#it’s not penance either. it’s not. it’s just. existence.

[quietwingsinthesky]

thinking about cain and him living alone for centuries(? when did his wife die) after slaughtering the knights of hell. forever after choosing not to do harm or fix things. to just. exist. alone. cooking for himself despite the fact he doesn’t need to eat and keeping his house tidy and tending to bees that would not choose to stay there unless he cared for them very well. and it is driving me. insane.

[horngryeyes]

>thinks about douglas eiffel

>starts crying

[charliemwrites]

Still thinking about Nikto, and that anon ask I answered just a bit ago.

Content: Dissociation/Depersonalization, Unhealthy (not harmful) Coping Mechanisms, Codependence, Trauma/PTSD symptoms, Sexual Themes

After the hallway incident you’re a bit shaken. A life of a heavy burden, but your shoulders are used to the weight; you’re a medic. But what Nikto offered you in the hallway — no, not offered, but gave, devoted. It makes it hard to breathe.

You’re not sure if what he’s seeking (or perhaps found?) is solace or penance. You don’t think you have much say in the matter really. If God asked His disciples to stop worshipping, would they?

The comparison feels too bold, even in the privacy of your own mind. Smacks of narcissism and ego. You don’t feel powerful. You feel scared. Of what it means to hold this broken, burdened man in the palm of your hand, trying to keep all the pieces together without cutting yourself on them.

Don’t be so careless with your life, you told him.

He’s taken those words as religious creed. He doesn’t storm around corners, guns blazing anymore. Doesn’t drop from heart-stopping heights to stamp-sized targets. Hes not the first one out nor the last one in anymore — though he never lets you get out first or hop in transport last either.

Suppose that shouldn’t be a surprise.

He cares for his wounds now, too. Cleans and changes them regularly, doesn’t over exert them before they’ve healed. You’re so dizzy on pride in him that you kiss the front of his mask one day, telling him “thank you”.

He grunts in something that sounds almost like shock and shakes his head at you. You figure he doesn’t feel he deserves praise for doing as you’ve told him. You do it anyway.

Things start to settle into this new normal.

Until you can’t find him anywhere. He’s become your new shadow, another limb, and suddenly he’s gone like so much smoke. You’re both fresh off a rough, but successful mission. You’ve just finished a stint in the infirmary and your debrief. Usually hed take that time to clean off and change in privacy, back before you could miss him.

Where is he?

You find him bleeding in his room, trying to care for his own wounds. Mask off, shirt gone, a new knife wound added to his macabre collection. You scramble to his side and collapse at his feet, snatching the needle from his shaky, slippery hand.

“Don’t you ever—” you choke on the words, unusual tears welling. You’re a medic; you’re not allowed to cry during treatment. But all you see if Nikto and blood and—

“I am okay,” he says in that low, crackly voice. Gravel in a blender. “It is not bad.”

You swallow and don’t answer, can’t because you’ll start weeping into his wound. Just stitch him up, hands steady even as you sniffle and the rest of you trembles.

When it’s done, you start wiping away the excess, prepping a bandage. He’s so silent you can even hear him breathing, but you feel his eyes like a physical touch. Finally make yourself look up at him meet his piercing eyes.

“You come back to me from now on,” you say. Quiet, firm, fervent. “I don’t care what it is, you return to my side always.”

The silence stretches and stretches, and he just stares with that unfathomable gaze.

“Understand?” you insist.

“Yes.”

Those two commandments become that basis of his new existence. Nikto once thought he survived it all because he still had work to do. He was wrong; it was because he still hadn’t found his purpose at all.

He’s found you now though, and you are a demanding god. But not a cruel one

Your first commandment is atonement. This vessel requires so much work. Food and water and rest. Maintenance for every abrasion, upkeep to stay strong enough to stand at your side, to protect you. It is endless, bitter work. He doesn’t care for the labor itself, but it must be done.

It is made bearable with you.

Your second commandment is salvation. Your quiet chatter during meals, the lingering taste of your mouth on his water canteen. Your kind hands mending tears and holes, keeping whatever he is now whole and hale. Your company in the gym, on sparring mats, at his side at the gun range. The smell of your sweat past the mask, your laughter goading him into another round.

You let him sleep in your bed. Let him wake you with nightmares or memories. Keep him warm because this thing he inhabits doesn’t always remember it’s not dying anymore. You are so very alive, the realest thing in any room. Your touch is the only thing he can feel sometimes.

It takes him a long time to realize that his body (because it is a body you tell him, a living one that needs care) reacts to you.

That some mornings the press of you against him is especially sweet. That there’s more than relief and pride when you pin him down. That, at most points of the day, his body wants your touch for more than just grounding.

He’s hard most times that he’s with you, simply for the fact that you are there. And he is with you almost always.

(That it is not actually always grinds at him, niggles in the back of his mind. A sticking point. He wants it to be always, you with him at all times. Like when he used to wear a cross pendant.)

You notice, of course you do, sensitive to your most loyal devotee. He can’t tell if you’re offended, but you haven’t sent him away. Sometimes you flush and he thinks he’s certainly upset you, but for all he’s survived it would kill him to break your second commandment. And so he stays, even if he waits to be told to leave.

“Nikto?”

You never need to call his name, he is always listening. He likes the sound of it anyway. These syllables and sounds that have a meaning, that you use for him.

“Do you… want to do something about that?” you nod to his crotch. There’s a blatant bulge pressing at his tac pants. At some other time, he would probably would have found it uncomfortable.

“Do what?” he asks.

You shrug. “Get off? I could leave—“

“No.”

You blink but don’t seem surprised. “Do you want to just ignore it then?”

He shrugs a bit. There’s a flicker of amusement in your eyes. You like when he makes gestures. He tries to remember common ones, and when to do them, and tries them out for you. Though you never seem to mind his stillness either.

“It does not bother me.”

You hum, look like you’re going to go back to your tv show.

“Does it bother you?”

Your eyes dart up, mouth parting in surprise. You didn’t expect him to continue the topic. Neither did he.

“It doesn’t bother me,” you reply, tilting your head. “But if you want to do something about it, we can.”

We.

“We?”

“If… if you want me to do something… I would.”

He couldn’t ask that of you. Not ever. He’s not allowed to want anything of you when you’ve given him everything.

“No,” he says quietly finally. “Just ignore it.”

“Okay.” You smile at him, touch his hand. It is bare, mangled tattoos on display. He wishes he could feel it more. “Come snuggle in?”

Snuggle in.

Such a quaint turn of a phrase for a creature in your room, wearing a man’s face. He climbs in, shoes gone, mask gone. You wedge yourself against his side and he stares absently at the screen as you continue your show.

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Masterlist

[baldursgate3tempobsessed]

Astarion & Scratch: Compromising for Tav Affection

This idea is entirely from @nairil-daeris and it's so cute!

~

Despite what some may have believed, Astarion wasn't that against associating with animals. He was actually a fan of a few of them, cats mainly considering their penance for cleanliness and independence. Not to mention they were admittedly adorable. And stood as the one type of beast that Astarion never feasted upon.

So no, he didn't hate animals in principle. He only hated a select few, with reason. Like the type that could rip him apart with their claws and fangs. Or the ones that thought that rolling around in their own filth was a worthwhile pastime. All and all, creatures that Astarion didn't have to deal with on the regular. Or at least not until now.

But here he was, stuck in the middle of fucking nowhere, with his ragtag group of merry weirdos. It wasn't that he didn't appreciate his own acceptance into your little group. He did, immensely. By the look of things out here in this hellscape, he probably would have been murdered ten times over if he had remained alone. Or gods forbid, become a goblin's chew toy.

So while he had no intentions of leaving, he was still frustrated. Especially with the pretty little druid that quickly became their de facto leader. Astarion had been vaguely aware that druids had an intense love for nature and all of its creatures. But that hadn't prepared him for how unreasonable that love could be. It felt as though you would take literally every opportunity you had to speak to any lowly pest on the side of the road.

Not to mention your insistence on taking care of a damned owlbear cub, which was an objectively stupid thing to do. Something that he should have fought you on harder but... he wasn't made of stone. The thing was objectively adorable. Even if it was almost certainly destined to grow up and try to kill you all, Astarion kept his mouth mostly shut.

But then came the dog. That god-damned dog. How a singular mutt could make his life so damn difficult, Astarion wasn't sure. But he did know that he was trying to enact a well-thought out plan. Seduce you, foster a protective affection that was strong enough for you to always want him alive, perhaps use you to defeat Cazador if the parasites proved strong enough, and then effectively abandon you for a new life of freedom.

It was all very simple, and he had gotten a great head start. You had spent the last few weeks flirting with each other, always staying close. You gravitated towards each other, a fact that felt more natural than Astarion would have liked. But... he had found himself enjoying his time with you, genuinely. Not that it mattered, but it was definitely a plus for his plan. Being with you was far from unbearable. You were attractive, sweet, a little angel just begging to be corrupted. A job that Astarion was growing excited to start.

He had been so, so close to fully propositioning you, completely confident that you would agree. And then Scratch happened. He hadn't thought much of it when you came across the little mutt. Maybe it would stay with the corpse of its owner or it would be another hanger-on like the owl bear. He hadn't had a horse in the race either way.

But then he did show up to the camp, looking so sad and dejected that even Astarion couldn't be bothered that his arrival completely interrupted his first attempt at asking you to bed. He had watched you pet and whisper to him for the rest of the night, providing a comfort that only a druid could.

Which was fine. Or at least it had been for that one night. That one night that kept repeating. Because suddenly, that damned dog was everywhere. The quiet nights the two of you had together by the fire, talking about anything and everything with your thighs pressed together now included Scratch squeezing himself into the middle.

The orchestrated moves he would do to make you blush, like removing a non-existent speck from your cheek with his thumb or leaning in close to remove a leaf from your hair, were getting harder and harder to pull off. The damned mongrel was always there, and any attempts Astarion took to get close to you Scratch used as an invitation to jump all over him. If he had it to wash his face of dog slobber one more time from the crime of trying to hold your hand, he was going to go ballistic.

And there was zero reprieve. The thing went with you everywhere, even in the most perilous of situations. Worst of all, it actually proved to be useful. Astarion had no idea where the thing was trained, but it was incredibly smart. Smart enough to serve as a perfect distraction when needed, while being clever and fast enough to never get himself killed. He could even function as a spy, considering how you could make sense of all of his whining and barking. And worst of all, the little beast was amazing at thievery, with nothing more than his mouth. No one suspected the adorable dog to be the one stealing your coin purse right off of your belt. He was completely inconspicuous, perhaps even more so than Astarion. A fact that... was not sitting well.

How on earth was he being outclassed by a fucking dog? One that he had no valid arguments to leave behind at camp.

And to top it all off, you even slept with it. You slept with both animals, usually huddled up in a pile beneath the stars. How you managed to not stink of dog breath and owlbear saliva in the morning, Astarion would never know.

How was he supposed to make you fall for him like this? In the past two weeks since you'd attached yourself completely to the thing, doting on him constantly. He had only managed to sleep with you once. The night of the celebration over the goblin slaughter, and what a lovely night it had been. But that was only because Scratch and the cub had been sufficiently distracted by all of the enamored tiefling children. The next night it was back to the same.

And Astarion was not willing to let the night you had together go as a one night stand. Maybe it wasn't necessary. It had become clear that you cared for him, you cared for all of them. Enough to put yourself in danger for every party member's protection. A strong friendship would probably do him just as good as a romance. But... that didn't feel like enough. He didn't want it to be enough. For reasons that he was not going to start examining now.

No, for now he was just focused on getting past your slobbery bodyguard. But he knew better than to bring it up to you directly. You were far too infatuated with the pup to see his side of things.

Gale had made a singular comment on a slight frustration over having to wait around for Scratch to sniff nearly everything he came into contact with, and that had ended in you giving him a half-hour lecture on the importance of understanding one's surroundings. Shadowheart had mentioned, once, just once, that perhaps it was time to start looking for a more appropriate family for the dog, and that had led to you giving her the cold shoulder for days.

No, if he was going to get more time alone with you Astarion would have to try other means. Which had led him here, swinging back a Potion of Animal Speaking with a grimace. It tasted oddly grassy, like he had just swallowed blended up lawn shavings. But he didn't have time to grouse over the taste, not when you were thoroughly distracted with talking about druid mythology with Halsin, Scratch left conveniently alone to dig holes in the back of camp.

And that was where Astarion was going. Because if he couldn't reason with you, perhaps he could reason with the mutt itself.

Part of him could not quite believe that he had to resort to speaking with a dog to further this relationship, but here he was.

Astarion stopped in front of him, swallowing back a grimace at how the thing was digging dirt directly on his shoes. Instead, he smiled down at it, his voice only slightly strained when he asked, "Can you understand me?"

Scratch stopped his digging, opting to sit and stare up at him, an oddly humanoid voice answering, "Yes."

Huh, so that's how this spell worked. It was a little disconcerting to hear a human voice from a dog's mouth, but he would make do. Astarion cautiously sat next to him, perching on a nearby log as he tried to keep a pleasant smile on his face, "Good. How are you?"

Scratch stared at him, his head cocked, "The dirt tastes good here. I like that."

That was... Astarion didn't know. It was his own fault for trying to make small talk with an animal. He cut straight to the point, "That's great to hear. Now, would you mind doing me a favor tonight?"

Astarion had never had a dog narrow its eyes at him before, but that's exactly what Scratch did, "What is it?"

"Nothing serious," Astarion tried to reassure, "I was just hoping that perhaps you and the cub could sneak off for a night so Tav and I could spend some time together-"

"No," Scratch interrupted circling the ground three times before laying down, his eyes still on Astarion.

