "Oh, what, like you don't wanna blow your load down my throat and cum all over my tits and face?"

She's pumping, her fingers slick and tight around your shaft, your cockhead rubbing against her face. She sucks on your balls.

"I bet you'd absolutely ruin this fucking dress with your load."

In the next five minutes, Heejin proceeds to slather your cock in her spit while sucking you down with best blowjob you've ever received. Her lips and tongue are tight, and the heat of her mouth and the vacuum of her suction feels so divine around your cock. And her moans, oh, fuck, how you missed her moans around your shaft. The vibrations tickle your skin and your nerves. You're thankful for the door and the weight of your body preventing the two of you from collapsing, because the pleasure is making your knees weak. And if that wasn't enough, Heejin is relentless in her dirty talk and her sucking.

"God, your cock is fucking amazing. I wanna drink your cum forever. I wish you could shoot your cum deep in my pussy, fill me up. I can't wait to get your cock in my cunt."

She bobs faster, deeper, sucking more intensely. You're about to burst. She knows. Heejin reaches between your legs and squeezes your balls.

Then, she pulls back. Pop. "So, where's the hotel?"

✦✧✦✧✦✧

You pay for your meals, and then you're on the way to the hotel. It's a short taxi ride away, and the two of you keep your hands to yourself.

Once you're in the elevator, you hold Heejin's waist, and she faces you, giggling.

"What?" you ask.

"Nothing," she says. "Just… happy."

You lean down to kiss her. "Have I told you enough that you're the prettiest girl on the planet?"

"A couple times." She kisses back. "I don't mind you telling me more."

You brush strands of hair away from her face. She puts her hands on your face. Your hand slides up her waist to cup her cheek. She runs her thumb across your bottom lip.

Ding. The elevator doors open, and you step into the hallway. Your room is a few steps down, and you unlock the door.

It's a basic suite, and you don't waste time, dropping your stuff, locking the door, and moving to the bed, pushing Heejin down and kneeling to her height.

She giggles. "Gotta catch up, huh?"

You slide her shoes off her feet, then your own. Then, you slip your hands under her dress and hook a finger on her panties, moving them down her legs. All the while, she takes off your suit jacket and undoes your belt. You move Heejin's panties completely off her ankles. They're soaked. She lies down on the bed.

Your cock is throbbing, but you can't stop staring at the view.

She blushes. "N-no, no more edging. Please. I need to cum, so, so fucking bad. I need you in me, right fucking now."

You swallow. "Don't worry. I'll be inside you soon enough. Just, lemme get a good look of your body first."

Heejin smiles. "My body, huh? What, what's so special about it?"

"Everything."

You're on top of Heejin now, caressing her face.

"Everything," you repeat. You lower your head. "Especially your eyes." You lower your head again. "And your lips." You kiss them. "And your neck." You kiss. She moans. You continue kissing downwards, licking along her collarbone, nibbling on the side of her throat, biting her shoulder. Then you lick the valley between her breasts, pull down the neckline of her dress, and lick circles on her nipples. You hike up the hem of dres to reach a hand to her pussy. "And, this." You rub her lips.

She moans. "What… about that?"

You crawl lower, your face between her legs. You spread her lips, already wet, and you stick your tongue inside her hole. "The prettiest pussy I've ever seen." You lick up her slit.

Heejin grabs your hair and pulls you. "I'm sorry, but I can't wait anymore. Fuck me."

You wipe your mouth. "Yeah, yeah, sorry."

"Just… put it in me already."

You get on your knees and rub your cockhead against Heejin's lips, smearing pre-cum. You rub it around her clit, and she shudders, whimpering.

Heejin pushes on your chest. "Wait, hold on, sit up. I wanna watch. Please. Your cock… entering me. I can't wait to see it."

You nod. Heejin sits up too. You grab Heejin's thighs and spread them. Your cockhead rubs against Heejin's entrance again.

"Holy shit, holy shit," she says.

You lick your lips. You push your cock into Heejin's hole, and your head is swimming in her heat, her wetness. Her pussy is already sucking you in, and Heejin is already moaning, and her whole body is already trembling.

"Shit, Heejin, you're already going to cum?"

She nods. "Yes! I'm sorry, it's just, you're finally, finally inside me. I've dreamed about this, so many times, and now it's happening."

"Me too. It's fine, it's fine." You pull back, and then you thrust again, a bit deeper, and Heejin shudders again. "Holy shit."

You pump slowly, Heejin moaning louder and louder, her pussy squeezing you tighter and tighter. Your grip on her thighs is tight, and you push her down, burying your cock deeper. Her back arches, and you start thrusting faster. You grunt. Heejin's pussy is milking your cock, sucking you deeper, and you're pounding her cunt, her moans and your grunts filling the room, until she lets out a scream, a high-pitched, satisfied noise, and her walls are convulsing. And just as you said, you empty your load deep inside her, rope after rope, a thick batch of semen pooling in her hole and leaking past your shaft.

"Holy… shit," she says. Heejin's trying to catch her breath. She looks up at you, a slight smirk on her face. "You're still hard, right?"

You look down. You're still hard.

Even though her legs writhe and her toes curl, she fucks herself into your shaft, covering it in more and more cream.

"Fucking, hell, Heejin, just like that?" You clench your jaw.

"Yeah. Yeah, we just started. I love watching you pump your cock in and out of my pussy, seeing it get all sloppy."

You chuckle. "Slut."

"For you." She wraps her legs around your waist, her arms around your back. "Wreck me."

You can do nothing but comply. Heejin's eyes roll back, her lips tremble, and her nails dig into your back, and you fuck her, you fuck Heejin, hard. Using your own creampie as lube, your cock plunges and slams inside Heejin's pussy, over and over. You pick her up from the bed and pound into her as you carry her around the room, making loud wet slaps fill the air. Then, you set her down on the desk, gripping her shoulders, and the room shakes with your thrusts.

Heejin screams and babbles. You're about to cum again already, and so is she. You love her expression, like she's completely drunk to your cock as she loses herself to the pleasure of it stuffing her, pushing your first creampie out just to fill her up again. You're sure she can feel your heartbeat from how far your cock is in her womb. You slow down, then you pull out. Heejin's pussy is drooling cum, and she lies flat on the desk. Your head is so light that you only just now realize you're still cumming, so you jack off onto her body, mainly covering her dress in cum, though some of it reaches her chin. Heejin promptly licks that clean.

"Why," she says. "Why'd you stop? You're, you're still hard. Please."

"Turn around. Get on your hands and knees."

She obeys. "Yes, sir," she says, and you like the way she says that.

You grab Heejin's waist, and then you slam into her pussy. Your pace is just as brutal as when you started the night. Turns out that edging for weeks, then cumming inside a woman's tight pussy, then pulling out and painting her in your cum is more than enough to keep your cock rock hard, and Heejin is more than eager to have your cock pounding her hole as many times as you want.

After the fourth round, your fifth climax, Heejin is a mess on the bed, and so is your cock. It's covered in her cum and your cum and some of her saliva, and her tongue is lazily circling your cockhead while she rests her head on your thighs.

"Do you, do you want to keep going?"

Heejin nods. "Why? Are you tired?"

"I mean, I'm pretty sure I have another few in me. But my abs are killing me."

"Oh yeah? You should try doing planks."

"The way you do them? Yeah, ri—" You're interrupted when Heejin climbs up your body and grabs your cock. You flinch. "No, wait, wait, wait. Wait, Heejin."

"Are you afraid?"

You gulp. "Very."

"I promise it won't hurt. It'll be fun."

When Heejin says it, you believe her. "Fine. Go for it."

Heejin grins. "Awesome." As she positions herself over your shaft, the creampie you filled her with starts to leak onto your stomach, and she holds your cock to point it up towards her hole. She lowers her pussy, and your cock enters her again. She rides you, holding your cock by the base so that the entire time, you feel the entirety of her tunnel envelop you, and your cum is squishing all over her insides.

✦✧✦✧✦✧

If I do get around to finishing the story, I will probably delete this and the initial version of Transcendence, post the full version instead. Big if.

[akuma-tenshi]

finished closing night!! boy do i have some thoughts. and now that i've gathered them, i'm about to make my autism your problem. spoilers below.

the first part of the event wasn't awful imo, it felt like character building and just helping establish the dynamic. i know some people weren't fond of it but given that i was never really that invested in hullabaloo before this and didn't know every little detail of these characters, it was nice to get some character establishment and figure out how they all are as people. i am also a fan of slowburn character-focused horror, so that may just be a personal taste thing lmao

bryce papenbrook does a good job as mike, even though there are definitely points where he sounds exactly like nagito (namely the scene where he's shouting at margaretha in the foyer). he has a very particular way of speaking / voicing characters that make it immediately clear it's him. however, i do think he fits mike well and he definitely lays off the nagito-ness in the second part.

the rest of the cast was excellent as well. while there was a Choice made with murro's voice (he sounds WAY younger than he's supposed to be, which is off-putting and takes me out every time he speaks), it's very clear everyone knows their characters well and they all do a good job keeping their mannerisms and vocalisations unique and fitting to each role. aside from some awkward lines (which i attribute more to stilted writing than to the va's themselves), the voice acting is absolutely a highlight.

margaretha's trauma with sergi is portrayed very well imo. bear in mind i have not suffered the same abuse as her, so i can't say how accurate or good it is, but it feels like it displays that it was a terrible thing while also being respectful and avoiding being exploitative. the added layer that everyone else (except joker) liked sergi and was unaware of the abuse adds a lot.

in general, i think mike and margaretha are incredibly well-written here. i think ne could've absolutely gone the route of popular fan interpretations and completely demonised margaretha while making mike a perfect angel, and they would've gotten a lot of praise for it. but they stuck to their guns and made them both very flawed yet understandable people, and that just makes everything feel that much more real, at least to me. they're such different people with opposing goals, and their friction really comes through. everyone else is very well done (shoutout to me a couple of hours ago calling joker cute for some godforsaken reason i can't remember) and i love all of their characterisations, but mike and margie really are the standouts here.

i do wish there was a bigger payoff for margaretha using euphoria so frequently. i know it's implied to have been involved in violetta's death, and i appreciate the connection to game 5, but i wish there was a little bit more there. it's not a huge gripe though, so i won't harp on it for long.

the pacing at the start of the second part had me extremely worried; things felt like they were dragging along and being padded out for the sake of being padded out, and i was not having fun with it. fortunately, this issue was remedied about halfway through, and once things got going, i started really enjoying myself. the pacing of the first half of part two is my biggest gripe with this story.

i was noticing a lot of similarities between hullabaloo and fool's gold: hunter forms of popular survivors being announced and used as a major part of marketing for an update to the idv story. with the aforementioned pacing issues, i was really worried that hullabaloo's reveal would shape up to be similar to fg's: a kinda cool cutscene and a lame chase sequence at the very end of a long, boring storyline. however, despite hullabaloo having a much smaller part in this story than fg did in aom, appearing only briefly in the fire at the very end, i still think it's a better incorporation of the character than what they did with norton. better to have it be quick and intimidating than just kinda tedious.

every death in this (aside from joker's) felt very purposeful and well-done. violetta's death was heartbreaking. the change in animation towards the end, followed by the single sound of her machinery giving out after the screen went black, was beautiful, and hey, at least she died happy. margaretha's death pulled at a very specific and very major love i have in storytelling, that being a character choosing to die free rather than live in captivity, and the payoff of all the underwater scenes where she swims towards sergi finally coming through when she chooses to sink away from him had me losing my mind. i genuinely did not expect mike's death to be a straight-up suicide; like i said, i'm not completely caught up on hullabaloo lore, so maybe other people saw this coming, but the fact that he truly could not live with the truth about hullabaloo is such a heartwrenching yet satisfying end to his character. like i said, joker's is the only death that doesn't totally stand out, but i like that they let you put the pieces together yourself.

the chase sequence with joker was unintimidating and a little lame, and honestly it felt somewhat forced, just a way to get his hunter form in there bc they realised "oh shit right this guy's like. a hunter isn't he." i do like that they gave him back his chainsaw though; very nice little callback to the betas.

the animation of the hullabaloo fire was absolutely gorgeous and the ending had me in shambles. for a while afterwards i felt similar to how i felt after finishing end roll: drained and flat but in a good way, like a ton of adrenaline had just released from my body after some intense event.

all in all, i really enjoyed it. i can't say if i like it more than aom, but that may be the frederick bias coming through, so i'm going to choose not to rank them and just say hey. banger event. well worth the hype even with its hiccups and flaws. i always say this, but idv has some genuinely talented people in its writers' room, and i can't wait to see what they come out with next.

[onyourowndaisymae]

hiii could i request a fic/headcannon thingy with the OM brothers and the dateables trying to impress the mc's older sibling? tysm have a great day :))))))

obey me characters meeting and trying to impress your older sibling

hi anon! i hope this request is what you were looking for! i tried to keep it in character for who would actually try to impress your sibling vs. who would just roll with the punches and see what happens. i hope you enjoy!

prompt: you're hanging out alone one night with your partner. a knot twists in your gut. you know he can tell something is wrong, but it seems he's waiting for you to say something first. eventually, you crack, sitting him down in preparation for what you've got to say. he watches you nervously twist your fingers together for a moment before finally speaking your mind.

"do you think you could... meet my older sibling?"

you fill him in on all the details, explaining how your sibling has grown more and more insistent the longer you've been together. he laughs and asks why you were so nervous. well, you see, your sibling isn't exactly the most friendly with anyone you've dated in the past, and you're a little nervous they might, y'know... hate your boyfriend?

Lucifer

interesting.

well, it's not like he's going to worry about it. lucifer has been alive for millennia, met more people than he can count. he is absolutely certain that your sibling will like him. he'll be on his best behavior, bring a gift for good measure, show them just how committed you are to each other. it'll be easy.

at least, that's what he tells himself to stop the incoming stress migraine.

this proud demon needs your older sibling to like him. it's not like they have any say in the relationship, sure, but what if their opinion sways yours? what if your sibling disapproves of him, and you yourself slowly start to grow tired the flaws your sibling finds in him?

he swings from cocky to stress-addled every day until he finally meets your sibling. behind his stoic face, his nerves are starting to get the better of them-- mammon catches him before you both depart and gives him a quiet pep talk to soothe his anxieties. somehow, it works.

but lucifer didn't need any help either way. at the end of the day, the morningstar is a perfect gentleman. he's amazing with your sibling-- attentive, polite, even a bit funny when the mood strikes-- and by the end of the night, your sibling praises your choice in partner. there's a massive weight gone from both of your shoulders as you return to the devildom hand-in-hand.

... not that he was nervous or anything in the first place.

Mammon

he's the great mammon! of course they'll like him! no, his hands aren't shaking, he's just... cold! yeah! it's freezing over here! look over there-- he's totally not distracting you from that terrified look on his face, because the great mammon is not scared of anything!

lies. he's terrified.

he knows that he's a scumbag. as much as he denies it when his brothers toss around insults, he knows there's a long list of flaws written for him and him alone. you, in your infinite kindness and love, might have grown to overlook them. but your sibling? nah, he couldn't sell himself twice. your sibling is going to see right through him.

but the great mammon is not going to give up without trying, hell no! cue an absurd training montage as mammon tries to prepare himself for this meeting. he won't let you see what he's doing-- shoo! shoo! you'll throw him off! you're gonna be so impressed, babe, you'll swoon when you see how cool he is!

the loud music and louder crashing noises coming from behind his locked door do not make you feel any better.

mammon's saving grace is this strange charisma he has. it's what got you interested in him from the beginning, despite his bad attitude and mixed signals. it's honestly what's kept him alive thus far-- if he wasn't charming in his odd, mammon-ish sort of way, there's no way lucifer wouldn't have chopped him up and sold his bones to make furniture by now.

he spends the night trying to impress your sibling in grand, over-the-top ways. this, in and of itself, is charming. it's like watching an enthusiastic puppy wipe out on the hardwood and get up to try again over and over, never once losing the childish optimism behind its big, dumb eyes. at least, that's how your sibling described it.

they ultimately develop a pitying fondness of mammon. he's trying so hard that you can't help but find it endearing, y'know?

Leviathan

this man is scared. shitless.

levi tries to get out of it, then gets mad at himself for being a bad partner, then spirals and thinks they won't like him anyways, then worries that you're going to break up with him because his sibling will hate you and think you're too good for him-- he agrees, but still, he can't bear to see you go--

you're going to have to talk him off the ledge of an impending panic attack at this point. remind him that regardless of what your sibling thinks, you love him. it calms him just enough to get through the rest of the conversation.

honestly, it would be wise of you to wait until closer to the meeting to invite levi, because every single day since your conversation is a unique form of emotional hell for him. he's grieving a relationship that hasn't even ended yet-- he's just certain he's going to screw things up with your sibling.

lucifer has to step in at some point and have a talk with him to make sure he doesn't, y'know... explode into a million pieces in the hallway at RAD or something. he gives him some advice on how to make a good first impression and sends him on his way. that poor guy is so anxious that it's starting to wear off on other members of the house.

when the day finally comes, levi makes absolutely certain that he is as presentable as possible. freshly showered, surprisingly well-dressed (well, by levi standards), and ready to get this over with.

he's... stiff at first, no doubt. he's honestly starting to give your sibling the wrong impression...

somehow, some way, an interest of levi's comes up. maybe it's an anime he likes, or some obscure sea creature he knows a lot about, or something else entirely. but a switch flips in him. leviathan lights up the room as he passionately rambles about whatever interest of his is the current topic.

your sibling, with their initial negative impression of him, ultimately approves after he stops being so damn awkward. it's not like they bite, y'know?

Satan

satan takes your worries in stride and assures you that everything will work out in the end. he feels an unfamiliar hum of what must be anxiety in his chest, but he puts it aside to keep the conversation going.

he addresses a lot of his anxieties with logic. he is smart, well-spoken, attractive... there shouldn't be much about him that puts your family off. yet why does he still feel on edge?

poor thing has yet to learn that many emotions, like love and anxiety, are at times completely and utterly irrational.

he goes to his safe space-- books-- for help. he revisits his favorite "meeting the family" moments in his library and uses those for inspiration. these scenes in the books are never awkward. the protagonist is always suave and perfect, walking through every social situation with practiced grace. that's the energy he aims to channel into meeting your sibling for the first time.

he does his best primping to make sure he feel confident enough to make it through the night. there's a good chance he'll have to shoo asmodeus away, who just adores watching his older brother get all dressed up for a date! satan's just a little embarrassed by the amount of effort he puts in. he's trying to seem effortlessly charming, y'know? anyone knowing just how much work he put in really ruins the effect.

he relaxes a bit when you're by his side. it's a good reminder what this evening is really all about-- you, being proud enough of him as your partner to introduce you to your family. regardless of how things go, you're the most important part of this whole thing.

what can i say, he's charming! satan's very well-spoken and down to earth. your sibling likes him a lot, commenting that you and (the fake name you gave satan, since, y'know, his name is satan) your partner seem like a wonderful pair. he has to agree himself, too.

there's a chance that you might hear them doting over you if you exit the room-- nothing brings people together quite like the things they love.

Asmodeus

asmodeus laughs in the face of this challenge. ha! ha ha! silly you, don't you remember how charming he is? no need to worry, mc. he'll win them over in no time.

asmo needs everyone to like him so much, all the time. this is especially true for your older sibling. clearly they mean a lot to you, otherwise you wouldn't be so nervous about this upcoming dinner. he can't imagine a world where he doesn't win your sibling's heart by the end of the night.

he's genuinely not worried about it in the slightest... until someone makes an unassuming little jab at him. he's telling everyone about the dinner he's so looking forward to, boasting about how he'll have your sibling wrapped around his finger by the end of the night for sure.

maybe it's mammon tossing in a snarky "let's hope they don't find you obnoxious", or satan mumbling a "oh yes, because charming a family member to make them like you is totally boyfriend material", or even levi mumbling something about how people don't usually find narcissism very likeable. regardless of who makes the comment or what it actually is, it cuts deep.

now. we know asmo. under that thick, thick layer of narcissism is someone who is deeply vulnerable, scared, and terrified of rejection. doubt starts to creep in. is asmodeus himself all charm, no substance? do people not actually like him? are all of his accomplishments a product of manipulation?

he decides one night, in a quiet, tear-stained panic, that he will not charm your sibling. he will show them the most genuine version of himself he can muster and hope that it's enough for them-- that it's enough for you.

even without his powers, asmodeus passes your sibling's test with flying colors. he genuinely just likes being around people, and they like him too-- even when he's not using his powers, he still has this magnetic charm that makes you fond of him. this is especially true when he's not putting up airs or going the extra mile to make everyone swoon over him like usual.

there's a massive weight lifted off his shoulders as your sibling bids you both farewell and asks to do this sort of thing again sometime soon. that's approval, baby!

when the evening is over, you best believe he is absolutely going home to rub his success in his brothers' faces. serves them right for making him worry!

Beelzebub

immediately very nervous about the food situation. in the devildom, he can eat whatever he wants. but on earth?? he can't!! what if he gets you kicked out of somewhere, or his stomach starts growling, or, or--

you have to reassure him that you've got a backup plan in case of emergency, and that you'll make sure he doesn't starve. after all, you don't have the funds to clean up a mess like that on earth. only with your reassurance can he focus on what the meeting actually entails.

family is everything to beelzebub. he's honestly really happy that you love him enough to introduce him to yours. so rest assured that he will do everything in his power to ensure he makes a good first impression.

he spends a lot of time at the gym to work off his nervous energy. this teddy bear just really loves you so much and wants the night to go just how you want it that sometimes it makes his hands shake a little.

there's a good chance that he goes to belphegor to ask for advice. belphegor is famously unhelpful with these kinds of things, but he does pass along a good nugget of wisdom from underneath a thick blanket-- "they love you already, right? just show their sibling why. be yourself or whatever that corny ass saying says."

the execution could use some work, but at the end of the day the sentiment still stands. be yourself, beel, because you're a sweetheart!

and a sweetheart he is the entire meeting. bonus points if your older sibling has a dog or children-- he's fantastic with those. kids love to climb all over him like a jungle gym. a little foot to the stomach or side doesn't phase him one bit.

he's also just very kind and thankful to your sibling for making the time to meet him, as well as thanks them for taking care of you growing up. he's just really happy things turned out this way. of all the millions of different timelines that could have happened, he's glad he's in this one, with you, watching the sun set and enjoying an evening with those you love the most.

Belphegor

belphegor, in all honesty, doesn't really care what your sibling thinks. what're they going to do, march down to the devildom and split you up? demand you break up like a controlling parent? he doesn't have the energy to worry about such inane bullshit.

like a lot of things with belphie, he finds himself caring explicitly because you care.

you want your sibling to like him? fine. he can't promise prince charming or anything, but he'll give it a try for you.

he doesn't really do a whole lot of mental prep. he's lucky in that way-- less strung out and anxious about things he can't control than some of his other brothers. he does, however, physically prepare more than any of the others.

by that, i mean he practically hibernates a few days before meeting your sibling. he knows one of his biggest flaws is how often he sleeps, so he's hoping he can get enough sleep to fend it off for one day.

one major advantage belphegor has is his sense of humor. this man is funny. his jokes are dry and snarky, easy to miss at times; if your sibling has a sarcastic sense of humor, they think he's hilarious. if, for some reason, his jokes don't land, he'll tone them down for the night. you'll get to hear all of them on the way home, though.

the evening ends as belphie's energy truly runs out. he leans into your shoulder and fights hard against his dropping eyelids. if your sibling asks, he mumbles something about being anemic and tries to force himself to wake up. this is your cue to wrap the night up.

your sibling walks away with the impression that belphegor is a bit of a shithead (correct). whether or not they say this with affection is another thing entirely. regardless, though, he's a shithead that loves you and makes you happy, so really, what more can they ask for?

Diavolo

there are two concurrent thoughts happening when you share this information with him.

one part of him is already sure that your sibling will approve of him without a doubt. he's royalty, after all-- he's got amazing manners, he's well-spoken, and very respectful of anyone he meets. these are some of the most essential qualities to making a future king.

the other part of him is very invested in your sibling liking him for one main reason: diavolo absolutely intends to be your family one day and he wants to establish a good relationship with his in-laws from the jump.

he doesn't spend nearly as much time preparing for anything as he does dreaming about how the meeting will go between stacks of the most boring paperwork in all of the three realms. this man craves domesticity because it was so limited as he grew up in the castle. he wants dinner with in-laws, visiting your aging grandparents, waking up early to attend your niece or nephew's soccer games. he's selfish in that way and he knows it. he wants everything with you.

unfortunately for him, diavolo cannot change certain things about himself to blend in better in the human world. most notably, he's massive. it's certainly a bit off-putting to even the most open minded people when you walk in hand-in-hand with goliath. hopefully your sibling doesn't comment on it.

but diavolo's booming laugh and high-beam grin are sure to enchant the most stubborn of older siblings. there's a certain electricity in watching him let his hair down, abandoning the weight of the "future king" title and spending the evening not as a ruler but your partner. he's effortlessly fun and charming. you find yourself enchanted with him again by the end of the night. he's really incredible, huh?

diavolo is already asking to do this again soon as you guys say your goodbyes. with those hopeful eyes staring at them in anticipation, how could your sibling ever refuse such an attractive offer?

Barbatos

... is there any universe in which your sibling wouldn't like barbatos? look at him. he's perfect.

the only issue i could see arising here is if your sibling is very animated and finds your partner quite stiff and humorless. a shame, because barbatos has a sharp wit and sharper tongue-- but i digress.

barbatos is not anxious about this meeting. this is mostly because of who he is as a person. anxieties roll off of him like water off a duck's back. he's comforting in that way. it helps that his hands are always busy.

he spends the night before making the best cake you've ever tasted, along with a few other offerings, to the meeting. he's not worried about making a bad impression, of course, but he's not opposed to greasing the wheels a little either.

he looks wonderful when you go to leave. there's an air of sophistication around him at all times, and yet when he's of-duty, you notice something else about him: a sense of ease as he takes your hand. a small, almost humored smile pulls at his lips. in that moment, you know there's nothing to worry about.

and of course, you're right. barbatos is a true gentleman. he strikes a perfect balance between offering his help and letting your sibling flex their hosting skills. truly a perfect houseguest.

the only dubious moment comes when your sibling, after barbatos once again wows with his effortless perfection, calls him an angel. the demon's lips quirk into a small smile at the irony, just for a moment, before thanking your sibling and continuing the conversation. your sibling seems to notice the strange reaction but thankfully does not press further. he does bring it up on the way home, though-- that smile returns, this time intentional and humored as the corners of his mouth turn upwards. angel. how interesting.

diavolo bypasses the butler immediately and asks you how the meeting went, knowing barbatos won't provide him with the juicy details he wants. you hate to disappoint his highness, but the evening went swimmingly.

Simeon

simeon is an angel of the lord. hand-crafted by god, built as an ideal specimen, he does not fret over the opinions of many.

then why, pray tell, does he care so much about your older sibling liking him?

there is a supernatural charm about him. even the most irritable of people soon find themselves fond of the angel. in that regard, he's grateful. but he doesn't want to rely on his blessing. he wants your sibling to like him for who he actually is. their approval quickly becomes a symbol of prosperity for your relationship-- if your sibling somehow took issue with him, then that must be a sign from Father that your love wasn't made to be. he trusted in the heavenly plan, after all.

that trust did come with a lot of nausea, though. this angel did not like the idea that someone could think you shouldn't be together.

his mood in the coming days is a little off. he's less quick-witted, a bit more distracted, just generally sort of out of it all. it starts scaring luke and solomon. the vibes in purgatory hall are completely off when simeon's not in a good mood like usual.

he spends the night before baking with luke to make some treats to bring to the meeting. he's hoping that your sibling has a sweet tooth-- if not, he's screwed.

simeon, of course, has nothing to worry about. he's just so damn likeable! he's sweet and polite to everyone, no matter how abrasive your sibling may be. watching him interact with them makes you fall in love with him all over again.

your sibling likes him. of course they do. he's wonderful to them and to you all day. if they particularly like him, they might even mention that he's a keeper-- bonus points if it's in front of him. that'd make his whole month.

Solomon

solomon doesn't really care much about the whole "meeting the family" dance other couples have to worry about. he's been around your much longer than any other human could hope to live. that sort of existence doesn't foster a family or long-term friendships. he doesn't really have anyone that matters enough to him to gain their approval of your relationship, so, in a sense, he doesn't think about how important meeting your older sibling is to you.

when you explain it, he sort of passively agrees to the meeting. he'll try his best, stay on his best behavior, yadda yadda, but there's no part of him that would be heartbroken if something came up and you had to cancel. he just doesn't have those strong familial attachments that you do.

he doesn't seem very invested in the whole thing-- that is, until you say you're worried your older sibling might not like him, seeing as how they haven't been fond of anyone else you've dated.

oh. oh. so that's a challenge, is it?

solomon will not be losing, in that case. you best believe from this moment onward that he's putting in maximum effort to get your sibling to be his #1 fan. his social skills are a bit rusty at times-- that's why many call him "devious" and "off-putting" and "a menace to the three realms", whatever that's all about-- but he'll brush them off and prepare to charm the shit out of your older sibling.

when the meeting finally comes, he's all smiles. if they knew him better, the kindness would make him seem like a wolf in sheep's clothing, all razor sharp teeth as he lulls you into a false sense of security. it's not that he's trying to be manipulative or anything. solomon just has this way about him that makes everything he does seem at least a little shady. but you can tell that he is actually trying to be friendly and kind, even if it is just for the sense of satisfaction that comes from winning.

he'll tease you on the way home about how you doubted him from the beginning. your sibling likes him, so what were you so worried about, silly? solomon would never let something like that slide.

that night, you catch his expression shift when he thinks you're not looking-- just for a moment, there's a sense of real, genuine relief on his face from knowing that he made a good impression.

[d1g1tal-d1ary]

Slow morning in Paris // Alex Turner

Summary: Alex and his girlfriend desperatly needed to get out of London. Both booking a spontaneous getaway to Paris, they end up enjoying themselves the next morning in every way possible.

Tags: smut, f!reader, fucking, basically porn without a plot but idk, my first ever written smut, fucking, love, p in v

I lost myself in his side profile. His dark hair which wasn't styled yet, the way his mouth was agape just enough for the smoke to escape but most of all; his eyes. I loved his perfectly curled lashes, the way his eyes would dart from the street to the balconies on the other side of our apartment but I couldn't help but think of the times they gazed upon me - took in my features and mesmerized every detail I never even noticed myself.

"Good morning, love," he said with a smile, his eyes lingering on my naked form which was only partially covered by the sheets.

"Good morning," I mumbled between a yawn before turning onto my back but still watching his every move. "How long have you been awake for?"

"Not long," he assured, took a last hit and snipped the cigarette down the open window. "The traffic woke me up. We forgot to close the window last night."

I stared at him after taking in his words; on one hand because I couldn't believe we really booked that flight only 24 hours prior of us being in Paris but on the other because the memories of last night came flooding, alerting me that we weren't being exactly quiet.

"You're lying," I murmured. I covered my reddish face with both of my hands, too ashamed to face the real world. All I wished for in that moment was for him to take me just as good as he had done the night before, letting me forget about the rest of the world.

"I wish I was," he chuckled and I could feel a weight pressing the matress next to me down and his fingers lingering on my stomach. "But who cares? We're in Paris, babe, everything that happens in Paris, stays in Paris, doesn't it?"

After a moment of silence, I took my hands from my face and faced him; the way he was also dressed in only his boxers made me want to reach out and show him my love for him as close as possible.

All I was able to do was hum in response, slowly sitting up and reaching out so my hands were running through his hair. Soft, so soft was all I could think of. I felt him slightly lean into my touch but I didn't miss how his hands were exploring my body as well. His hands were touching my thighs before softly beginning to knead my breasts; making me moan in response.

"God, I will never get enough of you, darling," was all I heard before he pulled me on top of him and immediatly pulling me into a passionate kiss. I couldn't help but wonder if he'd really never get enough of me; if he'd grow old with me but those thoughts were quickly drowned when his one hand was gripping my ass and his other was teasing my slit, so wet, so wet already from just kissing.

"Fuckin' dripping, aren't you?" he groaned before he was rubbing my clit just the way I loved it. I squirmed and moaned and I could no longer return his slow and sensual kisses which made him continue plastering my neck and jaw with kisses instead.

"I'm- ah! comin', Alex," I was gripping his shoulders tightly by now, more riding his fingers against my clit than him moving them in any way and I had thrown my head back, giving him the perfect view of my tits.

"Cum for me, love," he whispered and watched me intensly. Not a moment had passed when I moaned his name out loud, shuddering from the orgasm while my eyes were shut tightly.

He gave me a few seconds to come down from my high before grabbing my face and pulling me into another kiss, but this time sloppier and I could already feel him grinding against me, eager to find some friction. I didn't hesitate and pulled down his boxers, freeing his cock. His cock felt so familiar in my hands; practically made for me which made me moan even though he was the one being pleasured while I was stroking it a few times.

"I want to be inside of you," he whispered and I quickly nodded. I arose onto my knees before lining him up and sinking down on him. Both of us escaped a loud moan when I felt him fill me up completely.

"Fuck, Alex," I sighed and his hands found their way back to my ass.

"I know, darling, I know," he exhaled shakily, nodding and groaned when I began to move up and down, slowly finding a rhythm.

I was watching him; watching him grimace in pleasure. The pleasure I was giving him. When I had found a steady rhythm, I started playing with his hair, pulling on it or just admiring the way he still looked so beautiful even though I could see a bit of sweat on his forehead.

"You're so beautiful, Alex," I mumble hastily before moaning again as he had hit that sweet, so bittersweet spot within me.

"No, you are," he finally looked up at me and our eyes met. "I get hard just watching you sleep because you're so fuckin' admirable."

I squirm and feel myself reaching my high and by the way he was panting, I knew he was also close.

"That's it, love," he groaned again and I could feel tightening around his cock at his words. "God, you're- fuck, I wish I could stay in you until I die."

After having heard those words, I came undone around him and eagerly bounced on his cock, riding out my orgasm. Not long after, he followed. I felt his cock twitching, his cum shooting into me and I wanted to savour this feeling as only he could make me feel like this; so at home, so comfortable after sex.

(This was my first ever written smut?? Any Feedback? Is it good or bad??!! Hope y'all love it :3)

[namjhyun]

DRAMA REVIEW | Lovely Runner (2024)

Lovely Runner it's undoubtedly one of the best dramas of 2024.

It has all the elements that make a drama a mega hit: comedy, romance, time travel, well written characters (both leads and supporting ones) and an engaging plot line that never bores you. Starring Kim Hye Yoon and Byeon Woo Seok, adapted from the web novel The Best of Tomorrow by screenwriter Lee Shi Eun and directed by Yoon Jong Ho and Kim Tae Yub, the Lovely Runner team achieved a perfect execution in front and behind the camera.

I think the true star of this drama it's the writing and on this I can't commend Lee Si Eun enough. I had already seen her potential in dramas like True Beauty but here she really manages to shine through a well crafted, smart and cohesive story with no loose ends. I'm incredibly impressed by her talent.

The writing was perfectly complemented by the directors's outstanding work in leading a film crew that was on every detail of each part of the story, in each timeline, never missing a beat. Always delivering their A+++ game. But there was also great work done from the directors part in helping the actors get the comedic timing exactly right, the more emotional scenes to deliver and the team work among cast and crew to be flawless.

Lovely Runner might be a big hit now, but it's actually a sleeper hit. The lack of promotion this drama had was embarrassing and if it wasn't for the devoted fans, studio executives would have never realized they had a gem in their hands. So, it's not only a great drama with a super fandom that really fought for this story, it's also becoming yet another prime example in the list of films and tv that achieved all of it by themselves because artists delivered nothing short of excellence.

On this point I can't ignore the incredible performances given by the entire cast. Kim Hye Yoon and Byeon Woo Seok are definitely the standouts, they stole the show, this is their story and the actors chemistry it's electrifying. But the way supportive actors would show up in a scene and push the story forward in a coherent way and even make it better, it's wild to me. The chemistry this cast had it's a rare feat for an ensamble cast and how they managed to transition seamlessly through different phases of their characters's lives and relationships when events, in each timeline, were changing because of the things our leads did they still remain truthful. So, not only the leads are well developed in this drama but also every single character that shows up, no matter how small the role is.

The best example of this it's actor Heo Hyeong-Gyu who has been working for sixteen years, playing very minor characters, finally having a breakthrough in the industry because of his role in this drama. And while his presence was prominent and important to the story, he barely had lines. So his entire performance is mainly based on micro-expressions or physical stunts.

I also fully expect the actors like Song Geon-Hee, Lee Seung-Hyub, Song Ji-Ho or Seo Hye-won to receive a lot of what korean entertainment industry calls "love calls" aka commercials, dramas and films, among other things.

Experiencing watching Lovely Runner alongside the fandom, waiting every week for a new episode, it's a big part of what made this drama so good. Healthy and good loving fun people, clowning, poking fun at our faves and crying at heartbreak. It's been a long time since I have been able to engage in this way with other fans and I am thankful for them, the cast and crew for all these amazing weeks of fun.

Rating: 10/10

[nowoyas]

(un)professional (NSFW/suggestive) - Nishinoya Yuu/Reader

m.list - Ao3

A/N: written at the suggestion of an anon! I'm very likely going to write a follow-up to this.

Summary: It's your company's 50th anniversary, and it's kicking off a month-long anniversary celebration with a mandatory work banquet. Formal wear, impress the clients invited to the event, oh—and bring your partner. Surely, Noya can be trusted to keep his hands off you for one night, right?

Warnings: suggestive, suit kink, semi-public, making out, biting (I mean come on it's a fic I wrote you can just kinda expect it at this point)

Words: 2300+

You are quite sure that you've been this stressed at least once before in your life, but nothing really comes to mind. Entrance exams, maybe? Waiting to hear back on whether or not you had a future?

None of that compares to this.

This, of course, refers nearly every waking moment of the past few weeks: preparing for a month of work events, of 50th anniversary sales, marketing marketing marketing, long nights at the office and coming home to your pouty, early-to-bed boyfriend who misses you the way a puppy might—half-asleep but excited to see you all the same.

He's been so good in the past few weeks. Making sure you ate, sending you reminder texts to take a nap and that he loves you, and you adore Noya with your whole heart for being there throughout the crunch.

It's almost over. Soon, it'll be the actual events, instead of the million tasks required to prep each one—kicked off with a banquet. Dinner, mingling with coworkers, other departments, and some of the bigger-ticket clients. Formal wear. And, like everyone else in attendance, you are expected to bring your partner.

He'd agreed. That was the worst part. You'd offered to take a friend instead, but that had only made him mad—and let everyone think you belong to someone else? Hell no. He didn't have anything going on, his work actually gave him the time off, and, since you were busy ripping your hair out, he assured you that he was getting a suit with friends—and, he'd added, with Asahi, the fashion designer, and not Ryu, the one who only seems to encourage his chaos—and that everything would be ready in time for the banquet. He'd sat back and patiently waited for you to detail boundaries for the night, but still it wasn't enough.

The thing isn't that you don't trust him. It's that it's Noya, your Noya, who you love. Ever since you moved in together over a year ago, his hands have rarely left your body at home, and you frequently find yourself interrupted with dizzying kisses before he goes back to whatever he's doing. He thrives on showering you with affection, and you adore him for it, adore the little boost of self-esteem at knowing just how much he wants you, but… you don't exactly want him pausing to affectionately plant a kiss on your neck where your boss can see.

"No grabbing my ass tonight," you call over your shoulder as Noya gets ready in the bathroom. You're already ready to go, frantically cleaning up the bedroom in an effort to work out the nervous energy. "I do mean that."

Noya groans from the bathroom. "But it's perfectly shaped for my hand!"

"One of our biggest clients, and also my boss, are going to be there. No."

He whines in reply, and you let out a nerve-riddled sigh. "Please, Noya. I could lose my job if they think I'm unprofessional tonight."

"You're not gonna lose your job. I promise. I can be good, you know?"

You straighten up, having re-made the bed for the fiftieth time in the past twenty-minutes. "I know, I just—"

You turn and there's Noya: fresh cologne, chapsticked lips pressing sweetly against yours. "Baby. I'm gonna be the perfect coworker's boyfriend tonight. Hand on your waist, no sliding lower or higher, at absolute worst one or two completely workplace-appropriate kisses. Professional as fuck. The only PDA is gonna be Professional Displays of Affection. Alright?"

You sigh, letting him kiss you one more time. "Alright. I trust you."

"Gonna be the best arm candy. Gonna make them think I'm your trophy husband," he teases as he peppers kisses on your cheeks. "Some old dude is gonna make a boring joke and I'm gonna giggle like a sugar baby so you look smarter just by standing next to me."

You giggle, pushing him away. "Stop that."

"You could replace me with a purse dog tonight, that's how good I'm gonna be. The most professional little pomeranian in an overpriced bag. They're gonna think I'm a stuffed animal for the first hour until they notice all the food on my plate has mysteriously disappeared."

"Oh my god, Noya—"

He stops and sighs, and you sigh with him, flashing a dopey little smile. That's about when you open your eyes and really look at him, and oh.

Your mouth suddenly feels dry as you take him in. Noya's slicked his hair back, leaving his trademark little tuft of blonde spiked up the normal way. He's already mostly dressed—well-fitting pants, nice shirt, a fucking vest that cinches in his waist a little. His tie hangs, loose and not-yet-tied, around his neck. In short, he looks delicious, and you're reminded that you maybe have been avoiding eye contact with a little bit of a thing for suits for a few years, now.

He grins sheepishly. "I haven't had to tie a tie since I graduated middle school. Could you, uh…?"

You nod. Fumble a little as you reach for the tie. Try to blink away the fog that has suddenly clouded over your thoughts. "Y-yeah, of course."

"Something wrong?"

"No! No, of course not, just—you did good by bringing your friend to get the suit. It's perfect," you manage. Of course, what you mean is something more along the lines of I need to jump your bones right this instant, but you've got fifteen minutes before you have to leave so you get there appropriately early, so instead, you try not to call attention to it, and instead focus on his tie.

"Good, right? Asahi-san said I should match it to you, so…"

Oh. It does match. You're not in identical suits, but his vest matches your jacket, his tie your vest. Your own tie melds well with your outfit and his, and your heart melts a little at the thought. "Thank him for me. You look great."

"Great?" he repeats, waggling his eyebrows with a smug look.

"Fantastic," you assure him as you secure the knot. For good measure, you smooth down his collar, and then, as you lean in to kiss him, you tuck the tie down his vest. "Got your jacket?"

"In the living room. Am I driving?"

"Please."

"Got it, babe." He flashes a smile, and you watch appreciatively as he slips into his suit jacket, effortless, and fastens the button.

"You're the best," you reply, eyes lingering on the curve of his waist, the fit of his pants on his ass.

You are so fucked.

~

You're glad you made Noya drive; for one thing, you're better at navigating from the passenger seat, and for another, you can't fucking tear your eyes off him. He keeps a hand on your thigh the whole way there, thumb rubbing circles into the fabric the way he always does when he's trying to keep you grounded. It's his silent way of saying: breathe. I got you.

So you breathe. You try to compose yourself on the way to the hotel, try to get ahold of your brain so you're not blatantly staring at him the whole night. But it's hard, okay? It's fucking hard. Noya lounges around your house topless, in sweatpants, during the summers and in a loose hoodie and pants in the winter. He's a t-shirt and basketball shorts guy. You've never seen him dressed up like this. The scent of his cologne is making you dizzy.

And he's just as perfect as he promised he'd be: he walks you in, keeps his hand in E-for-Everyone-rated placements, makes charming small talk with the coworkers you've been sat with. When it comes time to mingle, you mingle, and he does a better job of chatting up the clients and executives than you do. If you could think about anything except his shoulders in that jacket, you might be thinking something along the lines of how he's practically earning you a raise by himself.

He lets you handle the polite refusal of champagne for the both of you, gushes over how hard you've been working for your company's 50th these past few months, how proud he is of you. For the millionth time, you're reminded of how easy it is to love him: he's so bright, so good with people, so effortless in how he navigates the social waters. And he's hot as all fuck.

He's so good that you don't even mind when he excuses himself to find a restroom—you're engaged in conversation with your boss and one of your favorite coworkers, able to ride the high of him behaving himself while you charm all the right people. You channel Noya in his absence, and it's easy—everyone else is at least tipsy, but the two of you are not, and it makes it all the easier.