"Excuse me?" Astarion shot back, his true annoyance shining straight through his voice, "It's not exactly much to ask for! It's one night-"

"I don't trust you around them," The dog said simply, "I think you're going to hurt them."

Well that was just offensive. Ever since this little brat's arrival Astarion had barely had a chance to drink from you. And the times he did he was perfectly in control. Not including the first time of course.

"I'll have you know that not every vampire is some hellish demon with no self-control," Astarion bit out, only the slightest bit amused at himself for being reduced to defending his own disgusting kind, "And why pray tell, would I hurt one of the only reasons I'm still alive."

Scratch shook his head, one eye closed like this conversation was boring him, "Not that kind of hurt. The inside kind, that makes people cry. I don't want them to cry."

That was-Astarion didn't-how in the hells could a dog see through him that easily?

"I have no intention of hurting them," Astarion lied. Or at least he thought it was a lie. It felt... uncomfortably true when spoken allowed, "I just want to have a little fun, that's all. Don't you think they've earned that?"

"Not with you. You don't like them enough," Scratch sighed, "I like Gale more. Or Wyll. Karlach too. They can have fun with them instead."

That was it. Astarion was going to wring this little shit's neck. But before he could give into his more violent impulses, he could hear your voice, calling out to the current root of all of his problems.

Scratch bounded up, his tail already wagging as he started to trot over. But before he fully did he turned around, giving Astarion a once over, "If you can prove you like them, then I'll consider it."

And just like that he was off, running to your side while leaving a stunned Astarion in his wake. Did... did he just get verbally annihilated by a damn dog? How was he supposed to go on after this? Not to mention he was actually thinking about what the creature said. It sounded like a challenge, one that Astarion was suddenly pissed enough to take up.

If the little shithead wanted sincerity, then he would get it. And that's how Astarion found himself willingly opening up more. Even if it had to be in front of the damn dog. He told you more about Cazador, the horrors and tribulations he had endured through centuries. He told you of his regrets, the things he missed the most about being a mortal. He even told you the truth about that first night that you let him drink from your neck. That... that you were the first. How good it had felt to have what he had been denied for so long. And he was rewarded with his honesty. He got to learn more and more about you in turn. Your family, your home, where you incessant love for nature derived from. He was starting to slowly become a Tav-expert, suddenly hungry for every bit of information that he could procure.

They were long conversations, long enough to last well into the night. And for Astarion to be exhausted enough to just... fall asleep in the first available location. Which just so happened to always be in the pile of creatures you liked to sleep with. Though, Astarion had to admit after experiencing it himself, it was oddly pleasant to be surrounded by the warm, furry little headaches.

As for the two of you, things were slowly progressing in regards to his plan. A plan that he continually kept conveniently forgetting about. You were together now at the least, even if Scratch hardly ever let you have a night alone. But you cuddled and kissed, called each other pet names and the like. And... it was nice. Perhaps even too nice. Because Astarion was starting to... feel things that he'd prefer to not.

He was getting too attached, too close. The idea of sex didn't even seem to matter anymore, let alone the idiocy of trying to convince a dog to help him in that department. He was knowing too much of you, and the fact that he seemed to adore everything he saw only made it worse. And then the two of you managed to kill that demon, getting more and more information about Cazador. You risked so much for him, and were willing to risk so much more. He couldn't take it anymore.

He had told you the next night, everything. His plan, his past, how easy it was to revert back into new tricks. But he didn't want that with you. Maybe he never did. He wanted something real, and by the gods above you wanted the same thing. He had half expected you to dump him completely after that little speech. But... you didn't. Instead you hugged him, comforted him for trying and failing to betray your trust. It was a kindness he didn't deserve, but one that he would gladly accept.

Everything felt easier after that. Yes there were still countless horrors hanging over your heads but... he had you. And with you he was starting to think he could get through anything.

Even Halsin's insistent flirting. He was watching you both now as you helped him nurse a dying sapling to health, his eyes tracking Halsin's every move as he pretended to read. While he trusted you more than anything, fully aware that you would never stray, it didn't stop the paranoia. Just one other aspect of being in a real relationship that he hadn't seen coming. Turns out, it involved being terrified of losing it all. Especially to handsome, bulky elf druids.

But before he could fret over it any longer, he felt a tugging on his pant leg. He glanced down, his brow furrowing when he saw Scratch there, his tail wagging and his tongue lolling out.

"What the hell do you want?" Astarion asked, his words completely unmatching his actions as he scratched him behind the ears. Don't get him wrong, he still at least semi-loathed the creature but... he's also not quite sure he would have gotten to this point without his intervention. So a reluctant appreciation for his existence it was.

Scratch continued to paw at his leg, a low whine in his throat as he cocked his head to the right. Astarion followed the motion, only getting more confused when he realized he was trying to point to another potion.

Astarion sighed as he picked it up, “What? You want me to understand a new dressing down speech?”

Scratch continued to wag his tail, letting out a happy bark as a confirmation. As much as Astarion would prefer to not spend an evening getting lectured by a dog, he was more than a little curious to see what he had to say. 

He swallowed it down, grimacing at the taste as he wiped his mouth, “Okay, out with it. What do you want?”

"I like you now," Scratch said excitedly, prancing back and forth in front of him, "And they like you too. Do you like them?"

In moments like this, Astarion really did wish he had the heart of stone that he pretended to carry. Because the unexpected approval from a random pup was suddenly making him feel almost teary eyed. Or it was the bitter taste of the potion, but either way the innocent words were making his heart ache pleasantly. 

Astarion swallowed, smiling down at him, “I like them very much. More than anyone before. And I’m starting to think you might not be so bad either.”

Scratch sat in front of him, resting his head in his lap as his tail wagged, a goofy smile on his adorable face, “It’s because I’m a good boy. They tell me so all the time. Are we friends now? We are right?”

“Yeah,” Astarion smiled as he ran a hand through his white coat, his eyes drifting over to you. You were watching them, grinning ear to ear with a hand over your heart, nearly moments away from swooning. He looked back down at the dog, his smile only widening, “We’re going to be great friends.”

[angelsfat3]

ⓘㅤ 𝐌𝐄𝐑𝐂𝐈𝐅𝐔𝐋. ⠀⠀( 崇拜我的罪恶，先生。)

𝓢ummary “ ✉. In a time when women were burned for using reason and men were supposed to follow the words of God, a demon took possession of a beautiful young man to teach a lost priest, to love.

⠀،،⠀Genre. ’ Sci-fi, drama, religious au.

( 𝒄/𝒘. )───Repression, forbidden fruit(?), teasing, tension, religious trauma.

The confessional was nearly dark, illuminated only by the faint flicker of a candle on the nearby altar. You, the priest, sat on the small bench, trying to steady the tremor in your hands as you heard footsteps approaching.

You knew who it was even before he knelt on the other side of the screen.

“Father [...], the world has always been this way, ever since Adam and Eve tasted the forbidden fruit,” Ni-ki began, his tone not just penitent but laced with something darker, something far more intimate. “We were born with sin inside us… as if it were part of our flesh.”

You knew what his words meant, what he was truly trying to say.

You bit your tongue for a moment, tasting the danger in his confession. You responded carefully, your words measured to avoid suspicion but firm like a warning.

“Sin always lies in wait, Ni-ki,” you said with a calmness that barely masked your own turmoil. “But don’t forget that redemption exists, even for the most tormented hearts.”

What you didn’t say was that those very words had failed you on so many nights when the flesh spoke louder than your faith, when your spirit surrendered to Ni-ki.

From the other side, Ni-ki let out a short, almost imperceptible sigh, but to you, it sounded like a scream.

A heavy silence settled between you. You could feel his breath on the other side of the screen, and you knew he was wrestling with himself. Finally, his voice broke the stillness, trembling and barely audible:

“What if… what if sin doesn’t just lie in wait but calls to me? What if my soul leans toward it, as if I can’t resist?”

Heat rose to your face, and you gripped your knees tightly to maintain your composure. You knew him too well.

You knew he wasn’t just talking about sin in the abstract; he was talking about you, about what you’d shared in those fleeting moments where the world seemed to vanish.

“Ni-ki, sin always waits for us, but our will must be stronger than the call of anything that leads us astray,” you said, your voice steadier than your heart.

It wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t the whole truth either—not when you yourself had strayed so many times toward him, toward his lips, toward the abyss of his body.

“Well, we are human, and… the flesh is weak, Ni-ki,” you said, the weight of your own words almost unbearable. “But we must not give in. Each time we fall, we drift further from the grace that has been granted to us.”

“And what if my will isn’t enough?” Ni-ki pressed, his breathing growing heavier, as if your words hurt him as much as they hurt you. “What if there’s no hope for those who have already fallen?”

The question struck you like a dagger. You knew he wanted you to tell him yes, that there was hope, that what you shared wasn’t condemned. But you couldn’t say that—not here, not ever.

The confessional turned into an oven, the air so thick it was nearly impossible to breathe. Your hands clenched into fists on your knees as you fought the tremor in your chest.

Finally, you leaned closer to the screen, lowering your voice even further.

“Ni-ki… none of us are worthy, but don’t forget that God’s mercy is infinite. No matter how far you think you’ve fallen, there is always redemption… but only if we are willing to let go of what drags us into the abyss.”

Your words felt hollow, even to you. You knew they spoke of him, of the two of you, of the secret you shared that, if discovered, could condemn you both.

Ni-ki didn’t respond immediately, but the silence that followed wasn’t one of repentance. It was one of restrained desire, of something no prayer or penance could erase.

The silence was unbearable. You could imagine his expression on the other side—the mix of pain and frustration you’d seen so many times in his dark eyes.

“And what about you, Father?” he finally whispered, his voice sharp enough to leave you breathless. “Can you let it go?”

The question hung in the air, both an accusation and a plea. You felt your lips move, but no words came out.

You didn’t have an answer because you knew, despite the guilt eating away at you, despite every moment with him being a reminder of the risk you were taking, you couldn’t imagine a world where you didn’t seek him out.

But you couldn’t say that.

“Pray, Ni-ki,” was all you could manage, your voice breaking at the end. “Pray that we both find the strength we need.”

Finally, you heard his voice again, barely a murmur.

“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned… and I will sin again.”

A chill ran down your spine. You couldn’t see him, but you knew his eyes were fixed on the screen, searching for yours through the thin barrier.

You closed your eyes and clutched the crucifix hanging from your neck, trying to remember why you had chosen this path.

You heard him stand, his steps retreating slowly, but you didn’t dare to look. You remained there, in the dim light, the unspoken words weighing like chains around your heart.

You knew that when the day ended and the shadows once again blanketed the village, you would seek him out. And that would be your true sin.

The echo of Ni-ki’s footsteps should have faded, but the silence that remained was unsettling, as though something unseen had filled the space.

You stayed seated on the bench of the confessional, your trembling hands clasped tightly in front of you, searching for solace in the words of your own prayer.

Then, a sharp sound shattered the moment. The door on your side of the confessional creaked open. You looked up, your heart stalling for an instant.

Ni-ki stood there, framed in the doorway, his silhouette outlined by the faint glow of the candles. His dark eyes bore into yours—not with the softness or the pain you had grown used to seeing in him.

This time, there was something else, something that made your skin crawl.

He remained silent, his lips slightly parted, as if the words refused to leave. His chest rose and fell with uneven breaths, as though caught between the urge to move forward and the fear of crossing a line from which there was no return.

But what unsettled you most was what you saw in his eyes: a dark void, a need that didn’t seem human.

You didn’t speak. You couldn’t. You were frozen.

You could only stare, paralyzed by the intensity of his presence. He was Ni-ki, and yet he wasn’t. The gentle warmth that always lowered your guard now seemed overshadowed by a darkness that made him look… different. Unreal.

Finally, you drew in a breath, trying to regain your composure.

“Ni-ki, what are you doing?” you asked, though the question came out as little more than a whisper.

He didn’t respond. He stepped into the confessional, and his shadow seemed to stretch, swallowing the space between you. There was no fear in his gaze, but neither was there comfort. It was as though he was about to consume you with his eyes.

“You… look different,” you continued, your hands gripping the edge of the bench to steady yourself. “What is it that you need?”

His reply was barely audible, an echo that seemed to come from some deep corner of his being:

“You.”

Your chest tightened, and the air seemed to abandon you entirely. But there was something in the way he said it—something not like the restrained passion you knew. It was something else, something that chilled you to the bone.

You closed your eyes and began murmuring a prayer, the words spilling from your lips in desperation.

“Our Father, who art in heaven…”

Ni-ki took another step closer, and the heat in the small cabin became suffocating. You could feel his gaze on you, intense and heavy, as if he sought to strip more than just your resolve.

“Hallowed be thy name…” you continued, your hands now trembling uncontrollably. “Deliver us from evil…”

Ni-ki’s voice, softer yet laden with that inhuman intensity, cut through your prayer.

“Do you think that will save you from me?”

Your eyes snapped open, and you saw him so close you could barely breathe.

Ni-ki’s face was mere inches from yours, but his expression was that of someone caught between suffering and ecstasy.

He was real, and he was here to claim you.

Your breaths came shallow, barely enough to keep you conscious as Ni-ki’s gaze pierced through you. His eyes, as dark as the deepest night, glimmered with something you couldn’t name—something that made the air feel heavier, as if reality itself bent to his will.

Ni-ki raised a hand slowly, his fingers brushing the wood of the confessional as though savoring every grain. His voice, low but filled with a power that didn’t seem human, broke the silence.

"You cannot pray against what is already within you, Father."

The words struck like a weight on your chest, stealing the air from your lungs.

This place, sanctified by so many prayers and penances, now felt like a battleground where the sacred and the profane faced each other head-on.