They're quick to gush about him in his absence—how nice he is, how charming, how utterly professional in comparison to one of your seniors, pulled away from nearly sitting in her husband's lap in the corner. You preen under the attention, more proud of Noya than you ever have been of yourself, and chat with them until, at last, you're starting to feel a bit suspicious.

Noya's been gone over twenty minutes.

"I'm gonna go looking for him, actually," you say with a smile. "He probably got caught up talking to someone."

"Good luck," your boss says, grin wide. "And keep up the good work!"

You scan the room for him, to no avail. You'd know his voice anywhere, know where to find him in an instant—even when he's not being loud, like tonight, your ears are specially tuned to the sound of his voice. And he's not here. Frowning, you slip out into the hall in search of the bathrooms, and in the cool quiet of the hallway, away from all the people, you let out a sigh of relief.

You hope you find him soon.

You follow down the dim hallway, eyes scanning just in case a certain someone decides to try to scare you—

And yelp as you're dragged, wrist-first, into a dark closet.

You find yourself staring into familiar brown eyes, warm and molten as you're pulled flush against a too-familiar body. "Hi," Noya whispers. "Been looking for you."

"You're supposed to be my emotional support extrovert!" you pout, hitting his chest lightly. "You left me to socialize all by myself!"

"Well, I had to get you away somehow." He flashes a wicked grin, and the discomfort that's been brewing between your thighs all night rears its head once again. "Someone can't keep their eyes off me today."

"I-I think you're projecting," you mumble, eyes lingering on his lips.

"Am I? I can feel your eyes on me, you know," he teases. "I think you're supposed to be attracted to your boyfriend."

"You look really good in a suit," you admit at last. "Like, too good."

"There it is. That can't have been that hard to say."

"Oh, shut up," you snap. His thumbs hook into your belt loops, tug you forward until his thigh is firmly pressed between yours. You gasp at the sudden pressure, the grind of him against your heat.

He stifles a laugh. "We gotta be quiet, [name]. You don't want anyone to think you're unprofessional, do you?"

"Oh fuck you."

"That's kind of the goal, babe. You spent all week telling me to be good tonight, and you can barely stop checking me out for a few seconds."

Frustrated, you grab at his tie, tug him into a hot, open-mouthed kiss. His hands slide—one gripping your ass, the other unbuttoning your suit jacket just to rest on your waist—and his lips are hot against yours as he kisses you senseless. He tastes more than pleasant, and you're pretty sure he reapplied his chapstick while he was waiting for you.

When you break away, breathless, you drop your head against his shoulder. But his hands don't stop moving: he loosens your tie, begins unbuttoning your shirt.

"Noya," you breathe, pushing at him lightly. "We can't."

"I'll stop if you tell me to," he replies, and then he's pushing the collar of your shirt aside, attaching his lips to your collarbone.

"Yuu," you whine.

He doesn't stop, and you don't tell him to. He scrapes his teeth against your flesh, finds the spot he's memorized just to make you melt as you drag your hips against his leg.

You shouldn't be doing this, but you find it hard to care with how easily he wrecks you, how easily he has you a puddle of mush at his feet. You think you might go completely insane if you don't get his dick in your mouth just like this—him fully clothed, you disheveled and waiting for him, but he has other plans as his hands continue their adventure in mapping out your body.

He moves from your collarbone only to kiss you again properly, slipping his tongue into your mouth. You moan softly around his tongue, eager for more, his hands sliding down to slip below your waistband, closer and closer to your soaked panties—

And tucking your shirt in neatly as he pulls away all at once. You chase his lips with a whine, pouting even harder when he begins buttoning your shirt back up with a snicker.

"Yuu, what are you—"

He smiles as he smooths down your collar. "I promised I'd behave, didn't I?"

"I hate you."

"No, you don't."

"I do," you grumble.

He fixes your hair. "You can hate me when we get home. Right now, I'd focus my energy on not walking out of this storage closet looking like you're ready to ride me in front of all your big-ticket clients."

You groan, drop your head against his shoulder again. "Fuck you. Seriously, fuck you."

"Not here," he teases. "It wouldn't be very professional to do it here."

You're either gonna marry him or kill him by the end of the year. You'll decide in the car.

Tags: @deeplightgarden @idonthaveanameideayet @dusstory

[kenny-the-ken]

Y O U + M E |Pt 3|

A LOT OF WARNINGS WITH THIS ONE!!!! ALL AGED UP CHARACTERS AND IN HIGH SCHOOL/COLLEGE!! Loosely based on the Netflix show YOU, if y'all have seen it,,, then you know what Kenny's gonna do. If you haven't seen it,,, strap yourselves in, it's a lot!! Yandre Kenny, strong language, sexual content, violence, mentions of blood, gore, stalking, obsession and narcissistic thinking, so please beware!! I warned y'all!!

ALSO!!! A lot of this fic is written as Kenny's internal monologue and from his perspective so bare that in mind!!

Spring break. The literal bane of my existence. I mean, don't get me wrong, I love parties, I've taken more drugs than most people I know, excluding my parents of course, but Spring Break in the US was known for crazy parties, girls half naked in bikinis, guys chugging 2% alcohol content beers thinking that they're the shit, and copious amounts of drugs.

I don't care about any of that though, no, not at all, which you may be extremely shocked to hear, the only thing I cared about was, what were you doing for spring break?

Were you going to any parties? Were you meeting any friends, old or new? Were you planning to show yourself off in a tiny bikini, not that I'm complaining, but I'd rather see you like that alone, without other men's wondering eyes glaring at you as if you're a piece of meat. I can promise you y/n, that would not end well for anyone involved.

I had texted you this morning, like we do every morning. We fucked but after that it felt like we drifted apart. Or rather, you drifted from me. So here I sit, in my bathroom, cock in hand with my face buried in your used panties that I'd stolen from a while back, I assumed you didn't miss them much, and anyway, they were currently in use.

I'd give anything for another taste, your lips were soft, plumped, and oh so red from how aggressive I can be, your h/c cascaded perfectly down your back, and your breasts.

"Fuck." I knew thinking about you like this would make me cum faster, and that's exactly what I wanted, for reasons you'll find out soon enough.

Your pierced nipples and how perfectly shaped they were, your ass was round and perfect for slapping when you needed taught a lesson. Your hips were perfect for gripping, and oh how I'd grip your hips and fuck myself deeper and deeper and shit.

And just like that, here I am, hand covered in my own jizz, cock twitching between my legs and your panties still in my hand.

I have a box, I keep it under lock and key behind my wardrobe, just some little souvenirs, your panties, some nude Polaroids I'd found of you in your bedroom. Oh yeah, and one of Clyde's teeth. Just to remember him by.

You see, although we weren't dating, that didn't mean that you weren't in need of protection, you see, I'd overheard Clyde chatting to Jimmy about how he was thinking of asking you on a date. Now, I've known Clyde for a long time, he uses women like they're nothing, fucks 'em, leaves 'em.

What did you expect me to do? I mean, I did this for you! He was going to take advantage of your kindness and use you for his own sexual gratification and desires and then throw you away like you're worthless, and you are far from worthless. I'd kiss your feet as you walked the earth if you'd let me, oh how I'd worship you, like you deserve to be.

It wasn't too hard to kill Clyde, you see, when you've been known as a fuck boy before, which I unfortunately have been, other fuck boys, they tend to trust you more. So Clyde was pretty easy to reel in. I told him the truth, how I was working on an English project with you and I fucked you in your bedroom, and Clyde was all over that shit like a dog on heat. He was so focussed on what he was planning to text to you, obviously with my keen eye proof reading it for him, he was too distracted to notice me coming behind him with a brick. He only realised just as it was too late, sorry dude, your skull's caved in.

We needn't worry about the details of where his body is, let's just say... I've taken care of it. And tonight was our date, and also the first night of spring break, I would ask you what you were up to, and of course I wouldn't demand to come, unless you chose to invite me, no, I would just hang out in background, you won't even notice that I'm there. And I dare anyone to try anything, they would be dead men walking.

It didn't take long for the time of our date to roll around, and I stood on your doorstep, politely knocking on your door a few times, before smiling as the door cracked open.

You were breathtaking. I'd worked my ass off at City Wok to be able to afford to take you out to dinner, and my god, no food could ever look as delicious as you looked right now. Your tits, your hips, your ass, your legs, your hair, your face, everything! We were destined to be together, and when you smiled back at me I swore my heart swole in my chest.

"Hey, Kenny. You ready to go?" You asked, pulling your leather jacket on over your short, black dress that was showing off way too much cleavage for me to control myself for the entire evening, god I'd take you right here right now if I could.

"I was born ready, baby. I got these for you." I replied, bowing to you and holding out a small bouquet of flowers, your hand clutching your chest, and a gasp leaving your red stained lips.

"They're beautiful, Ken! Oh you shouldn't have! I'll just go get these into a vase, please come in." You spoke like an angel, and who was I to say no to an invitation into your home?

"I wanted to. I really do mean what I said last time, I've had my eye on you from you moved here, y/n, and you're different than those other girls, you're special, I can tell." You cheeks were flushed which meant that my charm was working. You'd be mine soon, and as much as I wanted to show you off to the world, I also wanted to hide you from it, so no one would dare to try and steal what's rightfully mine, or they'd end up like Clyde. Buried in the middle of fuck knows where.

"Had your eye on me? Not a little stalker are you, McCormick?" You joked, and I hoped it was a joke, you were laughing and so was I, so that was a good sign.

"Not at all! I mean, how could my eyes not go to you when you walk past me? I mean, look at you!" And slinging my arms round your hips would surely make you see that I was nothing but a pure gentleman.

"You're such a flirt, Kenny." God the way you looked at me, it was no surprise that to me that you'd stolen my heart, god the things I would do to you, the things I would do for you, oh they were criminal, but in this moment as I stood staring into your perfect e/c eyes, I couldn't care if my crimes caught up with me, I mean, getting away with it would be easy, trust me, I'm not that stupid.

Around two hours had passed and so far, our date seemed to be going perfectly, you were laughing at my jokes, I flirted, and you flirted right back, you'd told me about a huge spring break party at Tolken's house, you'd asked me to be your plus one, of course I'd gratefully accept, I needed to keep you safe, you even took my hand within your own when we were leaving the restaurant, my plan was working a charm, and you'd invited me in to your house for a quick night cap, no doubt I'd be staying the night.

And when you led me to your bedroom wearing nothing but some skimpy lingerie, I knew that your panties that were in my safe would be getting a much needed night off from being pressed against my face.

You were on top of me, grinding on me, fuck you were so needy, and my cock was growing by the second, I couldn't help but groan and pull your hips down against my own.

I'd swapped the positions, and now you lay beneath me, I'd left dozens of hickeys all over your neck, your breasts, your stomach, thighs, and now I was going to taste your sweet cunt again, god I couldn't wait, it had been too long from I'd tasted you, had my tongue inside you, claiming your insides, god I was starved, and I couldn't wait any longer, and just as I pressed a closed mouth kiss against your parted lips, your fucking phone rang.

"Ignore it. Don't answer." I ordered, my tongue lapping up your wetness, a moan coming from your lips as your phone started ringing again, and of course, being the kind person that you are, you answered.

And this couldn't have been a worse time, your face was worried, and you moved my head from where I wanted desperately to be for the past week, it was your mother.

Drug overdose, she was in hospital and you had to be there to take care of her, not that she ever did the same for you. No, you'd told me previously that our lives were similar in a lot of ways, and that's where my need to protect you came from. You were like a delicate flower awaiting to bloom, but others put you in the dark, stopped you ever from doing so, from ever reaching your full potential, but I was here now. I was going to care for you, I'd put you in the sun and give you all the love and support I could, the perfect partner, a soul mate some may say.

And as you hurried to pull your sweatpants and T-shirt on to your small frame, tears welling in the corners of your eyes, you gave me a hug, whispering sweet apologies, and I offered to come with you, which you declined. And I understood why, I hated people meeting my parents, seeing my sorry excuse of a home, fitted with built in meth lab in the garden. You were embarrassed, ashamed of your drug addict mother, and I felt that pain, I knew it personally. I was strong enough to deal with it, but you darling, you're too fragile, far too good to be feeling that way, and by god would I protect you from anything.

I'm so sorry to say this baby, your mother will never get clean, she's never been clean your entire life, it truly is a miracle that she's lasted this long. I'd be doing you and everyone else a favour. You'd told me this wasn't the first overdose she'd had, and every one made you feel the same way, like you were the parent, like you were at fault, you didn't keep an attentive enough eye on her, the pain you were feeling was soul destroying, not just for you, but for me too! How dare that woman who brought you into this world make you feel so awful, how dare she cause you pain and misery, if she died it would mean she couldn't cause any more of that, sure you'd be sad, but you'd realise in time that life was better without having to worry every time you left the house if you would come back to your mother, her skin blue and covered in her own vomit, which she choked on in her drug idled state.

And I would care for you, I'd be your shoulder to cry on, your support network, your lover and your boyfriend all tied into one, the whole package, you'd fall straight into my lap and I swear, I'd never ever let you go.

I'm sorry hunny, but your mother needs to be dealt with, and it would be easier than you'd think, one bad batch could wipe out hundreds of drug addicts, and besides, it's not as if I'd never used this method before. My parents died of an 'overdose', well, at least that's what the coroner's report said on the matter, Karen was put into my care, and the home was given to us, and life had been so much happier from I did my whole family a favour and took them out of the equation, and I know you will feel the same, in time at least.

As I drove you to the hospital you told me about your childhood. How you'd been in foster care, then your mother cleaned her act up and for a long time she was stable and in recovery, till she met some douchebag when you were ten, and she was back to using again, and your life had never been the same since.

When we pulled up outside the hospital, you hugged me tightly and kissed me twice, telling me that you'd text me later, and thanking me for the lovely evening, I assured you that this was to be the first of many of these delightful evenings, and even in the deepest depths of your pain, you still smiled at me.

I watched you till your figure disappeared inside the hospital, and I knew there and then what had to be done. I'm sorry baby, but your mother isn't good for you, she's not good for you, not good for us!

She had to go, and I had to be the one to kill her.

[brumeraven]

🍂: On Brumerot || decay, creativity, fae, inconstancy, scribes, self-doubt, weirdly personal and probably not relatable

Everything about my home was perfect once.

Except for the cabinets.

I suppose I should have noticed even then.

I suppose I did know, even then.

But it was such a little thing, so easy to pretend to overlook.

Everything about my home was perfect once, because it had to be. I'd written it that way, after all. Every single word exactly what and where it should be, every sentence perfect, every detail exact and impeccable.

And every bit of it was, except the cabinets.

Oh, they'd been perfect once as well, along with all the rest. Every knot and whorl in the wood where it was meant to be, every bit of the cope-and-stick construction meant to evoke exactly the sense of simplicity and elegance I wanted, restraint and dignity without hauteur.

I was happy with them. Well, content with them, at least. The truth of it is that I never noticed them, because they were just the way they were supposed to be. Who pays mind to what is correct and in its place?

Until the day I noticed the corner.

Just the one.

But it was flawed, smashed, finish chipped, wood splintered.

Only slightly, as if in a moment's carelessness, an unfortunate impact with chair or broom or who knows what.

But that wasn't possible. It couldn't be other than I'd created it. Other than I'd left it.

I drew my pen, the dull steel drinking in the light that fell upon it, nib stained and corroded no matter how oft I cleaned it. Creation took its toll on creator, regardless of how careful one was.

I stooped over for a closer look, peering closely at the imperfection.

Wood gave way to words upon inspection, the edge of the cabinet revealing its true form, unfolding and unraveling into script so dense it fooled the senses of all but the one who'd written it, letters etched not in ink but in absence, as if Void itself had been writ into unbeing.

...

"Cherry."

"Heartwood."

"Pith flecks."

"Tung oil."

"Carnauba wax."

"Auborn."

"Satin."

"Soft."

"Fragile."

"Mutable."

"Impermanent."

...

Something rose in my throat, fear and disgust and confusion and sickly bitter bile. I couldn't remember writing those last few words. Why would I have wanted to? This was my havenworld; it would not change but for my will. It simply could not.

And yet...there they stood, those words that seemed to corrode the space around them, the feathered and bleeding letters eating away at their surroundings like rust and moth.

As one depraved, I plunged nib into ink, that abyssal mix that held power of creation and destruction alike, its repice simple, unchanging, a sumi inkstick made from the ashes of every page of words I'd ever burned, dissolved in liquid Shadow.

The offending words struck through.

...

"HARD."

"PERFECT."

"UNCHANGING."

"ETERNAL."

...

The values I thought I held. The mirror of my fears.

And it worked. For a day.

The next day, the kitchen was all wrong, beautiful, vivacious wood replaced by cold, uncaring industrial steel, all right-angles and welds.

I hadn't asked for this, hadn't written this.

And yet...when I looked, the writ was in my hand, signed in the ink only I used, sealed in hopelessness.

...

"Steel."

"Hard."

"Durable."

"Perfect."

...

Well, perhaps I'd written it, but it wasn't what I'd wanted. I wasn't the me who'd written it, any more than yesterday I'd been the me who'd finished the kitchen in delicate wood.

So I rewrote them as stone, something more natural, if still durable.

It only worsened from there.

Day by day, year by year, words shifted, little by little, drifted in meaning to me. Stone chipped. Paint peeled. Wood warped. I read, wrote, reread, rewrote; nothing ever stayed the same. Each time, new flaws, new things to fix, unintended implications, unforeseen shortcomings.

Who could say what changed.

The words? The world?

Bit by bit, everything ended. No matter how much I tried to hold steady this asylum, moment by moment it all changed.

One day, I looked back and realized that everything had died and rotted.

One day, I looked back and realized that everything was gone.

One day, I looked back and realized that whoever had made this world was gone as well.

I too had died and rotted away. But not to nothing, no, much worse than that. I'd rotted away to something.

That was the day I burned every last page of it.

At least whatever I wrote next, it would be with a clean slate.

~🍂

[ollieofthebeholder]

20 Questions for Fic Writers

Thanks @fridayyy-13th for the tag!

How many works do you have on Ao3? 64!

What's your total Ao3 word count? Holy...! Uh, 1,700,611. (I should've guessed, I've got some ultra-long fics on there, but Jesus Christ on a cracker.)

What fandoms do you write for? These days, mostly The Magnus Archives. I've also written for Star Trek (primarily the AOS/Kelvin films), the MCU/Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D., Cut & Run, and RQG. I've got a couple of very, very old Sherlock fics, a couple PJO fics from some ship week challenges I took part in back when the Heroes of Olympus books were still coming out, a couple WTNV fics, a few Star Wars fics that never made it to AO3, and three one-offs.

What are your top five fics by kudos? leaves too high to touch (roots too strong to fall) - 1,758 kudos Had He Known It - 777 kudos Whiskey Lullaby - 395 kudos It Was Just My Imagination Telling Lies - 378 kudos Hurry Up and Slow Me Down - 349 kudos

Do you respond to comments? Every single one! It's half the fun to me.

What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending? Ooh...that's a toughie, actually, but I'm going to go with Where the Road Waits to be Taken because it's the only one where the ending focuses on the people left behind.

What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending? Also a toughie! But I'm going to go with Love Will Find Out the Way.

Do you get hate on fics? Not so much anymore. I've been around long enough that I definitely used to, but I write for saner fandoms now.

.Do you write smut? If so, what kind? Not these days. I'm asexual and, while I'm personally sex-averse, my tolerance for it in fiction kind of goes in cycles. I think the last time I wrote an explicit sex scene was in 2016 or 2017.

.Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written? Heh...I do, on occasion. Most recently the WTNV/TMA crossover (the full extent of which hasn't been published yet), which isn't that crazy. I think the craziest one I wrote was the Sherlock/Star Trek crossover that was also (sigh) a HP AU...which I have deleted, so sorrynotsorry.

Have you ever had a fic stolen? Not as far as I know, but I don't exactly go looking.

Have you ever had a fic translated? Again, not as far as I know.

Have you ever co-written a fic before? Uh...technically? My brother had an idea for a fic, but he wasn't old enough to join any fanfic websites at the time (we were probably the only two kids who never lied about our age on the internet to join websites), so he dictated it to me, I fleshed it out and posted it under my username.

What's your all time favorite ship? I love so many, but I have to say, the only ship I love that I genuinely can call an OTP in that I cannot fathom them in a relationship with anyone else (even adding anyone else to the equation) is Cecilos. JonMartin is a close second, but, well, I can see (and frequently enjoy) them also having other people in their relationships. Cecil and Carlos? Nuh-uh.

What's a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will? Ooh. There are...a couple. But I have a WIP sitting in my Tumblr drafts that was a sequel to Hurry Up and Slow Me Down that I would very much like to finish someday...I just, yeah.

What are your writing strengths? Angst and heartbreak. I've got a gift for descriptions, and I'm really good at conveying emotion in text. And I think I have a knack for putting together a tasty sentence.

What are your writing weaknesses? I do tend to get hung up on irrelevant details, and I frequently think myself into a corner. I also think I tend to obsess sometimes about things being perfect...and if I'm being honest, a big weakness of mine (not just in my writing, but in general) is that I often feel like it's something I need to apologize for, which is not helpful.

Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic? Oh, I love doing that! I try to put a translation in hover text, and also in a footnote for benefit of screen readers, but I also try not to burden the actual text with translations. It's one of those "trust the reader to know what you're trying to say, and if they can't figure it out from context, you have failed as a writer" things to me. (This may have something to do with the fact that I used to write Star Trek fanfic, and conlangs are a thing.)

First fandom you wrote for? If you want to get technical, Power Rangers; I used to tell myself stories about the Power Rangers to put myself to sleep at night when I was a little kid, and once I wrote one down and read it out loud for Show and Tell. (The opening line was "One night, when Kimberly and Trini were sleeping, they were stolen," which should tell you everything you need to know about it. In my defense, I was seven.) I didn't know that's what it was at the time, though. If you're talking fandoms that I wrote for knowing it was a fandom and published on the internet...well, I grew up in the '90s and turned thirteen in the early '00s, so it probably shouldn't be that big of a surprise that it was HP.

Favorite fic you've written? It's like asking me to pick a favorite child. I am deeply in love with to find promise of peace (and the solace of rest) even if the next chapter is currently frustrating me a bit, because I am always deeply in love with my current project, because I love the way it showcases how I've grown as an author. That being said, I think my favorite fic that is currently complete might actually be Tomorrow When the World Is Free.

Tagging (absolutely no pressure) @blasphemous-lies-and-deceit, @amberastra, @magnetarmadda, @astudyinfic, @dyscalculated, and anyone else who wants to give this a go!

[savebatsfromscratch]

No.7 Machinery Malfunction

Ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/50647741

Words: 1,078

Cws: Cults and brainwashing, crying

Notes: Mitsumi whump lol. Emotional, specifically. About her getting out of Team Galactic. (I saw that it wasn’t exactly explained in detail, and decided she should break out herself, and then have a BAD time while trying to choose what to do before eventually running into Professor Rowan. …he’s not gonna be in this fic though.)    Written while looping this: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ksba_WnMpuo 

Prompt: No. 7: “I paced around for hours on empty; I jumped at the slightest of sounds.” Alleyway | Radio Silence | “Can you hear me?”

Mitsumi rang her hands together. She was pacing silently down the road, looking over her shoulders at every snap of a stick or howl of wind through the leafless trees. She’d been out of the Galactic base for a few hours now, and she felt that at any moment, those horrible grasping hands would be on her neck again.

In her racing mind, she was half sure they had noticed her absence already, as every other fear driven thought urged her to run back to the base and pretend that none of this had even happened, but how could she do that when the winds of freedom were already lifting her wings?

She was out for good, that much was sure. After tasting freedom, she knew already that she would never again be the same.

And still, she had no clue where to go from here. She’d been very small when Team Galactic had “kindly” taken her in, and she hardly remembered a time when she was free to roam the world.

In one word, she felt lost.

…but she also felt scared.

She didn’t know where she was, she didn’t know what she was doing. They were after her and she was sure of it, but how could she fight them when her entire world was changed?

Mitsumi broke into a run, whispering wordless fears to herself as her heels pounded against the fallen leaves. She needed to get out of here, but where would she go?

Now that she thought about it, she wasn't even entirely sure where the Galactic Base had been located, let alone where she'd managed to wander off to in the couple of hours that she'd been free from it. It was one thing to get out of a cult with a plan, it was quite enough to jump into the world with only the warped sense of the rules they had fed you.

To feel it all collapse on her as the fresh breeze cleared her throat and the early winter chill set her hair sticking up on her neck… She was out in the middle of nowhere, as far as she was concerned. No matter how many trainers frequented the route she traveled, she was alone, and how could it be that an organization such as Team Galactic would be unable to spot a green haired girl all on her own?

She was alone when it came to help, but what kind of predator just left easy prey out in the open? She knew that they were smart enough to find her again. It's what they'd done the first time, right?

She ran faster and faster, slipping over decomposing plants and shoving through trees. She didn't know where she was going, she just knew she had to get away. She was out of the building, but her limbs still felt restrained by those awful chains, though she'd been such a “star” that she'd never felt them herself.

Cyrus' perfect machine.

Mitsumi felt hot tears burning down her face, chilling her the instant the cold wind hit them.

What was she doing?

She skidded to a stop, and her hair wrapped itself around her body as the wind tried to carry it onwards, but she could not do the same. How could she hope to break free of Team Galactic when all that she knew was their world? Their rules, their stories, their training, their battles.

She'd fought through all of them with ease, but would she be able to defeat them when it really came down to it? She wasn't called a perfect creation for nothing. She could fight what she had been told were her enemies, of course, that's what they'd always hammered into her skull, but could she fight Team Galactic itself?

No one had ever let her believe that they could ever be the enemy.

She didn't have the words to describe what was going on in her head, but she knew that just the idea of rebelling felt like it was tearing her to shreds. She didn't have what it took to get out of something like this! How could she? The only thing she'd ever been taught was the best way to tear a person's mind apart, what could she do when hers was the only one to lock onto to target?

She certainly didn't have what it took to get herself to safety, that much she was sure of.

Mitsumi felt her knees buckle under her, and she collapsed to the ground in a horrible crying lump. If Cyrus saw her now, she was sure that the only thing he could think to do would be to put her out of her misery. (And part of her believed that such a horror was all that she deserved.)

After all, there comes a time when it becomes more profitable to swap out the malfunctioning machinery than to fix it when it breaks. Maybe she'd already been broken, but when that seemed to be the goal, running away was surely more than her manufacturers would care to deal with.

Truthfully, she'd only ever known fighting. From what felt like her very first memories, she'd always been fighting. She'd already been exploiting weaknesses and carrying out executions long before she realized that she was even something worth love. She'd fought so much that she'd forgotten how to fight for herself.

Or maybe she'd never even known.

When you couldn't remember what you'd been before you became a monster, could you even truly say that that wasn't how you'd always been? Cyrus always said that she was only worth how many battles she won, always reminded her that it wasn't okay to cry.

And look at her now!

Crying on her knees, losing the very battle that she'd started for her freedom. For being the first time she was fighting for herself, it certainly felt like she was awful at it.

A machine that malfunctioned could be fixed, but though Mitsumi had once believed that a hunk of metal and bolts was all she was worth, she didn't want to anymore.

She didn't want to believe it.

She just wanted to be free.

But how could she ever break out when she was fighting against the very programming that had protected her? Her friends. Her teacher. Her world. Even before today she knew it was over, but that didn’t mean she’d been ready to bear what that meant.

[neko-naruto]

This... They made this?

Summary: Copen is aware that he really shouldn't be doing what he is, but he really can't help himself, and she left the book lying out in the open; unbeknownst to him, Haku is facing a similar dilemma.

Warnings: None!

Authors Note: This is a gift for @teseo-trolls-u using their OC Haku because I can and its nice knowing I'm not the only person creating for this fandom

He really should not be doing this, and he is highly aware of that fact, but... If you leave your journal open its free game, he tells himself that at least.

So here he sits at Hakus desk, reading a small, pink notebook full of poetry and confessions. He doesn't read the confessions, and he can easily flip past them as they usually have the word 'confess' within the first sentence. He truly can't help but take in every single word of the poems he's reading, all of it sinks in and he'd never be able to wash it out if he wanted to.

But he doesn't want to ever forget these, 'eyes a rich vino,' 'a thousand strands of silver,' 'shining like lode stars,' no, those are sticking with him forever. And it takes a few poems to realize what Haku was writing about, a few more than he'd admit, but when he does realize, he snaps it shut. Deep red rising higher and higher up his neck till it reaches his ears, it matches his eyes, he's internally shook at the words used to describe him.

'Vampire king,' 'hero of eternity,' 'slayer and savior,' he feels extremely, extremely, he doesn't quite know what he feels as he reopens the book and goes back a few pages. He didn't even think it possible for someone to use words to describe him in such splendor and a twisted sense of adoration, he only uses twisted because of one line.

('Even majestic bathed in crimson')

"Did she really write this?" Copen managed to mumble to himself, it wasn't loud enough for anyone but himself to hear, and he suddenly feels like he really shouldn't be where he is.

Entering someones room when they aren't around can be excused, something might've been in there. Taking a few moments to admire the items inside of the room, yeah, that could be brushed off. But actively sitting down and reading something that is most definitely extremely personal, that is one heck of a fuck up.

He's desecrating something sacred, a woman's privacy, but he can't force himself to stop reading and leave; another notebook labeled poetry catches his eye.

He's going to superhell, right now, he does not care.

---

She doesn't exactly think she shouldn't be doing this, because he left them out on the table, kitchen table, for all to see.

So she continues to flip through his sketchbook, some unfinished armor concepts, enemy tactics written in chicken scratch, there are some red pen notes here and there pointing to certain things; she doesn't care about that stuff to much. When she reaches the pages that truly highlight his artistic side, she slows down to really appreciate them, landscapes and portraits, always detailed to the mark, quite lovely.

She memorizes the images, never wanting to forget them, traces her fingers along details she enjoys, hoping it would help her remember the landscapes, she reads the footnotes as well. 'Met the Azure Striker here, he won,' she remembers hearing about that from GV, 'ate some really good food here, hence the sauce stain,' she brought her fingers to the splotch of soy sauce, dried and a light brown, 'I don't why I stopped here, but its a shame pencil can't catch its beauty,' she disagrees with the remark on the pencil. Then she reached the finished concepts and drawings of people she knew, her face heated up when she caught the first drawing of that category.

It was her in one of Copens hoodies, it was oversized on her, she looked like she was practically swimming in it, but he drew her in perfect proportion; she wasn't sure how she felt about that. It wasn't colored, it was shaded, like all the others, she still liked it, she checked the footnote, 'I'm giving her one of my hoodies soon,' she nearly melts. The next drawing, a picture of the Sumeragi school outfit, the edges are bolder, smudges are evident, he even added faint shackles, symbolism perhaps. The footnote reads 'she's to good for them, my assistant in the uniform of such a lowly foundation,' savage, amazing, open thoughts, she's never heard the such from him.

The third drawing, an armor concept, probably for Lola, she assumed it was for Lola given everything about it, but the bodice work wasn't like Lolas, no footnote. She flipped to next page, finer details on the previous pages works, it held a few notes for circuitry and supplies needed, a small footnote 'bikini armor, how low have I dropped' she smiled a bit. The next page had a drawing that looked vaguely like her, the hair at least, wearing said armor, there was a shading to emphasize what she presumed was a bodysuit. This time the footnote said 'fuck, would she even wear a bodysuit?' her face heated up, maybe he was talking about her? Naw, no way, he's far too cool for her, she pushed aside the train of thought to admire the colors, her favorite colors.

She went to close the sketchbook, but, a dog eared page, what could lie beyond it.

Haku spent a moment to think if this was a wise idea, after that moment, she flipped on.

She was gonna be killed if Copen found out about this.

---

Copen was heading down the halls, face red, gait hasty but steady, head down and one small notebook in his arms; he was going to lie to get out of this. He continued his search for Haku until he found her sitting at the kitchen table, flipping through his sketchbook, he was even more embarrassed. He cleared his throat and Haku snapped the book shut before turning to find him holding out the notebook, her notebook.

"I found your notebook in the hallways, I hope you don't mind, but I may have read a few of the poems, it was open when I found it," Copen lied, trying to keep his tone steady, Haku took the notebook, clutching it to her chest, "did, did you see the armor concepts?"

"Ah, yes, I'm sure Lola will love them," Haku said before gripping the sketchbook to hand to Copen, he took it, she deftly ignored the shade of his face.

"They aren't for Lola," Copen muttered quietly, he took note of the shift in Hakus expression before turning to leave, "I'll stop bothering you, thanks for finding my sketchbook."

Haku couldn't respond, words stuck in her throat as Copen walked away, unable to procure a coherent response.

She knew exactly what he meant.

How could she respond?

[tempobrucera]

Golden Hour or I'll Kiss You Again? You can pick 💓

Hello, hello. Thank you for the ask nonnie :)

How about I do both? I think Golden Hour is underrated and I'll Kiss You Again was one of the first stories I liked that got some notes (after Laura @oro-e-diamanti reblogged it, hahaha).

Let's do Golden Hour first:

A lot of people, also here, know that I own a lot (and I mean a looooooot) of analogue cameras and that I love photographing. So it was really self indulgent to be honest to combine it with writing about it and taking Thomas as a character for it

I kind of wanted it to advance, the dynamic, over the whole fic. Like it escalating further and further. In the sense of what goes and what doesn't go pic wise. I wanted Thomas to be more confident in the end than in the beginning, I wanted him to be nervous about it - because what if someone finds those pics of him? Or of them together but it kind of advances to oh, I'll take the risk. So those the little play with Vic

"“I probably- I probably look fucked.” He does." -> Make of that what you want, but if it was catching your eye before, you're probably right, lol

I wanted the first photo to be so hilarously innocent that Thomas can't do anything but laugh

"You become obsessed with his body in a different way than before." -> I just wanted to show that Reader obviously was obsessed and loving his body before already but that it accelerates after starting to take photos of him. There's so much details you look for, that you don't notice that deliberately in your daily life usually

And that's how I tried to write it, there are soooo many details in this fic between the bigger chunks, so many descriptions of photos

I don't know why Thomas ends up with an exhibitionism kink often with me - sorry. I mean, he is on stage and there are some videos where he definitely knows what he's doing. So maybe that's why

"You think he’s going to whimper but he full on growls at you." -> Nothing to say, I have a thing for men who whimper and for men who growl and especially for men that do both <3

I just think washing someones hair is really intimidate and I wanted to write it into a fic for a while and I thought there wasn't any fic more perfect for it

"“I’m pretty sure there’s already footage of my ass on the internet which I can’t delete either,” he says." -> Well, I guess kinda, yes.

"Rome’s evening sun hitting Thomas’ face, still leaving you speechless now every time you look at Thomas in the golden hour light. The moment you took it and thought to yourself that maybe, maybe you’re in love." -> I would absolutely change nothing about this paragraph, it also made it into the story because of the name of the fic. You know when you look at someone and you think, fuck, I'm in love, I think and I have no clue how I ended up here but that person means so much to me and is the most beautiful human being? It's exactly that feeling

"It’s too aesthetically pleasing somehow to call it a dick pic. But it clearly is. His dick." -> Sometimes you just have to experiment with sentences. If I would have written it as a normal sentence instead of breaking it up the impact of reading it would have been a lot smaller

"Backstreets of Rome; the backseat of his car." -> I love that sentence sososososo much. I just love playing around with words, when I can take a word and change it into something else. When words change meaning from one sentence to the other. It takes time but it's one of my favourite things to do

The scene in Ethan's bathroom, I wanted to show that Thomas isn't only submissive in this and that there aren't certain roles and everything is more fluid between them

Honestly, I don't know why but phone sex has some element that definitely isn't for everyone and it's definitely not for those two. And I wanted to show that you can also try something and agree that it was good to try but wanting to do it again. It happens. And that there can be deep feelings of love but there are still reasons to let a person go so they can do what makes them happy more easily and not because you don't love the person. And also that came from personal experience

That scene with Vic, I literally wrote five different scenarios for that one. One without Thomas coming, two with Thomas coming differently, with more sex. But I settled on this one in the end because I kind of found it interesting how a really little thing in the right moment can set him off like that

"And you ask yourself, if you could forget what his hugs feel like. This feeling of falling out of love hunting you down." -> I think people often forget how much work a long distance relationship is, with one being constantly away that's what it is. And it's easy to be like, maybe I'm falling out of it but you don't want to and then you try but sometimes even that doesn't feel enough

I have a feeling that Ethan and Vic would be the people who would clean up after Thomas when he does something stupid because they love him

"“I sometimes worry about life, about time. How much of it I’ll have, have left and that I do everything wrong with it.”" -> Cannot find it right now but there was this one interview recently that completely kicked me in the ass because he said something similiar enough to this (not as extreme but still)

"Film rolls change from pink skies to falling leaves. From grey sky and Christmas markets to cherry blossoms. Even when he’s not there." -> You know there's some things in life that you pick up mostly because of someone but it still stays with you when that person is gone or completely gone from your life

"But then there’s the Polaroid of confetti in Thomas’ hair you take after the last gig of tour. And you fall in love all over; again." -> I really wanted to give this fic a happy ending because I had the feeling it deserved one and it did. Even with Thomas coming and going and that obviously being a problem in that relationship here, I wanted it to work. Because the thing is Thomas is always coming back home, he might be stupid, but he is and at the end of the day both can share what happened in the other's abscence and be excited to see each other and you know fall in love with the same person again, but maybe also with some new parts

Okay, and I’ll kiss you again

This came about from a prompt I got and was something I wrote as a fluff Valentines fic, and I'm really in love with the "we find love notes on accident" scenario from the prompt list I had

I kind of liked the idea that they both find something with the same pattern or something that is really similiar to each other and that they both fall in love with it

The poor cashier ... Hahaha, when I wrote it, I didn't realise what I put her through. But also ... In the first draft the cashier was actually a little bit magical (like leading Reader to that box, getting them to buy it and in the end they wanted to thank her that she got them to but no one has ever heard of her when they go back to the store). I decided against it, and went with, okay just regular plot without magic

Thomas and the girlfriend situation. Here I also had different drafts. In some of them they were still together, in some of them they had a fight, in some of them Thomas already broke up but didn't mention it, in some of them Thomas and Gianna were on off. But in all these scenarios Thomas always broke off because of Reader. That's why he said, he doesn't want to hurt more people, he knows Reader is keen on him and he loves Gianna enough to be fair to her because he knows that his heart is somewhere else

I fucking love describing food, I'm so sorry everyone

"You remember Thomas staying over after drinking too much, sleeping on your couch, one night between Christmas and New Year’s." -> And there's the short ice cream story and Thomas laughing and ice cream on noses and in my head Thomas broke up with Gianna just after that

Thomas really wants to get drunk, that's why he brought so much alcohol. If that ends him up in someone's bed, or at least lets him forget or anything inbetween ... So be it.

"He shouldn’t look at you when he bites into one of the chocolate hearts. And your heart shouldn’t do these stupid cartwheels watching him." -> I said it before but I love words that kind of change meaning from one sentence to another and it's always interesting to see where to put it in and where to take it out

God, I love some gentle handholding and I was so happy that this was part of the prompt

"You liked it but it didn’t stick out to you, except for Thomas taking it and not letting go off it after you read it." -> I just loved the idea of Thomas holding on to that note because it gave him so much hope, so yep, he's holding onto it because he's holding on to hope

I wanted them to have had those little moments together already before the fic, why there was this longer passage about kisses from before and Reader thought Thomas did that as a joke but Thomas didn't and it just dawns on him that he might has been misunderstood the whole time and that he never wanted Reader to feel about him in this way

"but you were so busy with your photo assignment from work" -> In my head Reader always has a backstory in my head. Always. Like here Reader is working as a photographing assistent and Thomas and them actually met at a photoshoot (in another story Reader was a patisserie chef btw - yes, Reader baked in that one, and in another one Reader is an Art major at university - and yes, it's the longer Thomas x Reader x Vic fic)

"“I don’t know? I went to Gianna’s to get something I left at hers but I …”, he stops talking - it doesn’t matter - he’s there with you now. You pull him closer to your body, “and the next morning I woke up crying into Bidet’s fur and Damiano making breakfast he said I don’t deserve." -> Okay, they fucked, okay, that's what happened that night and Thomas was feeling awful about it because he planned on telling Reader that he loves them and instead ended up in his exe's bed because he also couldn't be alone. And Reader gets that when he stammers around but it doesn't matter because he didn't do anything wrong

I needed the little bit of angst at the end, hahaha

It was fun to come up with all the messages they all wrote to Reader

" How the fuck did you fall for him?" -> I honestly believe that this is something Vic would ask someone who has a crush on Thomas, no joke

That note was honestly such a pain to write. Even happier I am now how it turned out. And yes, it was based really loose on the love note Alex Turner wrote for Alexa Chung

And reading it again now, I actually really like the ending I gave to this, coming back to the love notes and making up stories for it and that maybe someday will find Thomas' note and you know, when you read that note, it can also be read as sad but maybe not everything that reads sad actually is

[haegeumi]

this has "let's kill ashlee" written all over it. oh my fucking god.

i am very extremely overtly agnostic but this is saurrr up my alley........ i love blasphemy and sacrilege i love fallen angel aus i love horror i love dark religious themes!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! yes!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! thank you for the meal i genuinely needed a fic like this in my life and you delivered. you delivered so hard wtf sol you always write the most creative fics. how dare you.

OKAY SO. OPENING SCENE. i adore the amount of detail you put into your fics first of all, like. i can picture every setting and feel every feeling and AGHHHH the worldbuilding is wonderful I NEED U TO UNDERSTAND THAT. like yes i am in a wintery little village bundled up in 80 layers being helped up by this handsome and charming stranger and i am devout to a fault....yes.........also u immediately made me hate the priest. i hate that man saurrr much (lowk highkey deserved what he got sorry not sorry)

AND BEOMGYU'S IMMEDIATE OBSESSION WITH MC???? I AM SHAKING U BY THE SHOULDERS RN!!!!!!!!!! he is soooooo fucking sick and twisted...i need him biblically,,,, fuck it let me just quote the paragraph that had me reeling:

"Such a cruel hand life has given you. Because now that Beomgyu has found you, he’s made a silent vow to not let you escape from his hands; you’re the perfect prey, innocent and trusting and charmed by the closest thing to ever be graced by God's presence."

LIKEEEE i love an evil man (demon?) 😭😭😭 he knows exactly what to do to keep mc in his clutches, knows how to use her innocence and naivety to his advantage bruhhhhh you can't keep doing this to me. i need to be institutionalized.

and the way he manipulates her dreams???? bye. BYE. you nailed the guilt that the mc was feeling after her dream, it wasn't just a "oopsie i sinned lol" moment, but something all-consuming and terrifying because why is she suddenly feeling this way? having all of these sinful thoughts and desires after so long?? her panic is so palpable and it made me really feel for her because what are you supposed to do when the very sins you've avoided appear so suddenly? you confess, of course, to the very priest that has your worst wishes in mind. GRRRRR WHEN I GET MY HANDS ON THAT PRIEST 👊👊👊 thankfully beomgyu did what i wanted to do to him! 😁 he represents everything that is wrong with the church and he's as manipulative as beomgyu in a way...

“You were so perfect, my child,” he says softly, frowning at the fear in your eyes, the heavy heaving of your chest, “you were divine.”

“May God have mercy on your soul.”

like. he knew that would fuck her up. and he's weirdly possessive over mc when he has no right to be????? even he looks to use her trust in him to his advantage — while he is a priest, he is no better than beomgyu in this and like i said earlier i fawkingggg hate him. just to reiterate.

OK PRIEST RANT OVER. now, onto the final scene,,, just tell me to kms already. what the fuck. beomgyu revealing what he truly is to her, the blood beneath her, the way he calls her a little lamb, urging her to give into him, into her sinful desires...dawg. he's insane for telling her that this is what god has fated her with,, taking her in the church that she sees as home made me so 😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫 i like. can't handle this rn i'm feeling faint............manipulative to the very end, wanting to hear her say that she wants it and takes her while the priest lies dead, his blood painting the floor,, this is so sick and twisted and i'm very much into it i don't think you understand.