"Ni-ki, you don't know what you're saying," you murmured, though even you doubted your own words. Your voice trembled, unable to hide the fear creeping into your heart.

He tilted his head slightly, his expression almost... curious. His lips curved into a smile that never reached his eyes.

"Don’t I?" he replied, taking another step closer, so near now you could feel his warm breath against your skin. "Or is it you who doesn’t understand what we are?"

The word we echoed in your mind, an unrelenting whisper that refused to fade.

You shook your head, trying to hold onto reality, to what you knew to be true. But even as you did, you felt your conviction crumbling like a sandcastle under an unstoppable wave.

"This isn’t real," you insisted, though the tremor in your voice betrayed your growing despair. "Ni-ki, you... you’re not this."

His smile widened, and a dangerous glint appeared in his eyes, a spark that made you instinctively retreat against the pew.

"Not this?" he asked, almost amused. "Then what am I, Father? The frightened boy who sought comfort in your words? Or the man who has patiently waited for you to stop pretending?"

The intensity of his gaze made you look away, but you couldn’t escape the weight of his presence, which seemed to fill every corner of the confessional. It was as if he were absorbing the light itself, leaving only shadows in his wake.

You tried praying again, your lips moving quickly as you muttered.

"Deliver us from evil, amen. Deliver us from evil..."

But Ni-ki leaned closer, stopping you with a hand that lightly touched your chin, forcing you to meet his eyes. His fingers were warm, but his touch sent a chill down your spine.

"Stop fighting," he whispered, his voice so soft it felt like a caress. "The evil isn’t outside of you, Father. It’s here. With me."

Your heart pounded in your chest, every beat reverberating in your ears as you tried to pull away from him. But you couldn’t.

Not because you lacked the strength, but because something in his gaze held you still, as if you were caught under a spell.

"Ni-ki, please..." you managed to say, though your voice broke into a whisper.

He leaned even closer, his lips just a breath away from yours.

"Please what?" he asked, his tone dripping with a mix of mockery and something darker, something that sent shivers down to your very bones. "Please stop? Or please stay and make me yours?"

The tension was unbearable, and you felt your will falter. Deep down, you knew you were on the brink of something from which there was no return, something that would challenge not just your faith but everything you believed yourself to be.

And then, Ni-ki smiled—that same smile that now seemed to belong to someone—or something—entirely different.

"Choose, Father," he murmured, his voice soft, yet the words thundered in your mind. "But remember... you can’t save us both."

The silence that followed was suffocating, laden with a palpable tension that seemed to freeze the air between you. Ni-ki didn’t look away, his smile cutting into you like a blade.

His hand remained on your chin, holding you with a gentleness that only made the situation more unbearable. You could feel the warmth of his skin, but the touch burned as if marked by something unholy.

"Why do you tremble, Father?" he whispered, leaning even closer. His breath brushed against your lips, and his dark gaze glimmered with a mix of challenge and... delight? "You shouldn’t fear me. After all, you’re the man of God, aren’t you?"

"You cannot pray against what is already within you, Father."

The words struck like a weight on your chest, stealing the air from your lungs.

This place, sanctified by so many prayers and penances, now felt like a battleground where the sacred and the profane faced each other head-on.

"Ni-ki, you don't know what you're saying," you murmured, though even you doubted your own words. Your voice trembled, unable to hide the fear creeping into your heart.

He tilted his head slightly, his expression almost... curious. His lips curved into a smile that never reached his eyes.

"Don’t I?" he replied, taking another step closer, so near now you could feel his warm breath against your skin. "Or is it you who doesn’t understand what we are?"

The word we echoed in your mind, an unrelenting whisper that refused to fade.

You shook your head, trying to hold onto reality, to what you knew to be true. But even as you did, you felt your conviction crumbling like a sandcastle under an unstoppable wave.

"This isn’t real," you insisted, though the tremor in your voice betrayed your growing despair. "Ni-ki, you... you’re not this."

His smile widened, and a dangerous glint appeared in his eyes, a spark that made you instinctively retreat against the pew.

"Not this?" he asked, almost amused. "Then what am I, Father? The frightened boy who sought comfort in your words? Or the man who has patiently waited for you to stop pretending?"

The intensity of his gaze made you look away, but you couldn’t escape the weight of his presence, which seemed to fill every corner of the confessional. It was as if he were absorbing the light itself, leaving only shadows in his wake.

You tried praying again, your lips moving quickly as you muttered.

"Deliver us from evil, amen. Deliver us from evil..."

But Ni-ki leaned closer, stopping you with a hand that lightly touched your chin, forcing you to meet his eyes. His fingers were warm, but his touch sent a chill down your spine.

"Stop fighting," he whispered, his voice so soft it felt like a caress. "The evil isn’t outside of you, Father. It’s here. With me."

Your heart pounded in your chest, every beat reverberating in your ears as you tried to pull away from him. But you couldn’t.

Not because you lacked the strength, but because something in his gaze held you still, as if you were caught under a spell.

"Ni-ki, please..." you managed to say, though your voice broke into a whisper.

He leaned even closer, his lips just a breath away from yours.

"Please what?" he asked, his tone dripping with a mix of mockery and something darker, something that sent shivers down to your very bones. "Please stop? Or please stay and make me yours?"

The tension was unbearable, and you felt your will falter. Deep down, you knew you were on the brink of something from which there was no return, something that would challenge not just your faith but everything you believed yourself to be.

And then, Ni-ki smiled—that same smile that now seemed to belong to someone—or something—entirely different.

"Choose, Father," he murmured, his voice soft, yet the words thundered in your mind. "But remember... you can’t save us both."

The silence that followed was suffocating, laden with a palpable tension that seemed to freeze the air between you. Ni-ki didn’t look away, his smile cutting into you like a blade.

His hand remained on your chin, holding you with a gentleness that only made the situation more unbearable. You could feel the warmth of his skin, but the touch burned as if marked by something unholy.

"Why do you tremble, Father?" he whispered, leaning even closer. His breath brushed against your lips, and his dark gaze glimmered with a mix of challenge and... delight? "You shouldn’t fear me. After all, you’re the man of God, aren’t you?"

You tried to speak, but the words died in your throat. You were paralyzed, caught between the urge to push him away and the unknown abyss his closeness threatened to drag you into. Ni-ki noticed, and his smile widened, malicious and taunting.

"You know," he continued, his voice low and seductive, every word falling over you like drops of venom, "I’ve always wondered if your prayers were as sincere as you claimed. Now I see they’re not. Not when you tremble like this... with me so close."

He released your chin slowly, but he didn’t move away. His hand trailed downward, grazing the collar of your cassock, his fingers toying with the edge of the fabric, as if tempted to tear it away.

His gaze never left yours, and every movement he made was laced with a clear intention: to make you fall.

"Young lamb of God... this has to stop," you finally managed to say, though your voice was barely a whisper. Your words, however, only seemed to amuse him further.

"Stop?" he repeated, tilting his head with feigned confusion. "Why should I? Isn’t this what you wanted with me?"

The audacity in his tone hit you like a punch. You stared at him with a mix of disbelief and horror, but he was unfazed. He took another step closer, closing the distance between you until there was no space left to breathe.

"Don’t say you didn’t want this, Father." His voice dropped lower, a whisper dripping with insinuation. "I’ve seen how you run your fingers over your lips after they brush against mine... Always thinking no one noticed. But I did. I always did."

Your mind filled with fleeting images—of all the times you’d allowed your gaze to linger on him too long, of all the nights you’d battled thoughts that had no place in the life of a priest.

Ni-ki was tearing through every layer of your defenses, exposing you without mercy.

He leaned in until his face was level with yours, his dark eyes glinting with something deeper, something more terrifying.

"Tell me, Father," he asked, his tone mocking, "how many times have you prayed to be freed from me? How many times have you begged your God to strip this ‘sin’ away from you?"

His fingers, playful yet deliberate, trailed down to your chest, brushing against the cross hanging from your neck.

"You know what I think?" he continued, leaning even closer, his lips grazing the skin of your ear. "I think not even He can save you from me."

Your body reacted before your mind did. You pulled away abruptly, rising from the pew and stumbling back a few steps. But even then, the image of Ni-ki standing there with that wicked smile haunted you.

He didn’t move, but his gaze followed you—intense, inescapable.

"Where are you going, Father?" he asked, his tone feigning innocence, though the glint in his eyes betrayed his true game. "To hide behind your office again?"

Desperation overtook you, and you began murmuring a prayer, the words tumbling clumsily from your lips.

“Our Father, who art in Heaven, I beg you for your son...”

Ni-ki laughed—a low, dark sound that echoed through the space like a sinister refrain.

“You really think that will work?” he asked, openly mocking you. “Pray all you want, but you know you can’t resist this. You can’t resist me.”

His confidence, his audacity, cut through you like a twisted blade. You wanted to scream, to cry for help, but there was no one else. No one who could understand what was happening—not even you.

His eyes, dark and searing, were locked on yours. There was something in his gaze you couldn’t fully decipher—something between desperation and defiance, as though he were on the verge of breaking something inside himself... or inside you.

“What will you do now, Father?” he asked, his tone barely a whisper yet powerful enough to drown out the prayers you were trying to recite. “Will you cast me out? Or will you fall to your knees before me, as you’ve done so many times in your mind?”

Your breathing was erratic, your hands trembling as you clung to the rosary like a lifeline.

But Ni-ki offered no reprieve. His face was now just a breath away from yours, and you could feel the warmth of his breath mingling with your own.

You didn’t respond. You couldn’t. Your lips moved without purpose. “Ni-ki, this... this isn’t right,” you managed to say, though your voice was barely audible, a broken echo of your feeble resistance.

He tilted his head, and the smile on his lips softened, though his eyes still burned with an intensity that stripped away every defense you had.

“Not right?” he repeated, his tone laced with mockery but tinged with something deeper, something painfully intimate. “Then look me in the eyes and tell me you don’t want me. Tell me you don’t desire me anymore, and I’ll leave.”

His words pierced you like a knife because you knew you couldn’t say them. Not without lying. Not without betraying the truth you buried deep inside yourself. You tried to look away, but his hand rose, warm and firm, cradling your face with a tenderness that starkly contrasted the storm of emotions he’d unleashed.

“Look at me,” he commanded, his voice deeper, more commanding.

Your heart pounded fiercely, each beat reverberating in your ears like a war drum. The space around you seemed to collapse, until all that existed was him—his face, his eyes, the overwhelming intensity of his presence that engulfed you like a tidal wave.

“Say it,” he whispered, demanding, his thumb grazing your cheek softly as his eyes flicked to your lips. “Say it, and I’ll leave.”

But you didn’t. You couldn’t. Because in that moment, the truth became unbearably clear. Ni-ki wasn’t just your temptation—he was your surrender.

And then it happened.

He leaned in, closing the remaining distance between you in an instant. His lips crashed against yours—firm, insistent, brimming with an intensity that could no longer be ignored.

It was a deep, desperate kiss, laden with everything both of you had suppressed for far too long.

Your mind screamed in protest, reminding you of who you were, where you were, what this meant. But your body—treacherous, rebellious—did not resist. Your lips moved against his, responding with the same desperation, as if you were both drowning, and this was the only air you could share.

The taste of him—somewhere between the bitterness of the forbidden and the sweetness of the inevitable—imprinted itself on you. Your hands, which had initially pushed against him, betrayed you by clutching his shirt, pulling him closer.

His hand on your face slid to the back of your neck, holding you in place, while his body pressed into yours, erasing every inch of space between you.

The world seemed to stop.

The confessional, the church, even the cross hanging above you vanished, eclipsed by the sheer intensity of the moment. This kiss wasn’t just an act of passion; it was a battle—a war between who you were and what he made you feel.

Ni-ki let out a low sound, almost a stifled groan, and his body pressed harder against yours, making it clear this was not a fleeting lapse in judgment. It was a cry, a desperate act born of something deeper than either of you could admit aloud.

When he finally pulled back—barely an inch—the spell broke, leaving you both gasping, your breaths mingling in the charged air. His gaze bore into yours, the darkness in his eyes more intense than ever.

“I knew it,” he murmured, his voice rough, laced with a dangerous satisfaction. “You couldn’t even stop yourself.”

His words left you paralyzed, unable to respond as your thoughts spiraled. But Ni-ki didn’t wait for an answer. With one final look, heavy with unspoken promises, he leaned in again, brushing his lips against yours in a gesture almost tender.

“This isn’t over, love.” he whispered before stepping back slowly, his smile returning with a victorious edge. “This is only the beginning.”

And with those words, he left the confessional, leaving you alone, trapped in a silence that no longer felt sacred, your lips still burning from his touch and your soul staring into the abyss he had opened within you.

The wood clicked softly as you slid the small door shut, sealing yourself off from the rest of the world. The confined space, once a refuge for penitence and absolution, now felt charged with something entirely different. Your breaths came quick and uneven, as though the air itself refused to fill your lungs.

Your mind was chaos.

Images of Ni-ki—his dark gaze, his malicious smile, the heat of his touch, and, most vividly, the memory of his lips on yours and his tongue invading your mouth—were seared into your consciousness like a burning brand.

Every time you tried to push those thoughts away, they came rushing back, stronger, dragging you into the moment you had just shared.

Your hands trembled as you attempted to entwine your fingers with the rosary still hanging around your neck, searching for an anchor, a lifeline to pull you from this inner storm. But instead of solace, you found an insatiable hunger, a need that consumed you from within.

You closed your eyes, leaning your back against the wooden confessional as if the cold surface could extinguish the fire raging beneath your skin. But it didn’t.

The heat coursed through your chest, your throat, every part of you, an unstoppable tide that left no room for reason.