AND THEN HER DEATH WTFFFF i knew something bad was gonna happen to her but THAT WAS CRAZYYYY.......... and then. then he. what the fuck he eats her heart ?????????? INSANE ASS ENDING i am concerningly obsessed (feds if you're reading this i promise i am fully sane and normal,, )....oh how i love horror, i'm so glad you write txt fics like this bc literally no else does and i just. thank you 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭 i will NEVER get over this 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

ANYWAYS. that was really long, i apologize (i will do it again)...this might have nearly killed me but i will come back stronger !!! beware!!!!!!!!!

Divinity for the Damned

“There is no sweeter innocence than our gentle sin.”

“What sweet bliss it is to follow the teachings of God. To put in your faith and trust wholeheartedly, even if it means getting nothing in return.”

fallen angel! Beomgyu x fem!reader 

Genre: horror, religious au, smut, angst

Word count 18.3K

warnings: i was delirious when i proof read this sorry in advance, very detailed descriptions/elements of the catholic church, mc is super duper religious, and innocent, lots of religious guilt, corrupt church members, assault in one scene, sacrilege and blasphemy i suppose, abuse of power, manipulation, guilt tripping, MCD, slight gore, violence, cannibalism…? aha…

smut warnings: dubcon/coercion, manhandling, mind breaking, corruption, virgin!mc, sub!mc, condescending soft dom!beomgyu, blindfolding/sensory deprivation? dacryphilia, fingering, oral (f. rec) edging, overstimulation, teasing, unprotected sex, creampie. lmk if i should add anything!

notes: hi guys! i have no idea how i got here.

[This story contains dark content. Please read the warnings carefully; I am not responsible for the content you choose to consume.]

The day is wintry and cast with a heavy snow; it is advised for citizens to remain inside due to the extreme weathers, flurries falling outside your bedroom window that is tinted with a frost that creeps from the corners. But it is Sunday morning, and a simple snowfall will do nothing to deter your humble duties. 

Today, you rush to get ready; the layers of clothes on your form make it difficult for you to pull on your snow boots, thick and warm as your fingers fumble to lace and tie the shoes— you’ve begun to feel overheated, but you’re sure all the layers you have on will not go to waste the moment you exit your home. Standing with a huff of exertion, you pull the coat on you just a little bit tighter; with a gloved hand and one final glance at the clock, you finally open your door and make your way out. 

The little village is quiet today. The snow is up to your ankles— it makes the trek to the church a little more difficult than usual, and it’s not as though the gravelly paths were any more helpful. A wind carries flurries into the air, sticking to your clothes and onto your hair— it makes your skin sting and your arms come up to hug yourself instinctually, a hand coming up to rest on your chest, almost able to feel the cross necklace that’s tucked beneath all your clothes— your fingers press against the layers, able to feel the pressure of the delicate charm on your skin. 

Shops are open, but they aren’t very busy; it seems as though the snow has turned the place into a ghost town, and you wonder with a frown if a simple change in weather was enough to make people set aside their duties— in the distance, the tall pinnacles of the church begin to fade into view, a sight of a cross at the very top of each one bringing a sense of relief into your system, like a warmth that floods into your veins. 

There are twenty minutes left before the mass begins. But even so, you note that there are not many others making their way inside— your frown tugs at your lips a little deeper, and you’re too lost in thought to take note of cracked path before you; your foot is catching and you fall to the ground unceremoniously, yelping at the impact and the snow that drenches your tights and dress within seconds. 

Your knees sting; with the multitudes of layers you have on, it’s a lot more difficult to stand— you’re wincing in pain from both the cold and the fall, your gloved hands now soaked as you try to steady them on the ground to help you up; you stumble slightly, the weight of your clothes now doubled as you fall back onto your knees— you huff with frustration, your head hung down in defeat. 

“Excuse me, are you alright?” 

The voice is gentle and melodic; like a song in your ears, breathy, deep and smooth as you look up with surprise, not expecting anyone else to witness your fall— your face is heating up pitifully and your eyes are widening the moment they meet with those of a stranger, a man whose beauty is almost otherworldly; his hair is long and covered with flurries of snowflakes, decorated along his head and in his bangs like a crown— his face is blushing a soft red from the cold and his eyes are filled with concern; briefly, your eyes flicker up to his furrowed brows, taking notice of the scar that decorates his face, reddened and stopping just above his eye, a small deformity on his otherwise perfect face. 

He looks like a prince. 

“I–I’m… I’m fine,” you stutter out, still a bit dumbfounded by this captivating stranger, trying your best to remain composed as you take his outstretched hand for help; his hand is warm— no, it’s hot, even through your gloves— the contrast of temperature startling you for a moment; you try not to show it, much more distracted by the way his grip tightens instantly and he’s pulling you up with a surprising strength, the motion so sudden and unexpected that you’re stumbling out of balance; with a swift hand on the small of your back, the man steadies you. 

“I’ve… never seen you around before,” you say softly, continuing your attempt to remain casual as you shrug his hands off you, taking a step back and trying to ignore the lingering heat his touch left— and you smile politely, hands folded in front of you as you tilt your head. 

“Ah, I moved here recently,” the man explains, sending you a smile that’s just as charming as the rest of him; his eyes scan your sullied outfit, wet with snow and dirty at the knees, and he frowns. “You must be terribly cold. I suggest you go home and change.” 

Your hands are patting your clothes off immediately in response; small clusters of snow that stuck to you fall off with every swat of your hands, attempting to rub at the dirt with your soaked gloves as you merely laugh him off and shake your head— you’re glancing back at the church in the distance, and are suddenly reminded of your responsibility. 

“I’ll be alright, I assure you,” you say softly, doe eyes bright and optimistic, even if he seems doubtful of your words, “I have somewhere I need to be— it’s much warmer in there anyway.”

“Oh?” he says, raising a brow and scanning over your appearance once more, wondering what could possibly require such dedication from you, “may I ask where you’re headed?” 

“Sunday mass,” you say eagerly, your voice sweet and lovely— and though his expression is suddenly unreadable, you remain enthusiastic as you continue, “If you’re not busy, I’d love for you to come— our church is beautiful, you’d get to meet so many amazing people.”

Mass is starting soon— you’re visibly antsy to go inside, yet you remain patient as you wait for the man’s answer— and though you’ve always been used to the polite turn downs from others you’ve offered to in the past, you can’t help but get your hopes up the longer you wait for a response. 

He sighs; it’s soft and would have remained unnoticed under your gaze, except it comes out as a smoky puff of air due to the cold weather— his gaze skirts away from yours, lost in thought for a second, and you can feel yourself deflate as you begin to brace yourself for yet another rejection. But then he glances back at you, lips pursing and gaze taking you in slowly as he begins to speak. “I suppose I can,” he says gently, smiling at the way you’re immediately lighting up again, “I don’t have much else going on today anyway.” 

A smile spreads through your face; you’re trying to control yourself and remain unfazed, but it’s a lot more difficult than you anticipated as you merely nod happily like a puppy— with his soft lead the way, you’re nodding again and taking him to your safe space. 

“You never told me your name,” the man says suddenly, the two of you making your way up the steps to the church— you’re turning to him in surprise, mouth parting in slight shock as you realize that you really didn’t introduce yourselves— and you’re telling him your name softly, your tone a lot shyer than you expected, feeling small under the intense gaze of this handsome stranger. He laughs softly, eyes filled with amusement as he repeats your name back to you— it sounds so captivating and fragile on his lips, and you try to ignore the way the sound sends shivers down your spine. 

“Beomgyu,” he says before you can direct the question back at him— and just like he did for you, you’re testing his name with your own voice, taking his nod of approval with a smile.

Conversation dwindles down the moment the two of you enter the building; it is low in light due to the cloudy day and the candle-lit lanterns that don’t fully light up the large establishment, and a warmth engulfs the two of you the moment the heavy wooden doors shut behind you; sending Beomgyu another encouraging smile, you take him softly by the arm and lead him further inside— you promptly stop at a small basin filled with holy water, dipping three of your fingers in and crossing yourself slowly, eyes fluttering shut and lips parting to mouth an unintelligible words— and while Beomgyu is presumably doing the same, you take this time to say a brief prayer. 

Beomgyu simply watches you with blank eyes. He makes no movements to follow after you, watching apathetically as your brows twitch and your eyes remain shut for a few seconds more, sweeping his gaze over the area as he will his lips to not upturn in distaste— his expression morphs to one of content the moment you’re opening your eyes to look at him again, the only thing to fuel his feet to move being the way your delicate hand squeezes his bicep gently, as though you were leading a scared animal into the unknown— he can’t help but find your mannerisms amusing, filled with an overwhelming innocence he hasn’t seen in a long time. 

As a child, your family moved a lot— going from town to town, your father offered newer and better opportunities due to his trade— and, just like you, your family remained dedicated during it all, never failing to find a church to become a part of, a place to spend their Sundays and worship their God. Because of this, you’ve seen and been in more churches than you can keep track of; able to take in different interiors and atmospheres, different communities and sermons— yet, despite attending more churches than this whole town combined, you’ve found that the one you currently stand in cannot even bear to rival the others— it is wholeheartedly your favorite. 

Nothing quite compares to the feeling of warmth and comfort this quaint building brings you, from the friendly smiles others in the community send you the moment they see you, to the smell of incense and flowers that fills your nose the further you walk down the nave, automatically going to your usual pew closest to the altar; the spot is basically reserved for you at this point, anyone who has come to this church at least once knowing that the third pew away from the altar is your favorite spot. 

Beomgyu trails a little behind you. A little hesitant, you think— it must be difficult being thrust into such a new environment so suddenly, and you’re stopping in your tracks to turn around and reach for him with a kind smile. 

He seems startled by your sudden gesture. His expression is completely lightening up within seconds, and if you hadn’t been dreadfully nervous to offer him your hand so you could walk together, you would have been able to pinpoint the clear scorn in his gaze— instead, all you’re able to see is the way his brows raise in surprise and his gaze turns warm, smiling fondly as he takes your hand; he tucks it snuggly in the crook of his arm before he’s nodding at you to continue walking. 

You’re suddenly much more aware of the eyes pinned on you— you’re sure many must be surprised to see you with someone new, always used to you coming in early and quietly, head bowed down and mind already lost in prayer— and in this condition nonetheless, your body heating up slightly as you stare down at the ghastly state of your clothes. 

“Relax,” Beomgyu suspires, leaning close to your ear so only the two of you can hear his words; his other hand reaches to place itself over your gloved hand, and again, you can feel the heat of his touch permeating through the wool. “You look lovely. A bit of snow or dirt could never take away from your beauty.”

His sudden compliment has your face heating up and reacting drastically; you can only squeak out a flustered oh, in response, unable to do much more than look in the opposite direction and stare at the scarlet rug that rolls down the nave— and you’re arriving at your usual spot, close enough to the altar that you’re bowing in respect— stiffly, Beomgyu is pulled down with you; his jaw clenches at the action. 

The sermon begins as usual and proceeds as it always does— though, with Beomgyu at your side, you seem to have garnered quite a lot of attention to you; from others around you eagerly wanting to wish you and Beomgyu peace, shaking his hand firmly and with looking up at him with awe-stricken eyes, to the priest’s gaze that inevitably falls back onto the two of you again and again, not used to the scrutiny in his eyes as you flush with heat at the sudden realization of what others might be assuming the two of you are— as subtly as possible, you try to make space between the two of you, using the armrest of the pew as your excuse to scoot away as you try your best to remain inconspicuous, pretending to get comfortable and resting your arm against it. 

Beomgyu doesn’t seem to pick up on your particular train of thought— he’s sending you a curious glance before he’s closing the space between the two of you again, feeling the way your body stiffens and your back straightens the moment you feel him against you, thigh against thigh; the small pressure of his body against yours enough to have you flustering pathetically, lips pressing together as you try to keep your expression neutral. 

But if there’s one thing Beomgyu has learned about you from the short time he’s gotten to know you, it’s that you’re undeniably terrible at keeping a poker face; all your thoughts are written across your expression clear as day and seep into your body language— anyone who has you in their line of sight would be able to immediately pick up on your flustered and shy state. 

You’re such an innocent little thing; like a lamb, Beomgyu thinks, gaze visibly boring into your side profile as you attempt to pretend as though you’re unaware of it, even if the nervous fiddling of your fingers gives you away. There’s an air of purity around you that is simply enticing, unable to pretend as though he isn’t endeared to you the moment you finally break and turn to look at him once it is time to receive the eucharist, bright, wide eyes silently asking if he’ll join you— he shakes his head no gently, and you’re nodding in understanding before you finally scurry away to get in line. 

Your heart is pounding; you’ve never thought a man could have such an effect on you, your poor brain confused and running laps to try to reason why you can’t even keep eye contact with him for more than a second— you’ve just met him, just a little bit ago, yet even so you can’t help but feel a strange pull toward him, undeniably charmed by both his looks and soothing aura— your hand goes to place itself onto your heart, a weak attempt to steady it’s erratic beating. The charm of your necklace presses against your skin, and as it nears to be your turn, you pray for your heart to have more resilience. 

“The Body of Christ.” 

Beomgyu watches as you stand dutifully before the priest. He watches as the older man stares down at you with an intense gaze, one that seems to hold silent disappointment; he watches as the priest looks back at him, their eyes meeting and his gaze hardening before it falls back onto you— with a twisted realization, Beomgyu realizes where this emotion stems from. 

The priest is careful with you, hand reaching out to slowly place the Eucharist on your awaiting tongue; he’s gentle, as though you were made of nothing but glass, gaze following you even after you’re long gone. 

You’re walking back with your hands clasped together and your eyes downcast, undoubtedly lost in prayer again. But even so, you can’t help but sneak a glance at Beomgyu once more, relieved to see his eyes weren’t on you already this time— instead, he’s watching the priest acutely, observing and analyzing his every move— and you feel star-struck by his beauty yet again. 

The day outside must have cleared more; at least, that must be the case if there is light shining through the stained glass windows, myriads of colors casting themselves on the floors and the people around you— Beomgyu is not an exception to this, entranced with the sharp reds, purples and blues that cast onto his delicate skin, making his appearance seem more otherworldly than it already was. 

His brows furrow. Part of his face is lit up with a faint red from the window, hitting his right eye and the scar above it— suddenly, his eyes are flickering back to meet yours, and you’re jumping slightly in surprise; his eye is practically glowing. 

Your gaze becomes downcast again. You try to ignore the feeling of him watching as you kneel down and begin your prayer once more, staring at the altar and at the captivating marble statues, eyes falling onto the candles that hypnotize you by its flickering flame, lost in thought as the taste of wine that lingers on your tongue becomes the only thing you’re still aware of. 

Beomgyu makes no attempts to conceal his desperation to leave the moment mass is over. His goodbyes are brief and he manages to pull you along, simply because you’d feel bad if you didn’t accompany him out. You’re almost out the front doors, so close to leaving, only to be stopped the moment you’re stepping outside, not expecting the priest to slip out of the doors behind you, calling out your name and asking you to wait; obedient as always, you’re practically frozen on the steps of the church— Beomgyu doesn’t bother to hide the clear distaste on his face as he hears the priest ask for a word with you; in private. 

Without hesitation, you’re scurrying up the steps and meekly asking Beomgyu if he was going to stay— you can’t help but be surprised at the immediate nod of his head in response. 

“Lovely seeing you today. Like always,” the priest says, sending you a fond smile that you eagerly return; he’s taking a step close to you, voice lowering slightly as he continues. “This is the first time I’ve seen you attend with someone else.”

“Ah,” you say quietly, evidently flustered by the breach of this subject; you’re turning away from him to glance back at Beomgyu, who sends you a small smile the moment your eyes meet. “I met him this morning— he aided me when I fell, and agreed to join me when I invited him to today’s mass.”

The priest frowns. You’re taken aback by the clear disapproval in his eyes, blinking owlishly as you silently question what’s wrong— the priest is taking another step closer to you, his brows pinched together and his voice cautious as he speaks. 

“My child,” he begins carefully, taking in your wide and curious eyes as he warns you, “It is admirable of you to spread God’s word so dutifully. I admire your devotion to both our Lord and this community.” 

“However,” he says solemnly, “I advise you to be very careful. You have only just met him after all.”

The two of you glance back at Beomgyu, who leans against the stairway with a blank expression, staring out at the snowy scenery before him as he waits for the two of you to finish; he can feel your stares on him, but he doesn’t bother to look back, already knowing where this conversation must be headed. 

“Oh Father,” you say softly, giving him a reassuring smile, “you shouldn’t worry, I know how to handle myself.”

And, Beomgyu has been nothing but kind to you, you think to yourself, though you know better than to rely solely on the limited hours you’ve spent together. 

“Of course. Though you can’t blame me for being concerned,” he says, taking yet another step closer to you— the space between you is limited now, and you’re unable to stop the way you retreat subconsciously in response.

“I wouldn’t want anything to happen to,” he reaches up to place a hand on your shoulder, heavy and making you stiffen at the sudden contact; it remains there, thumb rubbing soft circles on your coat, “such a dedicated servant of God. It is my duty to protect you, child.” 

He is reluctant to let you go. You breathe out a soft laugh and smile, taking another step back and watching as his hand slides down your arm, his touch lingering and grabbing at your hand momentarily; he squeezes it in an attempt to give you reassurance, and you nod. 

“I understand,” you say quietly, pulling your hands in close to your chest, clasping them together as you take another step back, “I must leave now, Father.”

His lips press, as though disappointed to see you leave to soon— but then he nods in understanding, wishing you a blessed day and encouraging you to stop by anytime; you nod, bidding him one last goodbye before you’re turning around and descending the stairs— you miss the way his eyes harden and his brows knit together the second they meet Beomgyu’s, lips pressed to a thin line as he watches the two of you for a moment more. 

“I’m sorry I kept you waiting,” you say meekly, feeling a smile grow on your face the moment Beomgyu simply shakes his head in reassurance, boldly taking your hand and placing it in the crook of his arm once again; a gesture that has your body warming up as much as his touch warms you, allowing him to pull you close to him as you walk away— he allows you to speak about whatever is on your mind, listening intently as he glances back at the church one final time. 

At the top of the stairway, the priest remains, watching. Beomgyu is unfazed at the sight, and instead of returning the harsh glare the older man sends him, his lips curl into a smile— wide and wicked, showing off his perfect teeth and sharp canines that adorn his mouth, confusing the man before him— and his expression switches in the blink of an eye the moment you squeeze at his bicep subconsciously to get his attention as you speak, leaning in to ask what he thought of today’s mass. 

“It was lovely,” Beomgyu says smoothly, eyes crinkling into a fond and kind smile. You’re returning the smile without hesitation, feeling as though it’s become second nature to your being now. 

“I think I’ll be seeing you around more.”

  ≪⋆⋅☆⋅⋆≫  

The two of you part ways once you’ve reached the center of town. Beomgyu tells you he has somewhere he needs to be, and you explain that you still have a few errands to do; with the promise to see each other again soon, you’re reluctantly bidding him goodbye. 

He asked if you’d be willing to show him around the town a bit more; if you’d like to show him your favorite places to eat and visit— you told him yes in a heartbeat. 

With new promising plans with this handsome stranger, you felt lighter on your feet— a giddiness that undoubtedly was written all over your face, laughing shyly at the remarks others would give in regards to your good mood; and though the trek back to your little cottage on the outskirts of town was a long one, you didn’t seem to particularly mind it today. 

The rest of your day is quiet; peaceful like always, not a soul stopping by to interrupt your day. You’ve fallen back into routine, and with your sudden encounter with Beomgyu earlier, you’ve begun to realize how mundane your everyday life is— you’re suddenly antsy, waiting anxiously for the day to bleed into the next so you’re able to see him again. 

Night falls and you have yet to forget about him. Beomgyu’s soft gaze and kind smile, the way he hovered over you and humored your spontaneous offer to join you— his touch that warmed you through your layers of clothing and left your body hot and flustered. 

This sudden change in your train of thought has you snapping back to reality; your eyes are blinking into focus and you’re now hyper-aware of the hot water that runs over your skin, the dishes in your hands that you had absentmindedly been washing— and you’re straightening up to stare out your window, feeling a breeze slip through the small opening and hit your warm face; you definitely need it, you think to yourself, scolding yourself for thinking of such scandalous things about a man you just met. 

You think you’ll go to bed early; with the final dish placed on your drying rack, you’re off to your bathroom, washing up before you make your way into the bedroom, slipping into nothing more but a thin nightgown; the moonlight casts a glow on your figure as you change, already feeling sleep weigh your eyes as the soft silk of your gown brushes against your skin. 

Your bed feels a lot more comfortable than usual; your body is more tired than you realized. The blankets weigh down on you securely, and any restless thought seems to dissolve in your mind the moment your head is resting against your soft pillows— for the first time in a long, long time, you’re able to achieve a peaceful, immediate slumber. 

Poor thing; today’s events must have truly exhausted you. After all, being around a demon for such a long time takes a lot of energy. 

Beomgyu watches the soft rise and fall of your chest with fond eyes and a small smile. He thinks that the moonlight casts a truly angelic glow on your face, unaware and peaceful to the dangers around you— not much of a difference from your awake self, the man muses.

The energy you emit is as pure as the light in your eyes; innocent, untainted by the horrors of the world. Unlike the rest of this town and their putrid thoughts, their intentions to rip you apart and force you to stoop as low as them, you’ve remained the same: devoted to your God, devoted to live an honest and peaceful life— your being is nothing short of angelic, and Beomgyu has found himself addicted to it. 

He’s weakened— you remind him of the life he used to live, the person he once was before he gave in to the beauty of temptation, ensnared for eternity to the carnal sin that allowed him to reject the teachings of his god. He’s lived this life longer than he can remember, memories of pure beings and a light heart long gone; it’s instead been replaced by an insatiable hunger and instincts that led him to you. 

Beomgyu wasn’t supposed to find himself here, he supposed. Damned to nothing but a void of flames that seared and marred his skin, to be given bodies of those who shared the same sin as him— indulging in his cravings, but never truly satiating them, just enough to keep his soul hooked and coming back for more, a constant cycle of addiction and hunger and desire. 

But this is — you are — different. Just being near you is enough to get Beomgyu’s heart racing, his body buzzing with a slight nervous energy that begs to just touch you, to take you, to use you. His body is weak, drained from its descent from the heavens and its unexpected escape from his perpetual state of limbo, from his punishment. His bones ache and his skin begs to be with you, his soul guiding the rest of him to find you; just one night with you could keep him strong for eons. 