Your hands, which had sought refuge in the rosary, slowly fell, almost as if guided by some force outside your control. They grazed your neck, where the ghost of Ni-ki’s fingers still lingered, before trailing down to your chest, tracing the fabric of your cassock. Your breathing quickened as your fingers pressed lightly against the material, as though trying to erase the weight of his touch—or perhaps summon it again.

Guilt began to rise, but it was quickly drowned out by a wave of desire you couldn’t contain. The echo of Ni-ki’s words resonated in your mind, every syllable a spark that fed the fire within you.

“You can’t escape me.”

A shiver ran through your body at the memory of how he had said it, how his lips had formed those words while his gaze devoured you.

Your hands continued their journey, sliding past your waist, your fingers tracing lines that burned even through the cloth. It was as if the memory of him was etched into every fiber of your being, impossible to tear away.

It was a matter of seconds before you slipped one of your hands inside your pants and underwear, caressing and squeezing your manhood. At that moment you just wanted to break free, as you always did when you were alone in your office or room.

At that moment, the confessional ceased to be a holy place. Its sanctity had been lost the instant you allowed yourself to succumb to the desire Ni-ki had ignited. Your lips, still swollen from the kiss, parted with a soft sigh as your free hand clutched at your cassock, as if the simple gesture could release some of the pressure consuming you.

You leaned forward, pressing your forehead against the wall of the confessional, your ragged breaths filling the small space. It was a struggle, a battle between what you knew was right and what your body craved with terrifying intensity.

“This is a sin...”

You knew it, but the knowledge wasn’t enough to stop you. The weight of your faith, which had always been your guide, now felt like an impossible burden to bear. And deep within your soul, you recognized the truth you had been trying to deny for so long.

You didn’t want to stop.

Your voice escaped in a barely audible whisper, a mixture of plea and despair.

“God, forgive me... for I am being dragged down by Satan’s lust...”

But even as you spoke those words, your hands continued to move, one clutching at the fabric of your cassock while the other traced your body with an intensity you had never allowed yourself before. In that moment, there was no room for regret—only for the raw, overwhelming desire Ni-ki had left behind, like an indelible mark etched into your very being.

＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿

⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ݁⠀⠀،،⠀⠀메모 ! ㅤ⸻ㅤ I know almost nothing about the church or religion itself, so I made up most of the prayers...

+ New stories on the way, I promise. 🙂‍↕️︐⠀📍

⠀𝒊. ⠀─⠀ All credits to @angelsfat3 / @foschiamara⠀𝄒

. . . ₍⠀아이디어 !ㅤ⸻ㅤI'm very short of ideas lately, so feel free to leave me any requests! <⁠(⁠￣⁠︶⁠￣⁠)⁠>⠀₎⠀ ִֶָ

˖⠀⠀ ݁⠀©⠀،،⠀If you liked it you can like, follow me or reblog!!

[tokkette]

・❥・ ── 𝒥AKE 𝒟ASH

pairing. idol ex-bf! Jake Sim x fem!reader synopsis. Jake messed up, and now he’s determined to win back your forgiveness even if it means becoming your personal Door Dash. genre. exes-to-lovers, fluff, humor, redemption arc wc. 2,347 notes. this is something I came up with at 4 am so idk

jake sim was standing on your doorstep. again.

“you’re late,” you said, arms crossed as you leaned against the doorframe.

“by, like, two minutes,” he muttered, holding up the bag of takeout. “cut me some slack. traffic exists.”

“excuses,” you shot back, snatching the bag from his hand. “but since i’m feeling generous, i’ll let it slide. for now.”

jake rolled his eyes but didn’t argue. he never did these days.

this wasn’t some casual arrangement. no, jake was here because he had to be. he’d been showing up with your food almost daily for weeks now, and the only reason you tolerated it and him was because he was paying penance.

“why are you still doing this?” you asked, leaning against the doorframe as he lingered awkwardly on your porch.

“you know why,” he said, his voice soft.

and you did. jake felt bad. no, jake felt guilty. ever since your breakup, he’d been walking around like a kicked puppy, and it wasn’t even you who’d done the kicking. he was the one who screwed things up, the one who let you down. and for some reason, that guilt had manifested into this ridiculous arrangement.

it all started three weeks ago when he’d shown up unannounced with boba tea.

“what are you doing here?” you’d asked, glaring at him from the doorway.

“i…i just wanted to apologize,” he’d stammered, shifting on his feet. “for everything.”

“and you thought bubble tea would fix it?”

“no.” he’d sighed, running a hand through his hair. “i just… i don’t know how to make it up to you. but i’ll do anything. seriously, just name it.”

you didn’t know why the words left your mouth. maybe you were still angry. maybe you wanted to see how far he’d actually go. either way, you’d looked him dead in the eye and said:

“be my personal door dash.”

jake had blinked. “wait, what?”

“you heard me,” you’d said, crossing your arms. “you want me to forgive you? then prove it. deliver my food whenever i want, no complaints, no excuses. maybe then i’ll consider it.”

and to your absolute shock, he’d agreed.

now, here he was, standing on your porch for what felt like the millionth time, looking equal parts tired and determined.

“don’t you have better things to do?” you asked, taking a sip from your drink.

“probably,” he said, shoving his hands into his hoodie pocket. “but i don’t care. i messed up, and i’ll keep doing this as long as it takes for you to forgive me.”

you stared at him, the straw frozen halfway to your lips. he was serious. he’d always been serious about you, even when he’d screwed things up.

“jake,” you said quietly, “you don’t have to do this.”

“yes, i do,” he said firmly. “i hurt you. and if being your door dash is what it takes to make it right, then that’s what i’ll do.”

you hated how your heart clenched at his words, how that stupid sincerity in his voice made you want to believe him. but you weren’t ready to let him off the hook just yet.

“well,” you said, leaning back against the doorframe, “as long as you’re here, i could really go for some dumplings tomorrow.”

jake’s lips quirked into a small smile. “you got it.”

maybe one day you’d forgive him for real. maybe one day you’d stop making him run all over town to bring you food. but for now, you were content to let him work for it.

after all, the boy owed you more than just dumplings.

© tokkette

[princessbrunette]

jj making you kiss his cock because you made it hurt

(you were wearing his shirt and it made him harder than it should have😭😭😭😭)

-🏹

⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅🎀༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆𖦹.✧˚

he’s been holding himself back all day, trying not to be a total perv. you’re just existing, and with your sweet nature there’s no way you know to that extent how much you’re torturing him as you walk around in his muscle tank and a pair of cotton panties. your side boobs are on display, one wrong move from a nip slip every five seconds— just going about your day, walking around the kitchen of his house making some late lunch.

you lift your arms up, arching your back trying to crack it as you stretch, a quiet moan leaving you from how good it felt. apparently, that was his final straw.

“no, nope— you gotta— there’s no way you don’t know what you’re doin’ young lady.” he marches over, pointing a finger which rustles the black bracelets on his wrist at the force. you turn and face him, all confused and doe eyed as expected.

“huh?”

“dont huh me…” he corners you against the kitchen counter pressing his hard on directly against your front, a small gasp leaving you. “yeah, know what that is don’t ‘ya? you are killing me.” he hisses, a tinge of amusement in his otherwise serious tone. he looks good, lounging around in only a black backwards cap and grey sweat-shorts, his shirt being stolen right off his floor by you.

“what did i do?” you mewl, allowing him to manhandle you — slipping his hands round your back to your ass cheeks so he could pull you even harder against him, clearly trying to relieve himself with some friction.

“walk around in my shirt. lookin’ all sexy n’shit. this right here should be a crime. you should definitely let me lock you up f’that. shit, maybe i’ll handcuff you too.” he teases with a shrug and your lashes flutter at the suggestion. “you got some penance to do, missy.”

“what do you want me to do jayj? didn’t know i was teasing you i swear.” you promise, jutting your bottom lip out poutily. unable to resist, he leans in to kiss it — but stops right before he does, hovering over your lips with a better idea.

“gotta kiss the booboo, babydoll.” he steps back casually, standing crotch forward with his hands on his hips as he gazes down at his clear erection. “you made it hurt so like, it’s only fair you kiss it better right?” he explains further when you continue to blink at him.

“yay!” you giggle, delighted by the idea as you sink to your knees — barely giving yourself enough time to get comfortable as you eagerly bury yourself into the musky material of his shorts, kissing him everywhere all up and down his covered cock. he rolls his tongue over his lips before biting down, stomach tensing at the feeling of you mouthing at him, happy little moans leaving you.

“jesus, really getting in there, huh?” he comments and you nod happily, pulling back from a moment to look up at him lovingly.

“can i suck it? will that make it all better?” you mewl needily, and for a second he feels like he’s died and gone to heaven. he sighs, a chuckle rolling off the end of it as he bends at the waist, clutching your chin and cheeks in his hand.

“nothin’ would make me happier, sweetcheeks.” he smiles before reaching down and slowly dragging the hem of your shirt up until your tits spill out. “wouldnt complain about you lettin’ me see these pretty ass titties either.”

you briskly remove the shirt, and without being asked you peel your panties off too — totally naked on the kitchen floor making him wince, dick unfathomably hard. you press your body to his legs and get back to work, licking the grey material of his shorts until it was shades darker above where his dick lay.

“eaaaasy, damn. down girl, how about you let me take you somewhere a lil’ more comfortable, yeah?”

⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅🎀༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆𖦹.✧˚

[littlemisshyperfixation]

Wonwoo Fic Recommendations

a - angst f - fluff s - smut

One Shots

meet cute of the century (f a s) by @lovelyhan ✩♬ ₊˚. the last thing you expected when you volunteered at your city’s local animal shelter is to meet the hottest cat person in the world. now if only he’d just adopt one of them so you’d stop ogling him every time he drops by.

Midnight Appetite (s) (ft. mingyu) by @writeformesinpie ✩♬ ₊˚. You have found yourself in possession of an invite to the exclusive host club The Midnight Appetite. Within moments of walking into the establishment, one of the hosts sinks his claws in, staking his claim on you for the night. It isn’t long, though, before he adds another to your table. This isn’t how you thought your night would go. 

class project (s) (ft. mingyu) by @smileysuh ✩♬ ₊˚. You’re less than enthusiastic about being paired with notorious frat boys Mingyu and Wonwoo for a class project. They make it a point to change your opinion of them... by being the ultimate meanies. 

The Peephole (s) by @rubyreduji ✩♬ ₊˚. wonwoo can’t stop thinking about how he wants to ruin his roommate, the peephole in his wall isn’t helping tamper those desires either

homewrecked (a s) by @ncteez ✩♬ ₊˚. Wonwoo doesn’t seem to realize that you’re giving him the best option out of a relationship that doesn’t even involve you. With a cheating best friend on one side, and a loyal Wonwoo loving her from two hours away on another, you decide that home wrecking isn’t always a bad idea. 

April Shower (f s) by @sluttywoozi ✩♬ ₊˚. Wonwoo meets a lot of people through his career as a travel photographer. Not one of them has ever made him want to stay in one place, until he met you.

wedding weekends with wonwoo (f) by @suhnshinehaos ✩♬ ₊˚. jeon wonwoo, the perfect man. kind, smart, successful career, and not too bad on the eyes. all his friends are getting married and everyone’s aunts, mothers, and family friends are trying to set him up with their friends, sisters, brothers, nieces, and nephews at every wedding he attends. he’s tired of it. what better way to solve his problem than to employ your help, someone who’s having the exact same one?

penance (s) by @smileysuh ✩♬ ₊˚. You’re hyper-aware of the fact that all four of your lovers are just outside the confessional, that they’re listening in- it’s making your mouth dry, your palms becoming sweaty as you rub them against your dress. “When you last confessed, you mentioned greed and lust as your sins. Would you care to elaborate more on that?” The priest asks. “Maybe it will be easier, now that you’re amongst… friends.”

Loud Leather & Loud Thoughts (a f) by @bitchlessdino ✩♬ ₊˚. Hard to maintain a good acquaintanceship if it started off on the wrong foot, but Wonwoo tries to do just that, no matter how much you resent him from childhood. Now reunited as adults, you're questioning whether your negative impression of him has stuck since being away or have you grown up just enough to realize how much between the two you have changed?

Closer (s) by @hannieehaee ✩♬ ₊˚. after making it all the way to your final year of uni still having not experienced a single orgasm, you decided to take matters into your hands. your solution? asking your best friend wonwoo to teach you all he knew.

game on (s) by @ahloveisboo ✩♬ ₊˚. it’s been a shitty day and all you want to do is be close to wonwoo.

Chat, is that Rizz? (s) by @sailorrhansol ✩♬ ₊˚. Your rivalry with Wonwoo has existed for as long as you’ve been streaming. It’s fun, and both of your communities love it. Wonwoo is happy to play along - at least until you question his rizz while live, and he feels like he should remind you just how much rizz he has.

[corvidaes-crow]

Deruth Henituse bashing ahead, you have been warned.

I finally figured out why I hate Deruth Henituse. The novel, through Kim Roksu, barely lingers on his failings as a parent. Which, fair enough, I understand from a characterisation perspective why that wouldn't be a main focus. It just means I linger on that in canon's place. Why is Deruth satisfied with giving his child some exorbitant allowance? Why doesn't he ask at any point what it was used for, even when he thinks their relationship has improved? Why can he be a good person to everyone except OG!Cale? What is stopping him except his own cowardice and guilt?

There is not a single thing in LCF that redeems him as a father. We see how Ron grows to care for (KRS!)Cale, as well as Eruhaben and Fredo in their own pseudo-fatherly ways. We see how Deruth has not changed since 'Cale Henituse' improved. If he had been more grief-stricken finding out about Cale on-screen, maybe that would have redeemed him a bit in my eyes, but alas.

I need a scene where Deruth wakes up in the middle of the night heaving, tears streaming down his face when he realises that his son does not exist in their universe any more. When he realises his son has disappeared from their timeline, and likely did so believing everyone would prefer it that way. When he realises that belief is not exactly wrong, because everyone does prefer it this way.

That last realisation, he struggles with, because bad parents will never understand what they did wrong without significant internal struggle and a self-driven desire to understand. I need someone (Eruhaben, Ron, or even Violan) to notice his internal conflict and sit him down and ask him, straightforward and simple, "Which one do you prefer?" And they won't let him tell them his answer, that's not for them to know. But Deruth finds himself repeating the question over and over, which do I prefer?

It starts with 'neither, obviously, how could I pick a favourite?' but the guilt gnaws at him; his reflexive answer is not what his son, his sons, deserve. So he disassembles it all from there. What would he feel if they swapped back? What would he do then? Shower Cale with love, of course - but would he? Or would he find himself taking a step back, guilty and avoidant as always when it comes to his son?

And then, why would Deruth feel guilty? Because he hungers after a son who he can interact with without fearing Cale's hatred or resentment. He knows and fears his own inadequacy to heal their relationship. And the new soul doesn't mind it. The new soul, Cale, holds no expectations for him. No resentment. He doesn't know how to reconcile, but is there any need to if Cale is no longer the son he wronged?

So the answer to such a cruel question, which do you prefer, is... this one. The new one. The Cale that Deruth can be a proud father of, that he can hold his head high when talking about and fret over when he coughs blood or faints or leaves for another dangerous mission. The Cale that he knows exactly how to make happy. It's not hard, either, just food, rest and gold.

Deruth will never know how he could have made the original Cale happy. There is too much strife between them for Deruth to dare try to unravel it all, so he'll settle for wishing him all the best in future endeavours. This is penance enough, the guilt he will carry forever for not noticing sooner the loss of his firstborn son.

[goblinontour]

I Want You Hard

part 6 | series masterlist

or was it him all along?

warnings: implied age gap, angst, smut (not a lot), blowjob, nightmares, (mild) violence, choking (not the sexy kind), weirdness, overthinking, suicidal ideation again, oh, and a bit of daddy kink

word count: 7.6k

Waking up wasn’t exactly pleasant for him. It meant another day of living. And he wasn’t particularly fond of that anymore. The monotony of survival grated on him, the heavy knowledge of his existence weighing like a noose that never fully tightened. But waking up to your warm mouth wrapped around his cock? That was something else.

A better alternative than the usual crack of his joints, the stiff twist of his neck he could never quite finish, leaving his body in a continuous state of dissatisfaction. He’d stretch and contort himself every morning, yanking at muscles and vertebrae as if trying to realign something deeper than just his body. Sometimes, when the frustration boiled over, he twisted his neck so hard it felt like a test of how far he could push before something gave.  

There were always cracks, sharp and satisfying in their own way, but never the final one. Never the one that might end the dull, gnawing ache that had nothing to do with his bones and everything to do with the parts of him he couldn’t reach. He didn’t know if he wanted it to snap or if he just wanted the threat of it. Either way, it didn’t matter. The moment always passed, leaving him in the same place he started — alive, irritated, and dissatisfied.  

He’d think, sometimes, in those hazy early hours when sleep still clung to him, about how fragile the human body really was. A quick twist, a little more pressure, and it could all be over. The thought didn’t frighten him. If anything, it calmed him, a reminder that the choice was always there.  

But he never did. Not because of hope or fear, but because he didn’t deserve an ending. He deserved the cracks without the snap, the tension without the release. The perpetual discomfort was his penance, his way of carrying the weight. That of everything he’d done, of everything he hadn’t.  

This — your tongue tracing every ridge and vein — this seemed like the best way to start his day. Waking up to your mouth wrapped around him, to the soft warmth of your body and the slick, obscene sounds you made as you worked him over — felt like a reprieve. A distraction, maybe, but one he wasn’t about to turn down. Your touch dulled the edge, smoothed over the cracks, made the weight just a little lighter. For now.

He hadn’t asked for it. He didn’t need to. You’d grown to know your place in his space. You orbited around him and, somehow, into the cold, dark recesses of his heart. Holding and loving. Taking. Enduring. Soothing him even when he didn’t deserve it. Confusing him in ways he could never articulate. And now, serving him like a little slut — his little slut. 

“Keep sucking.” he groaned out, his teeth clenched. The words barely escaped his lips, still sticky and sealed from the spit that always collected in the corners of his mouth while he slept. You paused for a moment, looking up at him, and his gaze burned down at you. “Don’t stop.” he growled. 

His hand came down, gripping the back of your head — not to force, not yet, but to guide, to remind you who was in control. You obeyed, lips sealing tighter around him, tongue flattening against the underside of his cock as you moved. 

The sounds you made were so wet and so messy they echoed in the quiet room. He hated mornings, but now, he was beginning to hate the idea of this ending even more. 

He watched you through half-lidded eyes, his head sinking deeper into the pillow. His thoughts were sluggish, still caught in that liminal space between dreams and wakefulness. There was something almost tender about the way you worked him over, but he didn’t want to admit that — not even to himself. Tenderness wasn’t something he deserved and it wasn’t something he wanted. Or so he told himself. 

“Fuck…” he hissed, his hips jerking. “You like this, huh? Waking me up like this, sucking me off like the desperate little thing you are.” His words were harsh, but there was a warmth in them, a heat that betrayed the growing affection he couldn’t snuff out. 

You hummed in response, the vibration shooting straight through him. His grip on your hair tightened, and his breath hitched. He was close already — how could he not be? When you were looking up at him like that, like he was the only thing that mattered in your little world? It was maddening. 

“Fuck, sweetheart.” he groaned, his voice dropping into a gravelly timbre. His hips bucked again, harder this time, and you gagged slightly, your hands bracing against his thighs. “Take it all. Every fucking inch. Don’t you dare pull away.”  

Gripping tightly at the roots, he pushed himself deeper into your throat. He watched you struggle, your lips stretched around him, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. It only made him harder. “Keep…keep sucking me.” he ordered, his thumb brushing over your cheek. “You keep doing that, and I’ll let you taste me as a reward, yeah? Taste my cum…you wanna taste my cum?”  

You nodded around him, desperate and eager, your throat tightening as you hummed in response. “That’s my good girl.” he murmured, his hips starting to rock in a steady rhythm. “You’re so fucking perfect like this, you know that? On your knees, choking on me, looking so damn pretty with my cock in your mouth.”  

He could feel your tongue pressing against him, your mouth working in sync with the movement of his hips, and it was driving him closer and closer to the edge. “You’re gonna swallow every drop Daddy’s gonna give you, aren’t you? Gonna take it all like the perfect little girl you are.”

You whimpered, your hands gripping his thighs tighter, and he couldn’t help but smirk. “That’s right, sweetheart. You love this���love being used like this.” His pace quickened, his breaths coming out in ragged gasps as he chased his release, knowing you were right there with him, ready to take everything he gave.

His mind wavered, teetering between the animalistic need to use you and an urge to ruin you so completely that no one else could ever piece you back together. The thought of it stirred something primal, clawing at the edges of his restraint. And yet, in the same breath, he imagined cradling you afterward, holding you against his chest like a precious, shattered thing, his whispered words — mine, mine, mine — the only softness he could offer.  

Your hand, trembling but determined, slipped up his thigh, your fingertips grazing over the ridges of his muscles as if tracing the fault lines. You lingered there for a moment before sliding higher, brushing against the taut plane of his stomach, where the heat of him was palpable, radiating through the thin barrier of his skin that almost made you wish you could just rip into him. His breath hitched as your touch grew bolder, more insistent, and his hand moved instinctively to cover yours, engulfing it entirely. His palm was rough, calloused, and impossibly large against your smaller one, as if to remind you of the power he held over you, the power you willingly surrendered to him.  

His grip tightened, just slightly, a silent command to stay there, to feel the way his body responded to you, twitching under the weight of his own conflicting desires. He wanted to break you and build you back up in the same moment, to destroy and preserve. Madness.  

The room seemed to shrink around you, the air heavy with the storm of his thoughts and the weight of your touch. Every small movement felt amplified — the way your thumb repeatedly traced a slow circle over his belly, the way his fingers curled over yours, possessive and protective in equal measure. Unbearable. Yet neither of you moved to break it, the moment, the tension, caught in the fragile, twisted balance of wanting and being wanted.  

For now, all he could do was watch you, your lips stretched wide around him, your cheeks hollowing as you sucked him down, your eyes never leaving his. It was too much. Too good. His release was building. 

“Shit, sweetie, I’m gonna-” He didn’t finish the sentence, just held your head down as he came, spilling into your throat with a guttural moan that seemed to shake the very foundation of the room. His eyes squeezed shut, his jaw clenched so tight it ached, and for a moment, everything else disappeared — every dark thought, every regret, every ounce of self-loathing. There was only you, only this. 

When he finally opened his eyes, you were still there, swallowing everything he gave you, your tongue flicking out to catch what had escaped. The sight of you like this — used, obedient, perfect — sent a shiver deep down and through his spine. 

“Good girl.” he murmured, his voice softer now, though no less commanding. He pulled you up, his hand cradling your jaw as he stared into your eyes. “You’re too good to me, you know that?” 

You smiled at that, just a small curve of your lips in the shyness. “I just like making you happy, Daddy.” you said quietly. 

“Oh, girl…” he breathed, the words spilling out between ragged pants. His chest rose and fell unevenly, and you could feel the tremor in his muscles as his body seemed to sag beneath you. He looked wrecked — more so than you’d ever seen him — and yet, his hands still held you.  

His thumb brushed along your jaw, tracing the edge of your cheekbone with an almost unbearable tenderness. His eyes, dark and glassy, roamed your face, committing every detail to memory. He didn’t say anything else for a long moment, just breathed you in, his thumb now sliding down to the curve of your lower lip, pressing lightly as if testing its softness.  

You kissed the pad of his thumb instinctively, and something flickered in his expression — a mixture of vulnerability and hunger, the kind of look that made you feel like you were teetering on the edge of something dangerous.  

“You’re something else, sweet-face.” he murmured. “I don’t deserve you.”  

“You don’t get to decide that.” you whispered, your hands sliding up his arms, feeling the tension still coiled in his biceps. 

His grip tightened, only slightly, his fingers digging into the curve of your hips, grounding himself in the warmth of you. He didn’t respond — not with words, anyway. Instead, he leaned forward, resting his forehead against yours. His breath fanned over your lips, warm and uneven, and you felt the way his body sagged further, his strength momentarily giving way to weightlessness.  

The silence wasn’t uncomfortable. It was thick, heavy with meaning. But it wasn’t suffocating. His lack of words didn’t bother you — it never had. His hands, his touch, his presence — they spoke volumes more than his voice ever could. And right now, those hands were everything, holding you steady, reminding you that you were his and he was yours, in whatever twisted, imperfect way you’d found each other.  

“Stay like this.” he muttered, his voice almost inaudible. The words were more for himself than for you. His fingers slid up your back, tracing the curve of your spine, leaving a trail of warmth in their wake. “Just for a little longer.”  

“‘m not going anywhere.” you said softly, your own hands now finding the back of his neck, your fingers threading through his hair. It felt greasy in between them.

He exhaled deeply, his breath shuddering as if the reassurance had drained something from him. His hands slid to your waist, pulling you closer, his touch no longer rough or demanding. For the first time, he looked at you like he didn’t know how he’d ever let you go. And for the first time, you thought you saw something in his eyes that wasn’t just hunger or possession — it was need. Raw and painful and entirely human.  

You stayed like that, tangled together in the quiet, letting the moment stretch until it became something neither of you dared to break. 

Sunlight streaked through the windows, chasing the cold from the corners of the room but not entirely succeeding. It just pooled on the wooden floor and cast everything in a soft, golden glow. It caught his hair just right, almost like it was kissing it, illuminating it like a halo that seemed almost ironic against the sharp focus of his expression. The sweater — his thick sweater — hung off your frame, swallowing you whole, its fabric brushing against your thighs as you stood there watching him. He’d thrown it over your shoulders earlier. The warmth of it was undeniable, but the chill in the room still found its way to your exposed skin, prickling against the contrast of his lingering scent embedded in the threads.  

“Alexander?” you called, your voice light but insistent, breaking the steady rhythm of the blade scraping against the stone.  

He didn’t look up. A low hum escaped his throat from where he sat cross-legged on the floor, acknowledging you but keeping his focus. His spine was straight, his shoulders loose, but his thighs gripped the sharpening stone tightly, keeping it in place as his hands moved with practiced precision, the motion almost hypnotic in its repetition of drawing the blade down with a sound that sent tiny shivers down your spine.  

“Al?” you tried again, softer this time, testing.  

His hands stilled mid-motion, the blade poised mid-drag, hovering just above the stone. The furrow in his brow deepened as he snapped his head toward you, his eyes sharp and questioning.  

He hated how that name sounded coming from your lips. Too casual, too intimate, too much like you thought you knew him. Like you had some claim over him. It was dangerous, the way you wielded familiarity like a weapon, soft and subtle but no less sharp.  

Al. The syllable grated against something inside him, an old wound he thought he’d buried deep. That name didn’t belong here, didn’t belong to you. It belonged to another life, another version of him, one that was long gone. Wasn’t it? And yet, hearing it from you — it didn’t just sting. It burned, seared its way through the walls he’d built and made him want to — what? Push you away? Pull you closer? He wasn’t so sure anymore.  