Such a cruel hand life has given you. Because now that Beomgyu has found you, he’s made a silent vow to not let you escape from his hands; you’re the perfect prey, innocent and trusting and charmed by the closest thing to ever be graced by God's presence. 

He closes his eyes, and hones in on your energy— to properly entangle you in clutches, Beomgyu must begin to plant the seeds in your mind; seeds of doubt and want, seeds that will allow you to see the world as is and bring you into his awaiting, protecting arms. 

After a moment, he finally feels it; the soft beating of your heart, the aura that hums like an enticing melody. Deep breaths bring a slow rise and fall to his chest, allowing it to match the rhythm of your own. A harmony is created between the two, and only then does Beomgyu finally feel it— your mind is inviting him in. He suppresses the triumphant smile that makes his lips twitch. 

Declining such an offer would be quite rude, wouldn’t it?

  ≪⋆⋅☆⋅⋆≫  

You wake with a start. 

Your chest feels as though it might cave in and your gown sticks to your skin in an unbearable way, your body exuding so much heat that you’ve found yourself covered in a thin sheen of sweat. Your mind is racing, you feel as though your heart is ready to burst out of your chest— what happened, why do you feel like this? 

It takes a minute before everything else floods back in. A wave of shame and horror washes over you, searingly hot against your skin as you find yourself throwing the covers of your bed off your body, reaching over at your nightstand instinctively and kneeling at your bedside; your hands shake slightly as you try to ground yourself with the feeling of the rosary beads against your palms.

Prayers leave your lips like a waterfall; attempting to forget the dream— the nightmare— that your mind conjured, surely nothing but a test of faith and temptation to make you stray from the path you painstakingly set up for yourself. 

The beads of the rosary dig deeper into your palms. Your hands press tighter together, your face screwed into a frown of concentration, attempting to rid yourself of the way your mind seems to want to do nothing but wander. Wander to the foreign feeling of a hand gliding against your skin, a smooth path along your bare back and chest, lips that caressed your neck and whispered nothing but praises and promises of divinity and eternal life.

A shudder rips through your body like an earthquake. You must rid yourself of these thoughts. 

Your will is strong, but the temptation is stronger; it sings memories and images from your nightmare, appearing at the most inconvenient moments and making your every movement falter— when you change, vibrant images and raw skin replacing the sight of your body in the mirror with one of pure lust and sin, when you prepare to go out, tucking the rosary safely underneath your layers of clothes, and as you spot Beomgyu in the distance, waving at you with a kind smile on his face; shame bubbles hotly beneath your skin, and you hope that the man who asks you to lead the way with bright eyes simply blames the flustered look of your face on the cold, the pure snow around you. 

“You must be cold,” Beomgyu muses softly, turning to you and suddenly cupping your face; wide eyes meet his as you merely remain still, unsure of what to do as the feeling of his hot hands cupping your flushed skin only make it burn hotter, embarrassment eating you up as his brows twitch at the feeling; he raises a brow, tilting his head in confusion as he inspects you slowly. “Or… perhaps not? Your face is burning.”

“I’m so sorry,” you manage to spit out, taking a step away from him and averting his gaze entirely, hands pressed firmly against your pounding heart, “I’m sorry if I seem to be acting strange, I’m not sure what has gotten into me.” 

Beomgyu shakes his head softly, brows knitted together with worry— oh, you must seem to have lost it, you think to yourself, biting your lip and attempting to brush off your skittish behavior with a soft laugh, Beomgyu must find you strange now.

And whilst Beomgyu continues to feign concern for you, brushing off all your apologies and maintaining a curious facade, his body practically buzzes with excitement; poor, innocent thing, one simple dream was enough to bring you right to where he wanted you— one dream was enough to fluster and break down the solid fortitude you once set up for yourself, the man before you catching you so off guard that you never had a moment to question the sudden turn of events; he had you right where he wanted you, smiling to himself at the way you could barely maintain eye-contact before you were flustering and looking away. 

You told yourself it would pass with time. But hours fly by with Beomgyu and nothing changes— if anything, everything simply got much, much worse— the man seemed to have found solace within you, getting comfortable and finding confidence in being subtly affectionate with you; holding your hand and pulling you along to show you something, brushing the corner of your mouth and teasing you for being such a messy eater, and holding a firm hand at the small of your back while you walked— you couldn’t pretend to be unaware of everyone’s stares even if you tried. 

“Such a small town, isn’t it?” Beomgyu muses to you, taking in the scenery, the people that wander the streets; he finds his eyes meeting with every person they land on, holding back a sneer at the way their stares linger with fascination, landing on you with a myriad of emotions: envy, lust, disdain, he sees it all. “I feel like there’s someone watching us at all times.”

“Oh, I suppose,” you say sheepishly, as though you were the one to blame for his discomfort, “I apologize, I had no idea it would be this busy today— but it’s natural to be curious, I know they mean well.”

Beomgyu nods thoughtfully at your claim; surely, there’s only so much innocence you can harbor before it begins to become naivety— do you really believe such lies? But of course, you’re filled with nothing but surprises, the clear look in your eyes telling him that your words are more for you to believe than him. 

When the sun is beginning to set and the street lamps are beginning to get lit up, Beomgyu sees your mood flip like a switch; you’re getting antsy, you must want to leave soon. It doesn’t take a genius to guess what might be going on in your mind at the moment. 

“You must be tired,” Beomgyu says, slowing to a stop before turning to face you; you led him to one of your favorite parks, taking him into the maze of a garden and along your favorite trail, the light and excitement in your face enough to make the scenery around him seem dull.

You look like a deer caught in headlights at his words; was it so obvious? You stammer and try to sugarcoat how you feel unsure of how to tell him that you want to leave now, not because you’re tired of his presence, but because you feel as though you’re not in your right mind at the moment. 

Oh, how could you possibly tell him that the reason you must leave soon is because you feel a nauseating urge to repent? That, as soon as you say your final goodbyes, smiling shyly and turning around to walk away from him with a haste, you’re going to make your way straight to the church? The night is cold but your body is far from it, face burning with shame as you walk into your sanctuary with a haste, unsure of how to deal with the fact that you’re thinking very impure thoughts over a man you’ve just met; the very reminder is enough to make your stomach lurch once more. 

The warmth of the building doesn’t feel as welcoming anymore; it only makes your body hotter, breaking out with a light sweat as you slowly approach the basin of holy water, dipping your fingers in and slowly crossing yourself— you take a deep breath, ignoring the flames of shame that eat at you as you walk inside. 

The confessional is just by the entrance, at the very end of the left wall and tucked in safely from any private eyes. The velvet curtain beckons you, and as you rush over in a haste, you can’t bring yourself to catch eyes with the priest that stands by the altar, having caught sight of you immediately— there was no one else that would come here so late at night but you. 

You sit at the very edge of your seat, hunched over and staring at your lap as you wait. You can feel the heat of the single lightbulb above you on your back, searing into your nape as you pick at your nails anxiously. It feels like time has frozen within this small booth you’ve cooped yourself in, the heat of it all only making you more restless as you wait, head ducked down in shame, much too afraid to look into the screen that separates you from the only other person that will ever know about the dark thoughts that plague you.

After what feels like an eternity, you hear footsteps approaching; you peek up instinctively, just in time to watch the velvet curtain on the other side get pushed open— your head goes back down hurriedly.

It’s not too often you come into the confessional, but you still find yourself doing the routine like you were born to do so. Your hand crosses yourself dutifully, licking nervously at your dry lips that part to speak— your voice feels timid and broken, the words you speak heavy on your tongue. 

“Bless me father, for I have sinned.”

It’s been about four weeks since you last confessed, you tell him, wringing your hands together as you attempt to find the words to say, feeling as though a heavy lump in your throat prevents you from expressing the truth; it’s too much, you find yourself thinking, the burden and shame of it all bringing a heat to your cheeks, reluctant to voice your sins aloud. Moments pass and you have said nothing, but the priest on the other side remains patient— the silence and the heat of his stare through the screen only makes you more aware of the guilt that sits in your stomach. 

“Father, I don’t know what to do,” you sob softly, the dam finally breaking in one, swift motion; words spill from your lips with abandon, unable to keep track of what to say as you scoot close to the screen, barely on your seat as you lean your forehead against the cool wood.

“I have restrained myself all my life, I’ve avoided the temptation that is thrown my way, the dangers presented to me— I’ve remained strong— yet…” you swallow thickly, a shuddered sigh leaving your lips as your hands brace themselves against the screen; your palms press against the sturdy structure, a false sense of security as you hesitate to say the words you’re about to admit, “yet— these past few days I’ve been plagued with nothing but thoughts of lust. Of blasphemy.” 

For a moment, there’s only silence. Memories seem to bubble up from the confession, detailed and vivid, playing against your eyes that screw shut as though in pain. 

It’s all wrong. So, so so wrong, the warm feelings that stir within unfamiliar as you remember all the thoughts that fill your mind throughout the day. 

“It’s unlike me— I’ve never found myself to think anything so crude, so immoral,” you say, hanging your head with shame, “Yet I find that I cannot stop. Father, I’ve prayed and I’ve remained abstinent, but the thought that I fear the most is the one… that makes me doubt whether I’m on the right path.”

On the other side of the screen, you’re faintly able to make out his figure shifting. Your hesitation is evident as you finally admit something you hadn’t been able to accept yourself. 

“Father, I’m afraid that I’ll give in.”

More silence follows. You’re sure that the priest must be in deep thought on the other side, but the silence only seems to make you more anxious; how low you’ve come, a voice within you chides, wanting to throw away your purity for a man you’ve just only just met. How vile.

The voice is cold and blunt and unlike your own— the sudden thought startles you, your spine straightening as you look around you, a shiver going throughout your body. Inevitably, you look through the screen once more. On the other side, you’re able to see the faint image of the priest, his head hanging and lost in thought. 

You feel as though you’re in a daze for the rest of your time there; you can only nod softly with every piece of advice he offers you, telling you to remain strong and trust that your faith in God will guide you to the right path— he tells you to pray, to devote yourself to the church in any way you can, your penance weighing your heart as you agree to it all. 

“My child, be aware that this is another test of your faith. You mustn’t give in,” he finally says, stopping you in your motion to leave, “You are a pure flower, bound to attract others who do not have your best interest in mind.”

Hesitantly, you nod, unsure if you’re deserving of this praise he sings to you.

“If you ever find yourself in doubt, know that you can always come to me.”

There’s an odd feeling that blooms within you at his words; you know you should feel comforted, honored to have someone to support you in your time of need, but instead you can only muster a wry smile, whispering a soft of course before you’re exiting the booth in a haste. 

Glancing behind you, you’re reassured to see that the priest has yet to come out; you don’t think you could face him any time soon, knowing that despite the anonymity of the booth, your identity is quite obvious. 

No one else resides in the church as you make your way down the nave and down to your usual spot. Your footsteps feel heavy on the rug as you stand before the altar, head tilted up to be able to take it all in properly; the marble statues that look as though they might come to life, the angels that bow down and the intricate details that go to frame the cross in the middle— you stare up at the altar for what feels like hours, the guilt in your heart weighing you as you take a deep bow and go to sit. 

Your mind is calm, but your heart is restless; you pray for forgiveness and plead to not be led astray, yet something within you itches to do just that— a tug at your heart, wondering what it would be like to indulge yourself for once— you’ve seen the other members of your church, the way they comply and worship yet change in the blink of an eye once they’re out of this sanctuary— so, would it really be that bad? You’ve seen their actions, know their hearts; they treat you so kindly, worship your lord so devoutly— so, is it really unjust for you to do the same?

Your nails dig deep into your skin, a way to snap yourself out of that train of thought, scolding yourself for thinking this way of others around you— for attempting to reason with the whispers of temptation that attempt to lure you. 

How long you spend lost in thought is unknown to you— minutes, maybe hours, your knees sore and your clasped hands clammy as you rest your forehead against them, eyes screwed shut and lost in prayer; it was a meditation of sorts, finally able to cast out straying tangents and focus on one thing. Your breathing is slow, tired, your body slowly giving in to the exhaustion, muscles weighing you down as you continue to pray— it isn’t until you’ve found yourself about to doze off that you realize you must leave. 

When you stand, you’re shaken awake instantly. You could’ve sworn you’d be the only one left in the building by now, yet the priest still lingers by the altar, tending to the candles and shifting about— the smile you send when he glances behind curiously and meets your eyes must seem as ingenuine as it feels, because you see his expression fall instantly. 

It’s important to rest. You must be seeing things, you think, tightening your coat around you before you’re stepping out of your pew and turning to leave— your steps are unconsciously haste, your arms that wrap around yourself unnaturally tight, yet you still flinch the moment your name is being called— softly, but still echoing throughout the building. 

You find yourself feeling reluctant as you turn. Your words are timid as you address him.

“Yes Father?”

Upon your surprise, he is not too far from you— as though he had been mere steps behind, wanting to close the gap between you two as he continues to move forward; he sends you a soft smile, head tilting in curiosity and brows furrowing in worry as he speaks. 

“My dear, are you leaving? At this hour?” he asks, watching you nod meekly, “But it is so dangerous; it is far too cold and dark for someone like you to be out alone.”

Sheepishly, you smile, hands wringing themselves without you realizing.

“It’s quite alright, Father. I’m stronger than you think.”

The soft laugh he lets out is meant to be lighthearted, though you can’t help but think it’s one of disbelief instead. 

“I’m sure, but you must understand my concern; to let you leave alone like this would be wrong of me.” His smile is fond as he steps closer to you, gesturing behind him as he proposes, “Why don’t you stay here for the night? It’d be much safer.”

“Oh, thank you Father, but I think it’d be better for me to go to my home instead,” you say softly, pressing your hands firmly against your beating heart, “I have a busy day tomorrow, and I don’t think it’d be wise to rest on the pews.” 

He laughs again, shaking his head in amusement; your brows knit together in slight confusion, laughing along hesitantly nonetheless.

“Of course my dear,” he starts, your smile widening in hopes that he’s giving up this small fight, “but that’s not what I was referring to.”

“I meant that you should rest here tonight,” he repeats again, voice softening as he continues, “with me.”

Your eyes widen in shock— it’s painted all over your face as well, unsure of what to make of his sudden offer as you resort to letting out an incredulous laugh instead. 

“Oh Father, I couldn’t possibly—” you gulp, softening your tone at the sight of his confused face, “It– it wouldn’t be right. I mustn’t disturb you.” 

“But you wouldn’t be disturbing at all,” he insists, taking a step toward you, talking animatedly with his hands as he does, “I’m inviting you, afterall, I’d love the company— it does get lonely sometimes, I must admit.”

You attempt to maintain a look of understanding, nodding along to his every word— but you remain firm in your stance regardless as you respond. 

“I understand, and I truly do appreciate the offer,” you try again, beginning to walk back despite the slow souring of his face, “but, even so, I really must leave—”

“Why?” he suddenly interrupts, his voice sharp and his expression cold, “why are you so insistent on leaving?”

“I’m tired, is all—”

“Lies.” he shuts you down again. “All of it. For if you were true to your word, you’d have no issue accepting my offer to accommodate you.”

Shaking your head, you shrink within yourself, shoulders caving in as he begins following your steps— you attempt to give him reason, to be polite and kind, yet he hears none of it. 

“You come to plead for forgiveness yet are so quick to run back to your old ways,” he says, his every step like a resounding boom in your mind— you deny him adamantly again, but all you get in response is a cold look. 

It seems as though you’ve nowhere to go— the doors had been shut due to the cold and your back presses against it, but before you can reach for the handle and open your only exit, you find yourself trapped— the priest’s hand is heavy as it slams on the handle, the loud sound causing you to jump and yelp in surprise. 

“Can’t you see? I only want what’s best for you,” you feel as though you might merge with the wood of the door as you press yourself to it, eyes glued to the floor in an attempt to escape the cruel wrath of the priest that towers above you, spitting words of discipline, “It’s dangerous for you out there. You haven’t the slightest idea what would happen to you if you were found like this— alone, helpless, defenseless.”

“I have gone out of my way to provide you shelter, yet you refuse; I know what it is you’re truly adamant to get back to,” he grits, as though it pained him to say— his eyes narrow, watching as you merely tremble and refuse to look at him, finding himself tired of you not meeting his eye— the cry you let out is insignificant as he takes hold of your shoulders, shaking you and crouching down to meet your face. 

“And I will not have you whoring yourself out to another man! ” Your eyes are screwed shut now, tears threatening to flow down as you reach for the hands on your shoulders, attempting to pry them off— he pays no mind to your attempts, continuing to scream in your face until you find that you can withstand no more. 

“Please! Let me go!” 

Your chest heaves. Your wide eyes are brimming with tears and your legs are shaking terribly, just like your hands that have just shoved the priest off you; he seems just as shocked as you are, mouth parted in surprise before he finally goes to regain his composure.

“I-I’m so sorry Father, I–” your voice breaks and you feel the hot streams of tears on your cheeks, a trembling hand reaching behind you in search of the handle— when you find it, you immediately pull it open. 

“I–I— I must go, I’m so sorry, please forgive me, I didn’t mean it, I’m so—”

“You do not deserve to be deflowered and tainted by the evils of this world,” the priest says, his voice hoarse and stopping you effortlessly in your tracks; he doesn’t bother looking at you anymore, staring at your feet with a pinched expression of frustration instead. “But if that is what your blasphemous heart truly desires, then so be it.”

When his head raises and his eyes meet yours, you’re stunned— his eyes shine, a forlorn look settled within them. 

“You were so perfect, my child,” he says softly, frowning at the fear in your eyes, the heavy heaving of your chest, “you were divine.”

“May God have mercy on your soul.”

Brows furrowing together, you deny him one last time— this time, he simply watches as you slip out the door, fleeing with sharp steps and sobbing quietly into your hands, cheeks stinging from the cold. 

The path before you is dim— the trek to your home is long. Without realizing, you think of the priest’s warnings, tears an endless stream as you part your lips in a soft whisper. 

“Oh Saint Michael the Archangel, defend us in battle. Be our protection…”

Through the long journey back to your way home, you sob and you pray. By the top steps of the church, hidden by the columns and tucked safely into the darkness, Beomgyu watches. He watches until your figure is nothing but a small speck against the vast landscape of the town, your trembling body and the echoes of your soft sobs ingrained into his mind. 

Slowly, he turns back to look at the doors, into the small sliver of warm light provided by your failure to close the door properly. 

His eyes catch movement; a grin grows on his face.

  ≪⋆⋅☆⋅⋆≫  

Tonight, it seems as though your heart and your mind have finally conceded. Tonight, you dream deeply. 

In your dreams, it is all a haze; you’ve found yourself within the holy sanctuary once more, slowly making your way down the nave, past the crowded pews of hooded figures with their heads ducked down, hands folded dutifully in front of you and your eyes pinned straight ahead. The altar beckons you, the thickened, incensed air bringing a calm through your system as you walk. You walk and you walk, eyes pinned on the cross that looms over you. 

The path seems to warp— the nave seems never-ending, the carpet slowly becoming worn and darkened with every step you take— your heart beats a little faster now, nails digging into your skin with a subconscious tension; yet you continue to walk, whether you want to or not. 

Everything feels so heavy. You feel lethargic and dizzy, feeling as though submerged underwater, limbs moving oh so slowly; the room around you has begun to darken, unable to halt your trek down to the altar no matter how much you try— everything has begun to fade to black, the pews of people turning to dust, the carpet beneath you disappearing beneath your feet— the only thing that remains steady is the altar in front of you and the steps you take. 

You can’t breathe— have you been breathing at all? It’s a fleeting thought that crosses your mind, the burning of your lungs and the pressure on your chest sudden and alarming— the smell of incense no longer enters your system, but you can still feel the air thicken around you; somehow, your eyes remain wide open through it all, stuck onto the mesmerizing, pure altar that remains on its fixed point in the distance. 

It feels as though hours have passed, and you’ve yet to make any progress. Your body remains still as the darkness around you. Just when you’ve begun to wonder if there will ever be any end in sight, something changes. 

It’s subtle, at first— you think it might just be a trick of the mind. The very edges of the altar have started to fade into the darkness, the sharp edges of the pure, white marble statues turning fuzzy— the wings of the angels, the top of the cross, the podium that holds it all up— it’s fading into the abyss, becoming one with the eternal nothingness around you— and as much as you feel yourself panic, wanting to speed your pace, break into a run in a weak attempt to stop it— you can’t. The sound of your steps is like a metronome in your ears, falling against the void and keeping you still. All you can do is watch. 

Your eyes remain wide open throughout it all. Your dress sways with every step you take, your body not realizing that soon enough, you’ll be walking towards nothing. The faces of the angel’s are now fading into obscurity, the darkness prickling at Jesus’ nailed hands and thorned crown; your heart hammers against your chest, forced to watch as it pools around Mary’s feet. 

The few remnants of the holy altar are slowly being swallowed by this strange darkness; sorrow fills your weak being, wondering why it is that your body continues to walk forward— there is nothing left to go to, the last of Mary’s bowed body getting lost into the abyss— and as your eyes scan her smooth, marble complexion, you catch on a single crimson tear, welling up at the inner corner of her eye, able to watch it grow as though you were standing inches before it— it grows and grows, until it can no longer stay still. The path it runs down the smoothness of her cheeks is striking, a sharp trail left behind as it drips off into nothing. 

The last of her fades away. 

There is nothing but darkness ahead of you; even so, you continue forward. Your mind has emptied, body becoming lax as the steps you take become effortless, light, like walking on air. Your eyelids feel heavy with sleep, the haze in your brain returning twice as strong. 

You can feel yourself walking, but you cannot see anything; not even yourself. A voice within wonders if you might be left to walk forever, towards an end goal that will never show itself to you. 

Come to me. 

Despite your shock, you do not halt. The voice is soft and sweet, like dripping honey— it’s only three words, but even so, you find yourself entranced, following the command even if you’re unsure whether you’re going the right direction. 

Closer, come. 

The voice beckons you so effortlessly, like a leash that wraps around your figure, pulling you forward, following your instinct to continue to walk, to explore what it is that calls to you so sweetly. 