You don’t know me, he thought bitterly, though the words felt hollow even in his own mind. Because you did know him, didn’t you? Or at least the pieces he’d allowed you to see. Maybe that was the real problem.  

His fingers twitched against the blade, a faint tremor betraying the steadiness he usually prided himself on. He didn’t want to think about why you saying his name felt like a violation and a comfort all at once. Didn’t want to examine the way his chest tightened, how it wasn’t entirely…unpleasant.  

Because if he started to unravel that thread, he wasn’t sure he’d like what he found at the other end. 

“Why did you call me that?” His voice was low, steady, but there was something underneath it, something taut and wound too tight — disapproval, confusion, maybe both.  

The suddenness of his reaction made your breath hitch. “I- what do you mean? It’s just…a nickname.” you said softly, your fingers fidgeting with the edge of the sweater’s sleeve. “I just…thought it’d be okay. Isn’t it?” 

His jaw tightened. He stared at you, the weight of his gaze making your chest feel heavier. His knuckles whitened around the handle of the blade as though the mere sound of your voice had disrupted something within him. He set it aside on the stone with deliberate precision, his gaze locking on you in a way that not only made you feel small, but like you’d stepped somewhere you shouldn’t have. 

“No one calls me that.” he said finally, his tone quieter but no less intense. “Not like that.” 

The way he said it made you feel like you’d…touched something fragile. You weren’t sure if he was angry or just…exposed.  

“Why not?” you asked.  

His lips pressed into a thin line, unflinching. “Because they don’t. And they won’t.”  

Your fingers twitched at your sides, resisting the urge to retreat. “It’s just a name…” 

“It’s not ‘just a name.’” He leaned forward slightly, the movement subtle but enough to make you feel threatened by his presence even from across the room. “You think you can just call me whatever you want? That you know me enough to-”

“I didn’t mean it like that!” you interrupted, your voice trembling slightly.  

He exhaled sharply, dragging a hand through his hair. “You didn’t mean it.” he repeated. “You don’t think, do you? You just…speak.” 

The words stung, but there was something, some…a frustration that didn’t feel entirely aimed at you.  

You dropped your gaze, the fabric of his sweater bunching under your grip as you kept twisting the hem in your fingers. “I just thought it’d be nice.” you murmured. “I didn’t mean to upset you. I didn’t mean anything by it. I’m sorry. I just-” you continued, taking a cautious step closer. 

“Don’t.” he interrupted this time, his voice softening slightly as he looked away, the tension in his shoulders easing just a fraction. “Just don’t.”  

The silence stretched, the only sound audible being the faint scrape of the blade as he resumed his work, slower this time, less precise, the rhythm uneven. You wanted to press, to ask why it mattered so much, but the set of his jaw and the slight downturn of his lips warned you against it. Instead, you sat down on the edge of the chair nearest him, your hands tugging at the sleeves of his sweater that dwarfed you. The air felt heavier now, charged with something unspoken.  

A soft brush against your ankle drew your attention.  

The cat — Lulu — had wandered over, her sleek black fur catching the sunlight as she rubbed against you. You crouched down instinctively, your fingers running through her fur as she purred, her tail curling around your wrist.  

“She likes you.” Alexander said suddenly, like he’d sensed it without even looking at you, or looking up at all.  

“She’s sweet.” She leaned into your touch.

Alexander shifted slightly, adjusting back to his cross-legged position on the floor.  

“She likes most people.” he said, his tone flat, almost indifferent. “Isn’t there some saying about animals being like their owners? She didn’t get that from me, but I guess…”  

You glanced at him, your brows furrowing at the pause. “But you guess what?”  

His mouth twitched, the corner lifting in a half-smile. “Maybe I’ve got a little softness somewhere, buried deep. You’d know better than me at this point.”  

You let out a quiet laugh, the sound light and warm in the cool air of the room. “Is that your way of saying you like me?”  

The scrape of the blade against the stone stilled again. He didn’t look up, but his hand tightened on the hilt of the knife, his knuckles going white for a brief second before he relaxed again.  

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, sweetie.” Sharp but he lacked the venom he might’ve carried in another moment. “I’m not the one petting my cat like she’s some kind of sacred treasure.”  

You laughed again, a little louder this time, and the cat’s ears twitched at the sound. “Well, someone has to make up for your lack of affection.” you teased, scratching under the chin.  

“I give affection.” he said, almost defensively. “You just don’t notice it.”  

“Oh?” you said, raising a brow. “When exactly was that?”  

He tilted his head, considering you for a moment before smirking faintly. “You’re wearing my sweater, aren’t you?”  

You glanced down at yourself. “I meant towards Lulu. Plus, this doesn’t count.” you said. “You practically threw it at me.”  

“And you didn’t give it back.” he shot back, his smirk widening. “Seems to me like you’re the clingy one here.”  

You rolled your eyes, shaking your head as you stood. The cat stretched lazily at your feet, rubbing her head against your ankle before padding off toward the window. “You’re impossible, Alexander.”  

“I know.” he said, leaning back on his hands as his eyes followed you. “But here you are.” He paused and glanced over his shoulder at you. “Wearing my stuff. Invading my space.” His gaze raked over you slowly, before his eyes flicked back up to meet yours. “Guess I must be doing something right.”  

Your cheeks warmed under his scrutiny, but you didn’t look away. “Or maybe I’m just very patient.”  

His grin widened. “Keep telling yourself that, sweets.” You opened your mouth to respond, but he held up a hand, silencing you. “Don’t. You’ll just say something else you’ll regret.”  

“Does it bother you when I say your name?” you asked anyway, careful to keep your voice gentle.  

He didn’t answer right away. But then he sighed.  

“It’s not that.” he admitted. “It’s just…different when it’s…you.”

“Different how?”

He shook his head, a small, almost imperceptible shake. “It just is.”

“Okay.” you said simply, your voice light, almost breezy, as though the moment hadn’t just shifted into something unspoken and strange. But it had. You could feel it like a current beneath your skin, humming, pulling, insistent.

You didn’t push him further, though. You could tell — by the way his hands resumed their methodical motion, the blade dragging across the stone — that whatever it was, he wasn’t ready to put it into words. Maybe he didn’t even have the words.  

Still, your eyes stayed on him, drawn like a moth to flame. The light from the window carved him in sharp shapes all over, shadows along the lines of his face, the hollow of his throat, the tension in his shoulders. You wanted to reach out, to smooth the furrow in his brow with your thumb, to ask him again — why does it bother you so much when I call you that? — but you didn’t.  

He’d gotten all weird when you said it. It was just a name, wasn’t it? A nickname, nothing more. But the way he reacted…

You wished you could see inside him, to look past the carefully constructed exterior he wore. He was so good at keeping you at a distance, even when you were close enough to feel his breath on your skin. You’d caught glimpses, here and there — small, fleeting moments where his guard slipped, where something raw and vulnerable surfaced before he shoved it back down. But it was never enough.  

He was a puzzle you couldn’t solve, a book with missing pages. And still, you couldn’t stop trying.  

“Alexander?” you said softly, testing the feel of his full name on your tongue.  

His eyes flicked up to meet yours, unreadable. “What?”  

“Nothing.” you said quickly, shaking your head. 

“I’ve got a blade in my hand.” he said dryly, holding it up as if to make his point. “Don’t want to lose focus and end up bleeding all over the place.”  

You smiled faintly, but the humor — if that’s what he meant it to come across as — didn’t land. You wanted to say more, to ask him why he was always so careful, so controlled, even in moments like this. You just nodded.  

You wished he’d let you in. You wished he’d let you see him — really see him. But you knew better than to push. He wasn’t the kind of man you could coax or cajole into opening up. If he wanted to show you, he would. Until then, all you could do was wait. 

“Al?”  

“You’re here?”  

I lifted my eyes to meet hers, and for a moment, I couldn’t believe it. Her silhouette blurred, bathed in the golden light that streamed through the windows, almost too perfect, too radiant to be real. But when she stepped closer and I felt the warmth of her arms wrapping around me, solid and grounding, just a moment, the ache in my chest loosened.  

What day is it?  

“Of course, honey. Where would I go?”  

“Anywhere.” I whispered into her hair, breathing her in, the scent of her so familiar and intoxicating, grounding me in a way I hadn’t felt in ages. She smelled like home, like things I didn’t know how to name but never wanted to lose. My hands gripped her tighter, unwilling to let her slip away, even though a quiet voice in the back of my mind whispered that this wasn’t real.  

“Not without you.”  

Her voice was so soft, so certain, wrapping around me like the arms I couldn’t bring myself to release. It almost broke me.  

“Oh, please. Never…never ever.” I murmured, the words escaping through a grin that felt too wide for my face. I pulled back just enough to see her face again, to remember the curve of her smile, the light in her eyes — her eyes, shining as if the sun itself lived inside her — but not far enough to lose the feeling of her in my grip. My hands stayed on her waist, refusing to let her go.  

“She’s in the garden, picking flowers for you.” she said.  

“For me?” My voice cracked, a strange mix of disbelief and hope cutting through my words.  

“You know how much she adores you.”  

“I know.”  

I said it and nodded, but that feeling in my chest grew heavier again, the pain of something unnamed that pressed against my ribs, threatening to split me open. My gaze drifted toward the window, where the garden stretched out like something of a dreamscape. It was impossibly vibrant, every color too bright, too alive. And there she was — another figure, smaller, crouched among the flowers, her hands gathering blooms into a bundle.  

I knew her. God, I knew her.  

“She wanted to surprise you.” the figure in my arms whispered, her lips brushing against my ear. “She’s been waiting for you all morning.”  

I tried to speak, but my throat felt tight, the words stuck somewhere between my heart and my mouth. Words tried to form and my tongue wouldn’t let them come alive. Something wasn’t right. Something about the scene felt too sharp, too vivid, as if it might all shatter if I looked too closely.  

“Don’t you want to go to her?” she asked, tilting her head to catch my eyes.  

I nodded again. My legs felt heavy. They wouldn’t move. My hands clenched against her waist. It felt as though letting her go would mean losing something vital. I was unwilling to release her warmth, even as my eyes remained fixed on the figure in the garden, her small hands busy arranging the flowers.  

The blooms were red. Too red.  

“She’s waiting, Al.” 

But I couldn’t move. I couldn’t speak. The scene began to blur, the sunlight dimming, the vibrant colors bleeding together like a watercolor painting left out in the rain or paint washing down a drain. I tried to step forward, but my feet were rooted, heavy as stone. My chest tightened, the ache turning sharp, twisting like a blade inside of me. 

“Al?” Her voice echoed, pulling at me, dragging me toward something I didn’t want to even see, much less face.  

I blinked, and everything was gone.  

I blinked, and then there was nothing but the dark and the sound of my own breathing.

That darkness hit like a wave, crushing and infinite, pressing in from all sides. My chest heaved, but the air I breathed felt thin, as if the void itself was swallowing it whole. The warmth was gone, replaced by a cold that sank into my bones.  

I was alone.  

I tried to call out, but my voice wouldn’t come. The silence was suffocating, thick and unyielding, and the ache in my chest grew unbearable. I reached out, blindly, desperately, but there was nothing to hold onto.  

Just the dark.  

And the sound of my own breathing. 

Shallow and ragged, echoing back at me like a cruel reminder that I was still alive.

You didn’t feel him at first. He was quiet in the way only someone utterly consumed by their own torment could be. You didn’t feel him. Until you did. Like a curse of affliction poured down upon him, saturating every corner of the room, and now it was sinking, deeper and deeper, infecting. And you were here to see its symptoms showing, right before your eyes. It was suffocating, thick and cloying, and you felt it before you even opened your eyes. Something heavy and dark sat there waiting for you to wake up and witness its reign.  

The change in his breathing was what woke you. So sharp and loud even with the lack of audibility. It was like he wasn’t even here anymore, like someone else was doing it for him — some foreign force that dragged air in and shoved it back out in violent bursts. Cries without tears, just the relentless pressing of lungs and dry, guttural sobs from the subconscious.  

And then came the sound. It broke the already loud silence. It wasn’t just the sound of air moving in and out — it was something far more primal. A sound so raw and distant that for a moment, you weren’t even sure it really was him. It didn’t sound human, didn’t sound like it could come from the man lying beside you.  

When you turned to him, the sight was worse than the sound. His body was a warzone of tension, his muscles rippling under his skin as if they were locked in battle. His chest rose and fell violently. The shallow gasps made his ribs stand out starkly beneath his damp skin. His head was buried in the pillow, but it wasn’t resting there — it was pressed down hard, as if he were trying to smother whatever demons had clawed their way into his subconscious.  

And when you reached out, instinctively touching from where your fingers hovered just above his back, the moment you made contact with his skin, it was like you’d burned him, branded him with a hot iron rod. His muscles flinched so violently you could practically trace each separate one by sight, their spasms highlighting the structure of his back and shoulders in sharp, unforgiving detail. You didn’t even know enough about human anatomy to name them all, but, in that moment, you could’ve pointed out each one like you’d studied it for years or even decades.  

He fought the pillow beneath him, dragging it down from underneath his head and crushing it against his chest. His arms twisted around it, his hands gripping in a vice grip, so tightly that his knuckles went bone-white, the veins in his forearms standing out in stark prominence, his fingers trembling as though he might rip the fabric apart. His back arched. His legs curled inward. His feet scraped against the sheets in an almost desperate crawl away from something that wasn’t even there. His mouth hung open, drooling onto the mattress. His breath came out in wet, choking sounds.  

And when you said his name, you knew it was a mistake. You knew it before the word even left your mouth.  

“Al?”  

His body jerked, head snapping up like a puppet pulled by its strings. His eyes — wild, glassy, unseeing — searched the room. Looking for something, someone. His chest heaved, his breathing erratic, the veins in his neck standing out against his damp, sweat-slick skin. His lips parted, but no words came out, just the wet sounds from within his throat. For a moment, he looked at you, or through you — it was hard to tell. His gaze was unfocused, his expression a mask of confusion and something darker, something almost feral.  

“Al?” you tried again, softer this time, like you were speaking to a wounded animal.  

He froze.  

Your voice left your lips, and the change in him was immediate. He moved without thought, without awareness, his body snapping into motion as though driven by something beyond his control. In an instant, he was above you, looming, a shadow blotting out the faint light of dawn filtering through the windows. It was like watching a storm descend, a force of nature too powerful to stop. One second he was distant, his head buried in some unseen hell, and the next, he was there. 

His arm was at your neck before you could even process the shift, the pressure instant, brutal, and suffocating, pinning you to the mattress with a force that was more than terrifying. His head was buried down, out of sight, his face pressed into the curve of your shoulder as if he were hiding from something, from you- no, from himself. The weight of him was so unbearable pressing down on your chest. The sharp edge of his forearm against your throat stole what little breath you could muster.  

He remained hidden, tucked low. You couldn’t see his face, but his breath came in jagged bursts, hot and damp against your skin, his chest heaving with every sharp inhale. The tension in him was so severe that he was trembling, every muscle in his body was trembling, all his strength pouring out of him in waves and into you.  

He wasn’t there. Not really. 

Your body reacted automatically, hands clawing at his back, your nails scraping down the length of him, but it was like fighting against stone. He didn’t feel it, or maybe he did, and it just didn’t matter. His arm pressed harder against your throat, cutting off the air entirely, and panic surged through you like ice in your veins.  

Desperate, desperate attempts only for his grip to tighten. Your vision blurred, black spots blooming at the edges as your lungs screamed for air.  

Your legs kicked out, thrashing against the mattress, the sheets tangling around you as you fought for something — anything. Hits went to his shoulders, his arms, his chest, trying to push him off, but he was immovable. Solid. The sharp sound of his breathing filled the room and covered yours, so loud and erratic it felt like it was vibrating through you.  

You tried to call his name, but the sound was lost, caught in your throat as you choked on your own spit. Your hands pushed at his chest, weak and frantic, your nails continuing to scrape anywhere you could reach. It was no use. He was too far gone, too deep in whatever nightmare had swallowed him whole.  

It was terrifying, yes, but there was something worse, something darker about the way he didn’t seem to be there. His body was here, crushing you, suffocating you, but his mind was elsewhere, trapped in some abyss you couldn’t reach. He wasn’t Alexander in that moment. He was something unrecognizable.  

Your lungs burned from the lack of air. Any sound you tried to make was swallowed by the pressure against your throat, your voice reduced to a weak, strangled gasp. Your nails found his skin again, this time digging deeper, hard enough to draw blood, but still, he didn’t stop.  

You could feel the tears on your face, mingling with the spit you choked on, the desperate, wet sounds of your struggle filling the air alongside his uneven breaths. It was unbearable. Everything about it. The weight of him, the crushing force, the suffocating panic that clawed at your chest.  

And then, with the last ounce of strength you had, your hands found his face. Your fingers pressed against his cheeks, your thumbs digging into the sharp lines of his jaw as you forced his head up. Forced him to see you. His hair was damp against your palms, clinging to your skin as you pushed, as you gasped out his name, a broken, strangled sound that barely escaped your lips.  

“Al-”  

His eyes snapped open.  

For a moment, they didn’t see you. They were wild, feral, and broken, so dark that they sent a shiver down your spine even as relief flooded your chest. But then they focused, locking onto yours, and everything shifted. When they focused, the change was instant again, as if snapped out of a trance. 

His grip loosened, his arm dropping away from your neck like dead weight, the pressure vanishing so suddenly it left you coughing and choking on the air you dragged into your lungs. He scrambled back, his body jerking away from yours, his movements frantic, uncoordinated.  

And then those eyes of his widened, horror flooding his expression as he looked down at you, taking in the red marks on your throat, the way you cradled your neck with trembling hands, the way your chest rose and fell as you gulped down oxygen. His mouth opened, but no sound came out, just a dry, choked rasp. Until-

“Oh god-”  

He dropped onto his back, his hands clawing at his own chest, his throat, as though he were the one who couldn’t breathe. His body heaved with every ragged inhale, his head thrown back as he stared at the ceiling with wide, unblinking eyes.  

“Oh god…” he gasped, his voice barely audible, broken. His chest was heaving, trying to breathe through the weight of what he’d just done. “Oh god, I- what did I-”  

His hands flew to his face, covering it as his body shook, the tremors violent, uncontrollable. “I didn’t- oh god, I wasn’t- oh god!” he said again, louder this time, the words catching in his throat. His hands fisted in his hair, tugging hard enough to make his scalp burn, but he didn’t stop. “What did I- oh- I- I-”  

He turned his head to look at you, his gaze filled with a mixture of guilt and terror so profound it made your stomach twist. “I didn’t- I wasn’t-”  

You sat up slowly, every movement deliberate, careful, less because you were afraid he might snap again at the slightest provocation and more to not startle him in this fragile state. Your fingers touched your neck, tracing the tender, throbbing skin, and you winced at the pain. But you swallowed it down, pushing it aside as you looked at him.  

“It’s okay.” you said, your voice raw, hoarse, barely more than a whisper, or rather a rasp. You reached out, your hand brushing against his arm, and he flinched, jerking away from your touch like it hurt. “It’s okay, Alexander. I’m okay.”  

But you weren’t sure if you were trying to convince him or yourself. 

“No!” he said, shaking his head, his hands still covering his face. “No, it’s not okay. I-”  

“It is.” you insisted, your voice firmer this time, though it still trembled. “Alexander, look at me.”  

He didn’t. His hands stayed where they were, his body curling in on itself as if trying to disappear. “I hurt you.” he said, barely there, muffled by his hands. “I could’ve…”  

“But you didn’t.” you interrupted, leaning closer, your hand finding his and tugging gently. “You stopped. You’re here now. Look at me, Alexander.”  

Slowly, hesitantly, he lowered his hands, his eyes meeting yours. They were filled with so much guilt, so much pain, it hurt more than anything the touch of his hands might’ve laid on you.  

“I’m here.” you said softly, your fingers brushing against his. “I’m okay. We’re okay.”  

His eyes narrowed, and for a split second, you thought he might lash out. But then his shoulders sagged, the tension in his body releasing all at once as he let out a shuddering exhale. His grip on the pillow loosened, his hands falling limp against the mattress.  

But it wasn’t relief you saw on his face — it was something else. Resignation. And defeat.  

“You were dreaming.” you said, your hand hovering above his back again, hesitant to touch him.  

He didn’t respond.  

“It’s okay.” you continued, your fingers brushing against his skin. This time, he didn’t flinch, though his muscles were still taut beneath your touch. “You’re here now. I’m here. Hey, it’s me.” you whispered. “I’m here.”  

You seemed to reach him, though not entirely. His eyes flickered, recognition dawning slowly, like the sun struggling to break through a thick, oppressive fog. His expression changed. The wildness faded, replaced by something colder, harder. His jaw clenched, his teeth grinding together audibly. He turned his head away from you, his body curling further in.  

“Go back to sleep.” he rasped.  

“Al, I-”  

“I said, go back to sleep.”  

There was no anger in his tone, no sharpness, but it was crushing, the way he left no room for argument. Still, you couldn’t just leave him like this.  

“I’m not going anywhere.” you said softly.  

There was nothing but silence, broken only by the sound of his breathing — slowing. You thought maybe he was coming back to himself, grounding in the reality of your presence. But when he spoke again, his voice was so quiet it was almost swallowed by the stillness.  

“Don’t…don’t say my name like that again.”  

“Like what?” you asked, your hand stilling.  

“Like you’re trying to save me.”  

The words hit you like a blow. You didn’t know how to respond. You wanted to save him, of course you did. But you knew him too well by now. You knew he wouldn’t let you.  

“I just want to help, Alexander.” you said finally, your voice soft, almost pleading for him to understand.  

He let out a low, humorless laugh, his head turning slightly but not enough to face you. “Help?” he repeated, his tone bitter. “You can’t help me, darling. No one can.”  

Your hand resumed its gentle motion on his back. “Maybe not,” you said, “but I can stay.”  

He didn’t reply.  

You stayed anyway, your hand tracing slow, soothing circles against his skin. His breathing evened out little by little, the tension in his body ebbing away in increments so small they were almost undetectable. His back, once tense and unyielding, softened ever so slightly, though his head remained turned away. 

“Do you…” you hesitated, not wanting to push too hard, but unable to keep the question inside. “Do you want to talk about it?”  

His body got caught between fight and flight. Then, finally, his voice came.  

“Not now.” he said. “I can’t. Not now.”  

“Okay.” you murmured.  

The quiet stretched again, the kind that made time feel like it was spilling out into an endless void. His breathing steadied, but there was still something in it — an edge, a tremor, a ghost of whatever storm had taken him moments before.  

“Can you…would you-” He stopped, swallowing hard, the words catching in his throat.  

“What is it?” you asked gently, leaning closer, your voice soft enough to coax without crowding him.  

He shook his head, his hair brushing against your arm like even this small movement pained him. “I don’t know how to ask.” he admitted.  

“You don’t have to.” you said, your fingers tracing along the curve of his spine.  

But he did. You saw it in the way his hands clenched at his sides — a man holding onto himself with all the strength he could muster, and still losing — until he whispered, “Will you hold me?”  

Like a bird with broken wings. Fragile, hollow-boned, and trembling in your hands in the same way he’d hold them in his. His fingers worked with such precision, restoring lifeless creatures to some facsimile of beauty. How carefully he stitched and smoothed, as if his hands alone could defy death. Now, those same hands lay useless at his sides, like they’d forgotten how to fix anything — including himself.  

Words felt clumsy in a moment like this, too blunt for something so tender. So you just held him. Your arms came around him, wrapping him in a cocoon of warmth and softness, careful not to press too hard.  

It felt almost sacred, holding him like this. You felt him give way — leaning into you, his breath uneven and fluttering, just like the faint heartbeat of a bird resting right in your palm.

You wondered now if he saw himself in them, in the brokenness he tried to repair, in the stillness he tried to make beautiful. 

His breath hitched again, a shudder running through him that you felt down to your bones. Your hands moved, smoothing over his back, his shoulders, to remind him that he was here, that he was whole, that he was yours to care for. Only this time around, it wasn’t about restoration or preservation. It was about keeping him alive and keeping him real, even when he felt like he was fading.  

“It’s okay.” you whispered. “I’ve got you.”  

You held him like he was something precious, something worth saving. Because to you…he was.

“I don’t think I know myself anymore.” he said suddenly. “I don’t even know what’s left of me. If there’s anything left at all.”  

You held him tighter. “You’re still here.” 

“Am I?” he asked, his voice cracking. “Because it doesn’t feel like it. It feels like I’m watching someone else, like I’m not real anymore. Like I’m just a ghost haunting my own body.”  

You didn’t know what to say, what words could possibly bridge the gap between his despair and your love for him. Was it love? Was this what that felt like? So you didn’t speak. You left your touch to speak for everything you couldn’t.  

“You shouldn’t stay.” 

“I know.” 

And still, you stayed. 

a/n: This wasn’t really the plan at all, but that’s where my mind seemed to go while writing it. The last scene, I mean. Soooooo yeah. Not the end quite yet.

[reccyls]

hi!! sorry to ask, but what are mai’s symptoms in mitsuhide’s sequel?? like how would the tragic end play out? thank you!

Hello! Please don't apologize for asking, I'm happy to answer questions! (If I do know the answer, of course). I'll put the details beneath the cut, I've actually finished the tragic end as well

Mai's symptoms here are that she sometimes fades out of existence. She becomes invisible to others, they can't hear her voice, and she passes through the people she touches. It starts off as just a few seconds, brief enough that other people think it's a trick of the light, or maybe they're too exhausted. But eventually it becomes nearly permanent.

There is a way to check for Mai's presence, however: the ringing of a bell. It was something that belonged to her in the modern day, and she gave it to Mitsuhide to repair. When he gives it back to her, it is now something that belongs to both the past and the future, so the universe can't erase it since it "belongs" to the past. Therefore, Mai always brings the bell with her and rings it to make her presence known.

The original speculation regarding the cause of Mai's symptoms were her actions to save Nobunaga from the Honno-ji incident. However, it's later theorized by Sasuke that it's not Mai saving Nobunaga's life that caused the timeline warps: it's actually her saving Mitsuhide. Not just once (he should have died after Honno-ji as well) but twice (during Yoshiaki's trap). Therefore, the guidebook pages going blank (and eventually Mitsuhide's name specifically also disappearing from the guidebook) are the unvierse trying to correct this by causing Mai to disappear, thus making history go back on the right track.

This was said in confidence to Mai. However, Mitsuhide happened to overhear this. Now, Kicho and Motonari haven't been sitting their idly either. So Mitsuhide figures he'll kill two birds with one stone: he leaves the Oda forces and begins raising a third army on his own, to draw strength away from Kicho and Motonari. He is planning to go into battle against the Oda forces and lose, cementing Nobunaga's continued rule, and also dying to erase himself from the timeline to stop Mai's symptoms.

(Note that earlier in the route, Mai had almost run away silently from the Oda to try and avert this: maybe if she wasn't around to influence Nobunaga or Mitsuhide anymore, the symptoms would stop getting worse and Mitsuhide wouldn't be driven to drastic measures to try and stop them. Masamune is the one who catches her and helps to convince her to stay. Masamune is also the one who confronted Mitsuhide after he declared his intention to leave; he calls the two of them "a matched pair" given that their immediate first thought is to do some sort of self-sacrificial stunt to save the other.)