Unlike the altar that has now been lost on your once worried mind, something has begun to fade into view. It is soft and hazy, with a slight glow that hurts your eyes— unable to make out what it is you’re now making your way towards, eyes dilating and adjusting slowly. 

A bright, ruffled shirt, a corset that’s tied tightly, long flowing sleeves covering the hands that rest leisurely at their sides; your gaze is quick to sweep up their appearance, a quick observation before you move onto what tugs at your curiosity the most— only to find that their face remains obscured by the darkness, a slight blur of what could be registering in your mind— you think you see soft, plump lips that curl into a reassuring smile, but it might be wishful thinking, if anything at all. 

Slowly, they raise a hand— calling you closer, the path beneath you finally beginning to shrink with each step you take— their fingertips outstretched toward you, as though expecting you to do the same. And even when you fail to mirror their actions, they refuse to falter, accepting you as you are. 

It is only when you stand before them that your body finally stops. Your face expressionless as you observe the person in front of you carefully, oddly hesitant to accept their offer. You stand for a moment, left in a standstill as the figure lets out a soft, echoing laugh. 

Do not be afraid, they tell you, their words wrapping around you warmly, take my hand. 

You blink. Your body suddenly feels like your own, the grounding heaviness of your limbs making you realize that it is now you who controls what you do next; glancing down at yourself curiously, you look back up at the figure, where they remain waiting expectantly.

You take a step closer. Their smile widens slightly. 

Good, they say, soft and deep like a purr, closer. 

Slowly, you bring a hand up, finding a slight hesitation to make contact with this outstretched hand— and, as though hearing your doubts, the figure chuckles, teasing and lighthearted, as though already aware of what you will choose in the end. 

When your skin touches theirs, you feel nothing. It is like air under your palm. 

Your grip tightens, unsure if you’ve taken their hand at all; before you can so much as take a breath, their hold shifts, hand sliding forward and deft fingers wrapping tightly around your wrist, fingertips digging into the skin— you’re pulled in without warning, stumbling forward and crashing into their strong chest. 

Looking up, you find that you cannot bring yourself to feel afraid— their smile is radiant as they look down at you, the faint outline of their head much too fuzzy for you to understand— the air cracks as two pure wings stretch out, curling around the two of you and moving to cage you in shortly after— feathers fly around the air from the aggressive movement, fluttering around before they rot black, lighting at the quill and turning to ashes, the crackling sounds filling your ears as you look around you in confusion, only to get the sight obscured by the darkening wings that trap you. 

Eyes on me, the voice says, echoing in your mind, following their command immediately. The soft smile that remained on their lips can no longer be contained, growing into a grin that shows off brilliant canines that shine down at you. I will give you everything you seek. 

Feeling the twinge of hope in your heart, the figure pulls you closer still, allowing your body to press against theirs. 

Seek me, they whisper lowly, a hand beginning to snake around your waist, dancing fingertips pressing into the small of your back— leaning down, they whisper softly into your ear. 

Find me in our sanctuary, you can hear their grin through their words, and I will give you all you yearn for. 

Their lips ghost over the shell of your ear. 

Quickly. 

Before you can react, they dissolve to nothing. 

You’re left alone in the abyss once more. 

  ≪⋆⋅☆⋅⋆≫  

When you startle awake, you find that it is still nighttime; sitting straight up in your bed, you look out the window— snow falls peacefully, the quietness of the scenery doing nothing to calm your beating heart. 

The dream. 

Words and messages echo throughout your mind, unsure of what to make of it all. Your chest heaves slightly with confusion, eyes adjusting to the darkness as you glance over at your bedside table— the statue of the cross greets you like always, the soft voice from your dream resurfacing in your tired brain. 

Your body is moving on its own accord; your coat, your shoes, all of it is being thrown on before your dazed mind can even process it, still weighed with sleep as you stumble around in the darkness. Only one thought seems to keep you moving, like a restless pull that leads you out your front door. 

Swinging it open, you’re met with the freezing winter breeze; the trees sway and creak, snowflakes falling in your direction and landing against the apples of your cheeks— shaking you awake slightly, a quiet voice within you wondering what it is you’re doing, telling you that you should go back inside and rest— but even through this small window of reason you receive, the warmth that leaks from behind your home attempting to wrap around you and pull you back in, the need to seek closure haunts you; your boots crunch beneath the freshly fallen snow, sealing your fate as you haphazardly close the door behind you.

It all feels like a dream still— and you wonder if it is, blinking away the snow that gets in your eyes, your walk through the emptied path that leads back to the center of town turning haste; you feel as though it is something else that is pushing you forward, allowing you to head through this dark and barren path without so much as a light to guide the way, the sound of the wind whistling through your ears and the snow crunching beneath your feet following along.

There must be a reason, your weary mind thinks, a passing thought through the blankness of your mind, passing through the desolate, closed shops, not a single street lantern lit to give you a sense of security, there is something calling you back. 

In your right state of mind, you never would have found yourself doing this; after what happened mere hours ago, you wouldn’t have been able to walk in this general direction without feeling guilt and fear weighing you down— in your fully conscious state of mind, you would have stopped to contemplate your actions the moment you began to lace up your shoes— but in this moment, as you slow to a stop and turn to face the stone steps that lead to the first faint, flickering light you’ve seen tonight, you’re none of that— instead, you allow yourself to give in to this strange, delirious state of being you’ve found yourself in. 

The tall steps of the church have blurred together. Your head remains bowed, eyes glued to your feet as you ascend, hands folded neatly in front of you as snow falls around you, on your clothes and in your hair. 

When you arrive at the top, a hand reaching out for the entrance, you hesitate— your eyes widen, and as though a bucket of ice water has been poured over you, you take in the door that has been left ajar, the lights that are no longer on inside; your hand remains outstretched for a moment, and for the first time tonight, a single question runs through your head.

Why are you here?

Standing straight, you turn to look over your shoulder, out at the town behind you— all is still, eerily so, like you’re the only person there. Even in the distance, in the neighborhoods, you do not find a single light on. A chill runs through your body, suddenly aware that you’re standing outside in the snowfall with nothing but your nightgown and a winter coat on; with blazing cheeks, you rush to slip inside the sanctuary in hopes of getting your confused mind back in order. 

The door falls shut behind you, the soft click rendering you in complete darkness; not even the magnificent, stained glass windows are able to provide you with a proper source of light, nervously looking around and taking in the church in this desolate, foreign state.

You’ve heard that old habits die hard— without realizing, you’ve made your way to the basin of holy water, shaking fingers reaching in to be dipped so you can cross yourself— only, you continue to reach in, going in further until your fingertips are touching the cool porcelain of the bowl; head snapping over the sensation, you frown in confusion at the sight of the empty basin— walking over to the one placed adjacently, you squint, reaching in unsurely, only to be met with the same cold feeling. 

Strange.

Retracting your hand, you cradle it close to your chest, a frown tugging at your features as you try to brush off the confusion; looking forward once more, you’re left face to face with the marble altar that sits at the end of the nave, beckoning you to come closer. 

It must’ve been a sign of God. That is the only explanation that would justify the strange circumstances of it all, making you way down the familiar carpet, the soft sound of your steps enough to rival the beating of your heart in your ears. 

Stepping off the carpet, you go to bow in respect— only to hear a strange sound beneath your feet, like a splashing of sorts— glancing down in confusion, your eyes narrow, attempting to decipher what it is you’ve stepped in; a pool of water maybe, looking above you to see if there might be a leak in the ceiling— a few seconds go by, and when you neither feel nor see anything fall, your frown deepens. 

“You came.” 

Your heart spikes and your gaze drops to the source of the sound, unable to do anything but gasp from the startle— through the darkness, standing behind the altar, a figure speaks to you. The sight is reminiscent and makes your legs shake, a mixture of fear and awe filling your body as you find yourself unable to speak. 

“I wondered what it would take for you to finally give in,” the voice, soft and melodic, murmurs; even through the darkness, you can feel their gaze pinned onto you intently. “Such a shame it had to go this far.”

Before you can react, a thunder-like sound fills the empty walls of the church, cracking loudly and causing you to flinch, ducking down and covering yourself instinctively— through your eyelids that remain screwed shut, you see light filling the room around you, the flickering warmth of the candles glowing against your lids, beckoning you to look— after a moment, you give in. 

Your hands tremble as you put them down, straightening up and taking a look around you: the candles have been lit up, from the chandeliers and lanterns above you to the small, worn candles at the sides of the altar— your eyes squint, trying to adjust, rubbing the sleep out of them and blinking slowly as you finally take in the figure that awaited your arrival. 

A familiar face smiles down at you sweetly. 

A loose, white shirt, a corset that ties tightly around the waist, flowing sleeves that pool around his delicate hands— your shaking pupils take it all in, lips parting to speak, only to close once more when you’ve found that nothing can come out. His hair is mused and curls at the nape of his neck, long strands falling into his kind eyes that watch you carefully. 

Behind him, two vast white wings stretch out, the grand sight making your eyes widen in wonder. 

Before you can control yourself, your knees buckle in shock. 

Beomgyu laughs at you, the sound tender to your ears; placing his hands on the table of the altar, he leans forward, looking down at you and tilting his head in curiosity. 

“What’s wrong, my lamb?”

All you can do is stare, left speechless and shaken as you remain silent— he laughs again, eyes crinkling in amusement, bright smile on display and adding to his otherworldly appearance. 

“Do not be afraid,” he says, cradling his face with his palm, cooing softly at the way you still remain paralyzed with shock, “I only want what’s best for you, little lamb.” 

You blink; shifting, you’ve found your clothes have become soaked at the knees, realizing belatedly that you must’ve fallen into the puddle from earlier— glancing down, you wince, only to freeze at what you see. 

A striking crimson soils your clothes. It drags into a path that leads off into one of the rooms on the side, your heart sinking and a cold fear striking down your spine. 

The scream that rips though you echoes and burns your throat. 

Beomgyu frowns. He’s not surprised, nor is he confused; he simply continues to watch you, beginning to round the altar table the moment you begin to crawl back from where you kneel, your legs refusing to cooperate as hot tears brim your eyes. 

“Oh no,” he tsks softly, wings folding inward so he can make his way down the nave, brows knitting together as he watches you, the intensity of his gaze keeping your eyes pinned on his as you cry in confusion, attempting to stand shakily, only to fail— he pouts, stepping in the puddle that startled you, watching as you flinch at the sight of the brilliant droplets that splash out and cling to his once pristine, white boots. “Why do you run?” 

“That— the-the blood—” you sob, hysterical, unable to get your words out through stuttered breaths, “What—”

“Shh,” he hushes you hastily, closing the distance between the two of you and stepping on your delicate nightgown, forcing you to be still as he towers over you— he leans down, hair framing his face beautifully, mischievous eyes twinkling as his face hovers inches before yours— his wings cage around the two of you, a sight to see as you merely stare up at him in utter consternation, “don’t bother with him.”

A chill runs down your spine, electrifying and forcing you to sit ram-rod straight— through the small cracks beneath his wings, you take in the streaks that have dried against the tiles, the implication of his words causing a feeling of dread to pool within you, feeling as though you might vomit with the next words you speak. 

“Who…” you breathe out, shaky and helpless as you stare up at Beomgyu; he had already been watching you, apathetic expression bringing sheer horror to your system, finally noticing small details you had been so eager to gloss over in your earlier haste— the tainted sleeves of his shirt, the messiness of his clothes, his empty, dark eyes— and your face screws into an expression of sorrow, your nails digging into the soiled carpet beneath you. 

“What have you done?”

Beomgyu doesn’t react to your question. He remains still, eerily so, before he finally stands up straight, wings spreading proudly behind him; he stares down at you, hands held behind his back and voice flat as he speaks. 

“Nothing I haven’t done before.”

Beomgyu thinks this might be his favorite part; he allows himself to watch as you force yourself to your feet, eyes blown out with horror as you stumble back, afraid he might come after you— when you see he has yet to move, you turn and run, the sight familiar as a grin grows on his face; he allows you to slam against the doors, watches confusion flood your actions as you attempt to force the door open, only beginning to take steps to go after you once you’ve begun to pound on the door hastily, hoarse voice screaming and crying for help, hoping for someone to hear your pleas and rescue you. 

“You know, there’s no one that would be out on a night like this,” Beomgyu calls out, his voice booming effortlessly over your painful attempts to seek rescue; his steps are slow and cruel, and you look over your shoulder, tensing at the sight of him nearing you, refusing to give up as you try slamming your body against the wood, only to no avail. “No one stupid enough, that is.”

Your body is well beyond bruised by now, pausing your attempts to break down the door in a desperate hope to check the handle once more; you’re rattling it roughly, crying out when you’re met with resistance. Defeated, your forehead slams against the wood, allowing your sobs to wrack through your body, fingers tightening around the handle hopelessly. 

“Now now, don’t be like this,” Beomgyu’s soft voice coos into your ear, much closer than you anticipated him to be; you flinch, feeling his lips ghost over the shell of your ear, his chest pressing firmly against your back— his arms wrap around your waist slowly, bringing you in and forcing you to remain pressed against him, “is this not what you have been seeking all along?”

Effortlessly, he pulls you away from the door. Maybe it’s the will to fight that ebbs out of your being, or maybe it’s his superhuman strength, pulling you off and forcing the two of you to walk backwards, your hands falling limply at your sides and your head falling back to stare at the ceiling, glossy eyes barely processing the words he speaks next. 

“Come with me,” he murmurs, the searing touch of his hands searing through your clothes, burning your skin, “your heart has been searching for me, you know.”

Allowing him to walk you backwards, you whimper at his words— a sharp reminder of what it was that kept bringing you back here, unwavering guilt sinking your stomach at the faint fire that flickers within. 

“No. Please,” you breath out, hushed and hurried as you shake your head, “Please, I beg of you, have mercy—”

Beneath you, you hear the familiar splash of liquid; you yelp in panic, jumping against Beomgyu’s body and trying to look down on instinct— you’re stopped before you can successfully do so, his heated palm pressing against your eyes, forcing you to be left in the dark. 

“Don’t.” he says softly, his arm tightening around you, feeling tears pool beneath his skin, “you’re alright, I’m here with you.” 

“Such a poor thing. Life has treated you quite unfairly, hasn’t it?” Beomgyu speaks aloud, feeling you hesitate and stumble as he leads you up towards the elevated altar, listening to your jagged breaths with a slightly pitied look. “Perfect and pure all your life, a devoted follower of god.” 

“Don’t worry,” Beomgyu says, hand coming off your eyes for just a moment— not that you even noticed, your eyes had been screwed shut all along— only to wrap a cloth around your head instead, deft hands making a careful knot at the back of your head; sliding your clothing to the side, Beomgyu ignores the way you jolt when his soft lips press a kiss to your shoulder. His breath tickles as it fans on your skin. 

“You’ve done well, my lamb.”

Beomgyu knows that you will never be able to grasp what is happening; especially not in this stunned state you’re in, the cloth around your eyes already soaked through with silent tears, hands limp at your sides as he takes in your face curiously, noticing your lips that move with silent words. 

Even now, you pray. 

My Lord and my God, your lips read, whispers of the faint words slipping from you, in my acceptance of the type of death you plan for me, I join your sufferings on the Cross. 

Beomgyu watches you hesitate. Your bottom lip wobbles and your throat swallows thickly. 

All I ask is that you stand beside me and never leave me.

Even through the veil that has been put over your eyes, a stray tear manages to slip through. 

Beomgyu should feel bad for laughing, he supposes— but he can’t help it, taking in the melodramatic sight with thorough amusement, watching you flinch and press your lips together tightly. He shakes his head softly, finding himself becoming fond of your antics as he takes a hold of your hand, ignoring the way you startle so easily as he guides you to where he wants you instead. 

“Oh dear,” he sighs, leading you to press back against the altar table, stiffening at the unexpected feeling, “I fear you may have misunderstood me entirely. See, I don’t want to kill you, my lamb.”

Your brows furrow; he’s confused you, he can tell. 

“There’s something your pretty little heart has been curious about, isn’t there?” he asks, a grin stretching across his face as you shiver, already aware of what he may be hinting at— but even so, you try to remain clueless, even if you’re quite terrible at it. “Something… you want.”

“There is nothing,” you reply, quickly, albeit shakily, “please, I just— just spare me—”

“Now, there’s no need to lie.” Beomgyu coos, placing his hands on your waist, hoisting you up on the altar table in one swift motion; you gasp, hands reaching blindly for something to stable yourself on, one landing on Beomgyu’s shoulder and the other on the marble beneath you— the hand on his body quickly slips off, and Beomgyu finds himself craving for more. 

“You’ve been denying yourself for so long,” Beomgyu murmurs, his voice a hypnotizing lull that causes you to gulp. His fingertips dance across your waist, trailblazing a fire that refuses to die down, mixing with the fear that pounds your heart against your chest. “You must feel so, so trapped.”

“There’s no need to pretend here,” he smiles, reaching up to caress your cheek, watching you gulp, fists clenched tightly in your lap, “I’m aware of everything. It’s only human nature, after all.”

Fervently, you shake your head. Your consistent denial is almost impressive to Beomgyu, the facade of confidence you try to exude with your voice both evident and pity-inducing. 

“I refuse to give in to the temptations of sin,” you say, the words like a recited script at this point; Beomgyu’s lip curls in distaste. 

“It is not sin,” he whispers softly, hands beginning to wander down from your sides to your hips, grasping softly at the skin before moving down, to the tops of your thighs and over your hands that remain clenched tightly, “it is merely the human experience.”

His hands feel hot over your own; you can feel him press against your body from where you sit, undoubtedly looming over you and caging you in as he speaks. His actions are absentminded as he caresses your hand, stroking the skin soothingly as he continues to invade your senses, whispering things that only the deepest, darkest parts of your heart have considered. 

“You’ve worked so hard to live a pious, pure life,” Beomgyu says, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he watches you frown, finally beginning to listen to the words he feeds you, “even at the face of danger, you remained loyal— even now, you continue to refuse me.”

“But, don’t you see? The lord has brought you here for a reason.” His eyes shine the moment you shift restlessly under his grip, pressing himself tighter against you, “your dreams, your thoughts, they have led you here for a purpose only you can serve.”

You try to refute him yet again; your lips open, but you hesitate, unsure of what to say. You remain quiet instead. 

“Will you deny the fate god has bestowed you?”

A soft pout forms on your face; your heart is racing, and your mind must be too, because you don’t bother to react when Beomgyu’s hand leaves your own, trailing down your thighs and prodding your legs open so he can stand between them— too deep in thought to realize that he’s lifting your nightgown up, bunching it at your knees tentatively. 

Beomgyu watches you carefully, taking in your silence and smiling triumphantly as he speaks, “Here,” his other hand slides to place itself on the bare skin of your inner thigh, watching with sadistic pleasure as you jolt and yelp in surprise, “I’ll show you what it is you’ve been searching for.”

Your skin is tender as he begins to trail forward, eager to touch you and familiarize himself with you— only to get stopped by your trembling hand, his eyes darting to your troubled face, brows furrowing with confusion as he watches you muster the courage to say something. 

“N…Not…” it feels as though nerves and fear have swallowed you whole, having to take a deep breath in order to continue your sentence, “Not here. Not like this.”

“Hmm? But where else could this possibly happen?” he asks teasingly, much too desperate to heed your half-hearted request, “my lamb, it is perfect here.”

“Beomgyu, this place, it’s sacred,” your lips pressed together, using all the courage within you to speak up, “It is a home to me, I couldn’t bear to desecrate it—”

Beomgyu’s fingers dig into the plush of your thigh, able to feel his face hover over yours as he speaks through gritted teeth, eyes burning holes into your skin. 

“This was my home too.”

It all happens so suddenly; you’re pushed to lay back against the table, legs forced open as Beomgyu gets closer still, your lips parting in a soft gasp as he successfully bunches your nightgown at your hips, looming over you so he can undo your coat. 

“And our lord has decreed that it is here where I finally take you.” he hisses, watches as you can only let our a broken whimper and shift restlessly beneath him; the fire has consumed you wholly by now, he knows, the seeds of lust planted within you far too much for a person like you to bare— even the graze of his fingertips against your bare skin is enough to have you gasping. 

“I’ve waited long enough to taste you.”

Your body is alight with nerves, buzzing at the sensations around you— though you see nothing, it heightens your other senses, forced to take note of every motion and touch Beomgyu leaves on you, from his deft hands that undo your coat to the warmth of his body between your thighs, lips pressed together in a mix of anticipation and dread— all you can do is lie and wait. 

When Beomgyu’s hands slither back down to your core, you’re a squirming mess; he’s done nothing to you, yet you already seem so broken down and pliant— you’re a sweet sight, bitten lips parting eagerly in surprise once he suddenly plants his hand firmly against your core; your panties are pathetically soaked through, a soft cry escaping you at the heat of his touch against you, hands flying to grab at his wrist— unsure of whether to press him closer of pry him off. 

In the end, you do neither of the two. Beomgyu grins at your hesitation, a clear battle still ongoing inside your mind as you allow him to slowly rock his palm against your cunt, rubbing at your clit and causing you to sob softly at the unfamiliar sensation; your back arches and jolts of pleasure strike through you, the underlying guilt of it all causing tears to quickly well up at the corners of your eyes— though, from pleasure or shame, you’re no longer sure of. 

“Poor thing,” he coos softly, applying a sudden pressure against your cunt, all to watch the way your back arches in surprise, “it’s quite easy to make you cry, isn’t it?”

“This must all be so new to you,” he hums, rubbing at your cunt until your panties have begun to stick uncomfortably to you, your arousal soaking through and coating the heel of his hand thickly, “so pretty. Like an angel.”

His words cause a wave of heat to wash over your body; you feel restless, desperate for more, yet unsure of how to communicate as you find yourself hesitating each time, the undying guilt within you forcing your fingertips to dig into Beomgyu’s forearm a bit deeper.

“Hmm? What is it you need, my lamb?” he asks, even if he can practically see the thoughts running through your head, reading your body and the way your hips fight to cant against his hand, “Tell me, what do you want?” 

The way you shake your head petulantly brings a huff from Beomgyu; he watches as you heat up at his question, lips trembling with embarrassment, chin tucked down into your chest as though it would be enough to hide from his gaze— chuckling, Beomgyu allows a few more seconds to pass, letting you sit with your own confliction, before he finally decides to take pity on you; a shaky gasp escapes your lips as Beomgyu’s hand shifts, middle and ring fingers trailing up until they press against the fabric of your panties, pushing in and teasing your leaking hole. 

“Why do you hold back still?” he asks softly, his hand that isn’t teasing you incessantly smoothing down your thigh, stopping at your knee so he can wrap it around his slim waist, “there’s no need to continue this act of yours; do not lie under the eyes of god.”

You cry softly, a cacophony of emotions raging within you as your nails dig deeper into your palms, cunt throbbing and sending sparks of electricity as Beomgyu presses his fingers further into you, stretching the fabric and soaking it with your own arousal— through hushed, trembled words, you finally gather the courage to speak. 

“I want…” you hesitate, shifting on the cold marble of the altar table, turning your head to the side in a faux attempt to avoid Beomgyu’s scrutiny, “I want more.” 

“I don’t believe you.” Beomgyu immediately chides, his fingers moving to ghost over your clit, a satisfied smile growing on his face as you feel the shocks of pleasure from his movements, already too much for your innocent body, “you expect me to take such a weak request seriously?”

You gasp in surprise as Beomgyu suddenly takes a hold of your chin, forcing you to face him once more as you feel him hovering over you; his breath fans across your face, eyelids fluttering behind your blindfold at the sensation. 

“Tell me again,” he says, his fingers applying just the slightest more pressure on your clit, watching as the pleasure breaks you effortlessly; his lips brush against the corner of your mouth, able to feel his coy smile as he speaks. “Tell me like you mean it.”

Beomgyu waits for you eagerly; his touch on your cunt is almost nonexistent, applying just enough pressure here and there as a reminder of what it is you so desperately wish for— it’s so easy to get you to where he wants, he thinks, watching you become overwhelmed by his presence, by the pleasure he continues to give and take away. After a mere few seconds, you finally cave. 

“Beomgyu…” you trail off, the sudden use of his name bringing a shiver through his body, the sound sweet and pure like he dreamed it to be, “Beomgyu, I can’t— I feel so strange, please help me— I need more.”

He chuckles lowly at your words; placing a gentle kiss at the corner of your mouth, Beomgyu straightens up, leaving you for a moment in order to hook his fingers under your panties, ready to drag them slowly down your hips. 

“Do you have any idea what you do to me?” he sighs aloud, watching with fond eyes as you startle at the sensation, legs jumping to close back together— but he won’t allow it, standing firmly between them and forcing your hips to lift, all so he can pull off the only article of clothing standing between him and what he’s desired for so long; his eyes darken at the string of arousal that follows the seat of your panties, eagerly taking in your puffy, needy cunt, body becoming alight with a carnal need to consume you whole. “You’re perfect. Truly a gift from god.” 

He can’t help but grin at his own comment, eyes flickering back up at the altar above him, the candles that flicker wildly— then he looks back down at you, your puffy, tear stained face and your hands that remain tense at your sides, lips pressed together in fear of letting a sound escape— but Beomgyu is much too eager to let you have what you want. 

This ashamed and reserved attitude of yours will be no more— he’s determined to have you melt under his touch, fingertips curious as they finally begin to caress your bare cunt, teeth sinking into his lip as he takes in every gasp, arch, and tense your body gives him. 

It’s slow and oh so cruel, the way he swipes the pads of his fingertips along your slit, bringing the arousal to your clit and circling it softly, all so he can watch you pant and shiver at the sensations— your hands have moved to grasp at your clothes, jaw clenched as your mind tries to keep up with all these new sensations: you feel so hot and restless, a fiery itch settling deep in your core, only alleviated with the stray sparks of pleasure Beomgyu gives you— it’s too much, yet not enough at all. 

“Won’t you let me hear you?” Beomgyu asks, fingers beginning to prod at your entrance, circling it leisurely as he observes you, “it’s no fun like this.”

You can hear the pout in his words, petulant and teasing as he coos out your name, “C’mon, I know you sound as sweet as you look.”

You’re given no warning when his fingers breach your entrance; a yelp escapes you before you can process it, the sudden stretch bringing chills down your spine— it’s just his middle finger first, lithe and calculated as it curls and prods at your walls, feeling you flutter and clench around him as he adds his ring finger in next— you’re letting out a cry at how fast it all happens, a hand reaching down to grasp at his wrist, a mixture of shock and pleasure filling your being. 

“Beomgyu…!”

“Again,” he murmurs, fingers beginning to stretch your walls, pumping steadily and curling, listening to the quiet mewls and moans you let out, “louder. Show me how much you like it.”

“Beomgyu… oh–! N-not there, ah–!” You’re a squirming mess, shifting beneath his hold and shaking your head, the feelings far too much for you— Beomgyu doesn’t bother to heed your requests, abusing the soft, spongy parts of your walls that seem to make you react the most; you choke and hiccup pathetic moans, thighs tensing and spasming around him, hands shaking from the tight hold you have on your nightgown; it gets difficult having to chase your hips after a while, Beomgyu’s eyes narrowing as he places a harsh hand down on you, pinning you down against the table, fingers digging into the soft skin as you gasp. 

“Stay still.” is all he says to you, palm pressing against your clit as he slowly fingers you, drinking in the miniscule changes of your expression eagerly, “Don’t fight it.” 

“It feels good, doesn’t it?” He asks, punctuating his words with a cruel curl into you; you gasp, chest heaving as a tight coil builds up within you, “doesn’t it feel so nice?” 

“So sad, you’ve been denying yourself such bliss for so long,” Beomgyu utters softly, cooing at the way you cry and struggle to remain sane, overwhelmed by everything Beomgyu does to you, “won’t you let me take care of you?” 

Carefully, he hovers over you, strands of his hair brushing against your cheeks as he presses a soft kiss to your jaw, lips caressing the column of your neck as he smiles softly. 

“Wouldn’t you like for me to taste you?”

He’s sure you don’t fully grasp what it is he might mean— but you’re eager nonetheless, a gasp escaping your lips, so soft he might’ve missed it if he hadn’t been so close— the tight clench of your cunt around him is enough of a sign anyway. 

You can only hear shifting; your ears perk up as you try to decipher what could be happening, feeling Beomgyu’s hand wander down your thighs, the loss of his heat above you, the flickering warmth of the candles around you— you lay still, with bated breath and buzzing nerves. 

Your mouth falls open, a loud moan falling from your mouth and bouncing off the walls. 

It’s all too much for your poor, inexperienced body; it’s overwhelming, the pleasure wrapping you up and burning you alive as your thighs attempt to shut, only to close in on Beomgyu’s head that remains steady, large hands splayed on your hips as he holds you down, his mouth continuing his assault against your cunt. 

The chants of his name and your broken moans are enough to keep him motivated— he’s lapping at your clit hungrily, moving down to suck at the arousal that leaks from your entrance, perfect nose bumping into you as he sighs and groans against you. 

You think you might’ve gone mad; sounds you didn’t think were possible are escaping you, each more pitiful and helpless than the last. Your hands wander absentmindedly, not realizing what it is you’re searching for until they’ve finally curled into his thick hair, tangling strands around your fingers and tugging rashly— you can feel him moan against you at the actions, the feeling bringing a shiver down your spine. 

“B-Beom…gyu!” you whine out, hips attempting to wiggle out of his hold, hands tugging his head closer— your eyes remain screwed tight behind your blindfold, tears pricking at them as your mind races to process what is happening to you— between your legs, Beomgyu grins triumphantly, nails digging into your delicate thighs as he licks a long stripe along your slit.

In times like these, Beomgyu can’t help but be reminded of who he is, what his existence is for— his tongue is long, abnormally so, as it enters you, eyes rolling to the back of his head as he laps up your essence and fucks you with it, listening to your startled cries morph into nothing but wanton lust, choking on the syllables of his name and brokenly pleading for him to not stop— as if he could ever be capable of doing so.

You’re delicious, like a ripe fruit that has been eyed for too long, too high on a tree for anyone to take— victory feels sweet on Beomgyu’s tongue as you clench and leak around him, allowing you to grind against him and take the reins of what you want, giving you the pleasure you seek— and he can feel you getting wound up quite quickly, your keens and cries loud enough to rival the screams of fear you were letting out only moments ago— but then again, none of that matters as long as Beomgyu has his hands on you. 

You’re almost there, a climax strong enough to wreck you approaching quickly— and as much as Beomgyu would love to feel it, to swallow your cum as it drips out your fluttering cunt— he can’t. Not yet, and certainly not like this. Though it pains him, he pulls away from your cunt that attempts to suck him back in. 

The sob you let out almost makes Beomgyu regret his decision; you’re a broken, confused mess, panting like a dog as you cry and wonder why it is that Beomgyu stopped so suddenly— gently, Beomgyu pries your hands off from where they tug at his hair, listening to your disoriented mumbles of his name, reaching blindly for him as he rises to his feet. And you’re left in the darkness once more. 

Before you can react, Beomgyu’s hands lift your head, quickly undoing your blindfold, letting it fall against the altar next to your face; your eyes flutter open from the action, brows furrowed as everything slowly comes into focus. 

Beomgyu hovers above you, the flickering candlelight around the two of you casting an ethereal glow around his face; it is warm and fond as he looks down at you, plump lips pulled into a gentle smile as he caresses your cheek, letting out a breathy chuckle at the way you fluster immediately, unable to hold his gaze. 

“Look at me.” he says, his voice compelling enough to have you following his command, the feeling so natural you haven’t realized you’ve obeyed until you’re meeting his dark eyes— there is no light in his pupils, despite the many sources that continue to fall onto the two of you. He smiles, a hand continuing its reassuring strokes against your skin, the other moving down to grab your thigh, wrapping it around his waist once more. “Don’t be afraid— keep your eyes on me.”

You feel something prodding at your entrance; you stiffen, breath hitching and hands instinctively reaching up to place themselves flat against Beomgyu’s chest— with wide eyes, you stare back at him, unable to break this entrancing spell you’ve caught yourself in, lips parting in a silent gasp as Beomgyu’s eyes soften. Slowly, he pushes in.

The feeling of his cockhead breaching your walls has you gasping sharply, shock painting your face and nails digging into your chest as your back arches slightly— the stretch is new and unexpected, the feeling of him inside you causing your stomach to twist in pain and pleasure— it’s so sudden, you feel as though you’re not ready, yet your body cries for him to continue, feeling him pause and still inside you. 

The smile on Beomgyu’s face is practically permanent; words could not explain the satisfaction he feels, the twisted victory he gains from every inch he pushes inside you, virgin walls fluttering and squeezing him like a vice, your wide, doe eyes glazing over with pleasure the longer he takes, the more he allows you to adjust. 

Your chest heaves by the time he’s fully inside you, face screwing up as you feel him bottom out, his tip pressing firmly into you— your voice breaks as you call out his name, searching for comfort he will not be able to provide. Instead, he coos softly at you, empty, sugary words and reassurances that are merely practiced in his mind, feathery caresses against your temple as he shushes you, telling you that everything’s okay, that you’ll feel good soon enough.

“I’ve got you,” he purrs, even if you continue to tense every time he shifts, legs twitching at the sheer stretch you’ve suddenly been forced to take. “It’s okay, don’t be nervous.”

When he begins to pull out, criminally slow and teasing, you gasp— and he grins, fully expecting it as he hovers over your lips, only to press a chaste kiss to your nose as he moves to stand straight, only the tip of his cock left inside you. 

The sight of you is nothing short of divine; just seeing you like this is enough to bring him energy, greedy gaze taking in your broken expression, eyes flickering to your parted lips that tremble and gasp out his name. He groans softly, the eyes fluttering shut as he takes a moment to appreciate the way your cunt clenches around him, warm and wet, nothing like the scraps he was forced to feed on as punishment. You’re perfect, pure, full of life. 

Before he can second guess himself, his hips slam back in. 

The pace he’s set is nothing short of cruel; his feather-light touches and chaste kisses had been nothing but a show, all an attempt to lower your guard and allow him to seize you at your weakest; you yelp in surprise and attempt to cling onto him, overwhelmed by the harshness of his cock as it pounds into you, aiming for the most sensitive spots within you that leave you begging and crying out— but whether it’s for him to stop or continue, you’re not entirely sure— your reasoning blurred into one big mess long ago. 

It doesn’t take long for Beomgyu to lose himself in the feeling of you; greedy, rough hands grasping at your skin, groping the soft skin of your thighs, your hips, wandering up to squeeze and toy with your breasts— and you can only lay there and take it all, watching him use you to satisfy himself, unable to help the way your cunt clenches and drools at the sight. His hips angle and his cock slams deep against you, hitting a spot he’s never hit before— and you stiffen, eyes rolling to the back of your head as you cry out. 

“Oh!” you yelp, tears pooling at your eyes, a hand slamming over your mouth at the sudden noise— but even so, your muffled cries still slip out from the cracks of your fingers. “O-Oh my—! ah—!”

“Why silence yourself?” Beomgyu laughs softly, slightly out of breath as he continues to cling to you, hips rutting wildly into you, chasing that familiar bliss he grew addicted to; he proceeds to aim for that particular spot over and over, watching tears ebb from the corners of your eyes, flowing down the sides of your face and dripping onto the pristine white marble of the altar table. “Go on, say it.”

“Say it, call out their name, let this whole sanctuary know how good it feels,” he hisses, face hovering over yours once more, eager to watch you crumble. 

“Call to your god,” he whispers, a soft moan falling between heavy breaths, feeling the way you squeeze and suck him in, your peak approaching much too fast for you to handle, “go on, pray that they forgive your sins and look past the way your tight cunt begs to keep this demon inside you.”

His cock feels like heaven inside you; it’s relentless, slamming into you as his hand falls from its tight hold on your thigh to your clit, rubbing tight circles that cause your body to tighten until it can no longer hold back. 

“Oh my God— Beomgyu!” you’re a drooling, tearful, pitiful sight as you finally crash down, sobbing and babbling words that blend together, your hands pulling at Beomgyu’s shirt until you’re bringing him down to you.

Beomgyu’s kiss is celestial. His lips slot perfectly against yours, a soft grunt escaping him as he finally cums inside you; thick, hot ropes of cum flooding your cunt, filling you until you can no longer hold it in— you tremble and you hold Beomgyu close to you throughout it all, your mind emptied out and craving nothing but him. 

Your eyes flutter shut; your body tingles, your hold on him weakening as you begin to slump back against the altar. It’s getting harder to move, sluggishly trying your best to keep up with Beomgyu’s sloppy kisses, your chest beginning to cave in as your lungs burn and beg for air. 

You want to pull away. You want to stop— yet, you find with a delayed horror that you can’t. 

Beomgyu won’t pull away; Beomgyu can’t pull away, feeling his arms snake beneath your figure, one wrapping around your waist tightly, the other slithering up your back and cradling the back of your head, holding it up so he can keep you as close to him as possible. 

Your vision has begun to blur; your hands have fallen limp at your sides. You feel weakened, only your lips able to move as they mindlessly follow after Beomgyu, sluggish and messy movements that go on whether you want to or not. 

Behind him, a crackling sound emits; the candles around you flicker wildly, divine feathers that were once proudly on display above you beginning to darken and fall, burning off and becoming a charred black— blood seeps from the crevices where feathers slip away, landing on top of you and on the altar you lay on. 

His wings are a shriveled, grisly sight. He’s transformed entirely before your very eyes, pulling away slowly and sighing softly into your parted lips. Slowly, his hands slither off you, laying you gently and standing straight to take in the mess he’s made. All you can do is stare back through bleary eyes. 

“My lamb,” he says affectionately, bringing a hand up to cup your face; it is only then that you’re able to notice the state of his hands, charred and injured, just like his wings, animal-like claws replacing his nails. They dig slightly into your skin as he smiles down at you, utterly enamored.

“I will cherish this ‘till kingdom come.”

His enchanting expression is the last thing you see. His claw moves faster than the human eye can process as it slices cleanly across the canvas of your neck. 

Your body jolts at the action, not a single shift in your expression as your body relaxes against the altar table. Your eyes remain open and dazed with pleasure.

Blood flows from the deep crack of his cut; it flows from your mouth as well, and all Beomgyu can do is watch as the color slowly fades from your skin, the light in your eyes no more. He looms over you in silence, lingering on even when he knows there’s nothing left for him there. A pool of your blood has formed around your head, a twisted halo that stains the marble. 

Beomgyu’s eyes remain transfixed on your wound, emotionless eyes watching the blood drip out steadily. Then, they begin to wander, trailing down until they stop at a certain point, hypnotized by the thought that suddenly enters his mind. 

Before he can second guess himself, Beomgyu’s hand hovers above your chest. 

It is not easy to reach your heart. It is an obscene and difficult process, though Beomgyu doesn’t bat an eye throughout it all; blood coats his forearm once he finally succeeds, a happy hum escaping him as he examines the item in his hands with fascination. 

It’s just as transcendent as the rest of you. Taking your life force was enough to make Beomgyu feel normal again, but with this, he’s sure that you would fuel his energy for the rest of his miserable eternity. 

His eyes soften; it’s so fragile, it drips onto his skin and sings to him, the last of your innocence begging to be released, to be given peace; instead, Beomgyu brings it closer to him, sighing slowly as he gets one last look at it.

And he bites. 

He can almost hear your voice, the memories trapped within as he closes his eyes, chewing and swallowing and biting again. Tilting his head back, he all but groans in satisfaction. 

His eyes slowly flutter open. He’s met with the chandeliers above him, the looming altar to his left calling his attention. Apathetically, his head lolls to the side, getting a better look at the statues that stand over him. Taking another bite, he feels blood leak onto his lips that curl into a sickly sweet smile.

He’s never tasted anything purer.

[moonswolfie]

Haikyuu boys with a gyaru GF

@natdu what have you done?!?!? You infected me with gyaru gf disease!!

I feel motivated today so... have these hastily written drabbles that i did in school (mostly at home)

And yes i did purpousefully pick characters who would have a funny dynamic with a stereotypical gyaru/these characters having a gyaru gf would be a big surprise

Characters featured: Ushijima, Kageyama, Kita and Sakusa

⋆⭒˚｡⋆Ushijima Wakatoshi

"Ahhh! This one is so cuuuute!! Don't you think so, Toshi?" you held out a pink top for your boyfriend to see. He simply nodded after looking at it for a few seconds.

"You've done that for every top I showed you!!" you weren't complaining, you just found it amusing that a nod was his default reaction.

"Sorry. I don't really know what to say about them. You look good in everything." to him, that was just a simple fact and not a flirty comment.

"Ohhh, stop it, babyyy. You're making me blush~" you said, placing the pink top on top of the 20 other pieces of clothing he was holding. One thing that's great about having a strong boyfriend is that he can hold many pieces of clothing at once.

Sometimes you worry that he only agrees to go shopping with you to please you, though.

"You don't have to always come to the mall with me, you know? You can say no if you don't want to..." you mentioned casually, wanting to let him know he can be open with you as you walked to the dressing room to try everything on.

"I want to support you in the things you like." was his simple answer.

Ohhh, how you wanted to kiss him on the spot. He's way too cute.

⋆⭒˚｡⋆Kageyama Tobio

"What is that?" Kageyama said, picking up one of the make-up appliances on your table.

"Oh, that? That's an eyelash curler!" you smiled at his dumbfounded face. You gently took it from his hands, showing him how to use one.

"Doesn't... that hurt?" he asked cautiously after a few seconds of silence. You giggled a little. "It hurts about as much as putting on nail polish, which is to say, not really."

He took the eyelash curler back from you, watching what you're gonna do next. You picked up the mascara, popping it open and using it on your eyes.

"What are you doing now?" he asked, completely confused. You really had to hold back from laughing out loud now.

"Putting on mascara?"

"...Why?"

"To make my lashes look big and pretty and pronounced." you said, moving to the other eye.

"Why do you want that? You're already... uhhh... pretty without it." he wasn't sure how to express what he wanted to tell you properly without sounding rude, but he tried his best.

He took a sigh of relief when you giggled as a response.

"Cuz I like it and it makes me happy. Just like volleyball for you."

⋆⭒˚｡⋆Kita Shinsuke

"Since you were asking, this is my girlfriend." you walked into the gym behind Kita.

You felt everyone's eyes scanning you as you waved hello.

"Is... Is this a prank?" Suna asked cautiously. Kita shook his head. "Why would it be?"

You sorta already expected this kind of reaction. Knowing your boyfriend, you knew that to everyone else you two seemed like a strange pair.

"No way!!! His girlfriend is a gyaru!!" Atsumu was in utter shock.

"Is there an issue with that?" he asked, as straight-faced as ever. "Well.... not exactly. We just weren't expectin' it." Aran assured him with a smile.

"How did this even happen?" Suna turned to you, asking in an amused tone. You shrugged, smiling. Sometimes people just... end up together.

"Doesn't matter. This is really good news. I'm gonna have to ask you for any Kita-san-related secrets later." Suna ignored the look Kita gave him at that.

"This is freakin' crazy! Yer totally gonna tell us all the details later!" Atsumu joined in. You were really happy to talk with new people, especially about your boyfriend.

You worry that sometimes your girlies are annoyed by how much you talk about something nice he did for you that day, though. Not your fault Kita Shinsuke is so perfect.

⋆⭒˚｡⋆Sakusa Kiyoomi

"Wait!!~" you ran over to your boyfriend's side as he walked to school.

"Good morning babe!!" You greeted excitedly. You were especially happy to go to school today since you got your manicure done yesterday. It was a super bright rainbow design and it matched your hairpins and really well. It even had cute little diamonds on the edges!

"Good morning." He answered, voice a little muffled behind his mask. He quickly looked you up and down which is something he does every morning when you see eachother for the first time.

"Do you see anything different?~" you hinted, hoping he would notice your nails. With how cautious he is of everything, surely he would notice a change in your appearance.

"Not really." He said, turning to look ahead of him. Oh, so he didn't notice.... He could have atleast pretended to see something new so you could correct him!

After a bit of awkward silence, you gave up. "My nails... my nails are different." You admitted.

"I saw that." He said, not even looking at you to confirm. He saw it?! But then why didn't he...

"Then why didn't you say anything?! Geez..." you crossed your arms. Sakusa's acting weeeeird.

"I just wanted to tease you." He said. You couldn't see it, but he was smirking under the mask.

"Hey!! Since when does my Omi do that?!" you couldn't hold your surprise.

"I told you not to call me that."

barely proofread because i was lazy