In the tragic ending, Mai figures out Mitsuhide's second aim during a war council with the others. She absolutely does not want Mitsuhide to do this, and so, she silently leaves the war council and decides to go through with her original plan. She writes a farewell letter for everyone and then vanishes without a trace. The letter is discovered the next day by Ranmaru, who realizes what Mai has done and informs the others.

The tragic ending then skips ahead a few months, to a final confrontation between the Oda, and Mitsuhide's rebel army. Mitsuhide is soundly defeated, and he comes face to face with his old comrades for the first time in a long time. However, all Nobunaga does is to give him a letter: the one that Mai wrote before she disappeared.

Here is where I clearly remember the language used in the text, it was that evocative: after reading the letter, Mitsuhide fell to his knees "as if his soul had left his body"; everything he had done, all for nothing because Mai was gone.

As penance for his betrayal, Nobunaga gives Mitsuhide a mission: find Mai. No one believes that she has truly disappeared forever.

The last scene of the tragic end is another timeskip, this time a year or perhaps more later. Mitsuhide is wandering the country, constantly searching for any trace of Mai. Earlier in the route, there was a discussion about how Mitsuhide's life was a road that led to hell. He muses to himself how hoping against hope is a kind of hell in itself, but one that he willingly walks into, because he must believe that Mai still exists, and that he can find her.

And we end with the sound of a ringing bell, carried by the wind. One more chime, this time fainter. Mitsuhide smiles and asks if she is playing tag with him. But regardless, he gets up, and follows the sound, because he would follow her anywhere, even to the depths of hell.

[finallyfantasy7]

I've seen people accuse Angeal of being a coward.

Either for choosing to die, or for making Zack kill him instead of doing it himself.

Angeal Hewley was a hero.

I didn't see anything cowardly in his behavior. I only saw a person willing to sacrifice his life to protect others.

Not just the story but imagery and motifs support it too: his name, being the only one of the trio having a white wing, being called Angeal Penance in the final fight, the way he's depicted at the end...

As for the story, what drove Angeal to get Zack to kill him wasn't cowardice, but a wish to protect others. Suddenly faced with Genesis and unaware of motives for his desertion and behavior, Angeal disappeared in Wutai because he didn't want to drag Zack into the whole mess while Angeal takes time to reason with Genesis to come back. Being a SOLDIER had come to mean so much to Angeal but he left without hesitation to protect Zack. He left to get Genesis back.

Yet, despite Angeal's love for his friend, he stands between Genesis and Zack in the Banora factory, because protecting is what he does.

Angeal never joined Genesis because he couldn't justify the violence. Angeal was there only to convince Genesis to return with him to Shinra. Of course, once Angeal learned the truth of the horrible experiments that created them, and of all the disgusting things Shinra did, he couldn't morally justify returning either. He was left in a limbo.

On top of that, his own degradation got triggered and affected his mind and made him confused and unable to think clearly (G-SOLDIER degradation makes them irrational and more prone to violence), and he wrestled with the newfound knowledge of his twisted origins, his mother's willing participation in it, her lies, and that the fact that it was actually the sleazy lowlife Hollander who was his biological father (and not the man he respected and loved all his life and who was so proud of Angeal he had sacrificed everything for Angeal to have the Buster Sword). Hollander used Angeal's moment of helplessness to harvest his cells and with them started creating Angeal copies. Angeal never consented to this. Sephiroth's conclusions that both Angeal and Genesis are in league with Hollander when he saw Angeal copy is incorrect and comes from Sephiroth's own issues.

Yet, Angeal's own existence created the one thing he strove all his life to prevent. A danger to others. Aside from Lazard, all Angeal copies were monsters, not humans. And monster are dangerous. They attack people. They kill. They create suffering.

If he were to prevent it, he had to destroy the source of the cells - himself, or the world would never be safe from Angeal copies.

Now, it's very important to note that this decision to destroy himself was very different than the self-loathing wish to die he expressed to Zack in Banora, or the pointless attempt to get Zack to kill him on the bottom of the plate above the Sector 5 church.

By this point, Angeal had managed to overcome the degradation's effects on his mind by using his willpower and his SOLDIER honor, and he was not searching to die to end his own shame, he was searching to do his duty.

We see this change in him when he starts helping Zack and Sephiroth deflect Genesis' and Hollander's attacks, protecting people in Shinra Building, and informing Lazard of their plans, although never officially returning to Shinra. He retained the spirit of what it means to be an honorable SOLDIER without supporting Shinra that created it all.

Now, with his mind clear and his honor restored he does not loathe himself, but he can clearly see his copies have to be destroyed. And there is sadly no other way to do this than to absorb them and destroy himself in the process.

He is not a coward, he is selfless and brave for willing to die to protect others.

He did not saddle Zack with this. Zack consented. Zack agreed that their enemy is all that creates suffering, even if he didn't fully understand what that would entail. At that point Angeal probably didn't either.

But think about Zack's personality. Killing his mentor and friend is unthinkable to him, but how would he feel if he had refused and then Angeal copies killed innocent civilians? If they killed a little kid? Zack was devastated but ultimately it was Angeal's free decision. How much more devastated would Zack be if his refusal to fight Angeal led to deaths of people who had no choice in the matter unlike Angeal?

From what I saw of their last fight, Angeal faced several issues:

to collect his copies and destroy them

to prevent Hollander from getting more samples from him

to find a way to destroy himself while being merged with the copies which seems to rob him of self-awareness. He didn't seem at all in control as Angeal Penance, so how could he destroy himself?

So, what course of action is left? Who can Angeal trust?

Who is strong and skilled enough to fight a SOLDIER 1st Class strengthened by degradation? Who can be trusted to prevent Hollander from collecting more samples? Who cares enough about protecting others to crush his own feelings by killing his friend? Who has mental fortitude and emotional support to do it and come out on the other side still himself?

Gensis is still obsessed with a cure and revenge and is creating untold suffering himself, and Sephiroth was taught that collateral damage is no big deal and doesn't care about much except his friends. And besides, Angeal already saw Sephiroth had started spiraling into despair.

So who is left?

Only Zack.

And Angeal prepared Zack. He prepared him by training him, by loving him, by teaching him about being an honorable and moral SOLDIER. He certainly couldn't even dream this is what he was preparing him for, but he inadvertently did. Zack is powerful enough, and cares enough, and is emotionally strong enough. Zack is the most emotionally strong person Angeal had ever met.

Only thing left to do was to convince Zack to do it because Zack has shown he would rather die than fight Angeal. But while Zack was alright with sacrificing himself, he wouldn't hurt Aerith by never returning to her (which very nicely makes Crisis Core even more tragic).

Angeal did everything in his power to make sure Zack would be alright. He checked to made sure Zack has emotional support after Angeal is gone. He went to the Church to meet Aerith.

He made sure she is the kind of person to be there for Zack.

And she was.

He made sure to leave one of his copies he could influence from the Lifestream to protect Aerith.

And it did.

And Angeal knew Zack is emotionally strong enough to handle it.

And he was.

[catholic-character-tournament]

Round 4 - Catholic Character Tournament

Propaganda below ⬇️

Harrowhark

I'm pretty sure you've already got plenty of submissions for her so I'll just say she was raised in what is basically a cult (technically a nunnery but let's be real) dedicated to keeping the body of the thing that will kill God behind the rock. One of their prayers is actually "I pray the rock is never rolled away". Harrow is extremely devout as penance for her earlier heretical actions in the tomb as a child (spoiler!) so the Catholic guilt really comes through

imagine being a catholic nun and you meet god, but it turns out he’s a twitch streamer from new zealand who became god because everything got a little bit out of hand. and just before you met him you gave yourself a diy grief-fuelled lobotomy with the help of your best frenemy. imagine how insane you’d be. now multiply that insanity by nine. that’s the fictional love of my life right there.

she meets god. she’s not inspired

she’s number one practitioner of space Catholicism. The locked tomb is chock full of Christian (catholic) imagery themes metaphors etc. just look at her she’s got a bone rosary

They're Catholicism with extra bones. Everyone is a nun. They have what is basically a rosary made from knuckle bones. They technically worship the same God as everyone else, but they're waaaay more focused on The Body in the Tomb (Mary) and we get a moment where we find out that while everyone else prays the equivilent of The Lords Prayer, they're doing the equivilent of Hail Mary. And they paint their faces with skulls.

She thinks leaving dry bread in a drawer is taking care of someone. She's in love with a 10,000 year old corpse (the same one they worship). She spent ALL NIGHT digging with her bare hands to make sure a field had bones every 5 feet so she could fight her girlfriend - I mean, greatest enemy. Spoiler territory: She's been puppeting her parents corpses since she was 8 years old. Instead of grieving her dead girlfriend, she gives herself a lobotomy. She makes soup with bone in it so she can use the bone IN THEIR STOMACH to try and kill them.

The author is/was Catholic and the entire series had heavy Catholic overtones. https://www.tor.com/2020/08/19/gideon-the-ninth-young-pope-and-the-new-pope-are-building-a-queer-catholic-speculative-fiction-canon/ A good breakdown of how it's Catholic

Anti-propaganda (spoilers)

I love the Locked Tomb series but Harrowhark has daddy issues with God, had a childhood crush on God's cryogenic partner, and is in love with God's daughter, not to mention that she's essentially a bone-bender. The religion on her home planet exists in a way that is technically against the will of the canon in-universe God, even. All of this to say, Harrowhark is heretical at minimum if not an outright witch. Terrible Catholic. Burn her.

Ronan Lynch

Uhh fun fact he saw the devil flash his father once, and that's one of the reasons he goes to church on Sundays <3

context for this scene from book 2: ronan is in church with his older brother declan, younger brother matthew, and ghost friend noah "Joseph Kavinsky isn’t someone I want you being around,” Declan added. “Don’t snort. I’m serious.” Ronan merely invested a look with as much contempt as he could muster. A lady reached over the top of Noah to pat Matthew’s head fondly before continuing down the aisle. She didn’t seem to care that he was fifteen, which was all right, because he didn’t, either. Both Ronan and Declan observed this interaction with the pleased expressions of parents watching their prodigy at work. Declan repeated, “Like, actually dangerous.” Sometimes, Declan seemed to think that being a year older gave him special knowledge of the seedier side of Henrietta. What he meant was, did Ronan know that Kavinsky was a cokehead. In his ear, Noah whispered, “Is crack the same thing as speed?” Ronan didn’t answer. He didn’t think it was a very church-appropriate conversation. “I know you think you’re a punk,” Declan said. “But you aren’t nearly as bad ass as you think you are.” “Oh, go to hell,” Ronan snapped, just as the altar boys broached the rear doors. “Guys,” Matthew pleaded. “Be holy.”

Gay Catholic streetracing farmer. Consumed by catholic guilt NOT because of the gay thing but because he can Create things in a way he thinks should be only God's business. Will literally roll up to mass on sunday morning still drunk and bloody.

THIS GOTH KID IS LITERALLY GOD. This is a god trapped in the body of a Catholic teen and if he ever stopped feeling Catholic guilt he’d end the world!!. How is your confession every week that you creating a whole new being? Babygirl the God is coming from inside the house

eldritch entity from beyond the mortal plane wants to be a Real Human Boy, becomes a real (ish!) human (ish!) boy, goes to mass every sunday

Gay boy got his crush an apartment above his church so he could have his two favorite things in one place

gay. I'm not caught up the the series but I went through the tag when the latest book came out and I remember seeing a quote that said he worried if his boyfriend would make it to heaven when he dies because of his agnostic tendencies.

Kid is like a dream warlock who creates psychic horrors and never goes to confession because why would he? and he’s gay

There are no words

basically ronan's powers are inherited from his dead father niall and it means he can bring anything from a dream into real life. so he's got this whole crisis about whether he is a living piece of blasphemy because men are not meant to have the powers of gods or whether he literally is god. which is not acceptable to him for a number of reasons but mostly because he hates himself. his love interest's name is adam and adam lives in a small apartment above a church which the book says focuses the objects of his worship neatly into one building. I love them both dearly. also, this entire page makes me feel like I'm going insane. Ronan Lynch believed in heaven and hell. Once, he’d seen the devil. It had been a low, late morning at the Barns when the sun had burned off the mist and then burned off the chill and then burned the edges off the ground until everything shimmered with heat. It never got hot in those protected fields, but that morning, the air sweated with it. Ronan had never seen cattle pant before. All of the cows heaved and stuck their tongues out as they frothed with the heat. His mother sent Ronan to put them in the shade of the cattle barn. Ronan had gone to the searing metal gate, and as he did, he’d glimpsed his father, already in the barn. Four yards away from him had stood a red man. He was not truly red, but the burned orange of a fire ant. And he was not truly a man, because of the horns and the hooves. Ronan remembered the alienness of the creature, how real it had been. Every costume in the world had gotten it wrong; every drawing in every comic book. They’d all forgotten that the devil was an animal. Looking at the red man, Ronan had been struck by the intricacy of the body, how many miraculous pieces moved smoothly in harmony, no different than his own. Niall Lynch had had a gun in hand — the Lynches had an enormous number of guns of all sizes — and just as Ronan had opened the gate, his father had shot the thing about thirteen times in the head. With a shake of its horns, the unharmed devil had presented its genitalia to Niall Lynch before bounding off. It was an image that had yet to leave Ronan. And so Ronan became a reverse evangelist. The truth burst and grew inside him, and it was laid upon him to share it with no one. No one was meant to see hell before they get there. No one should have to live with the devil. So many homilies on faith were ruined once you no longer required it for belief.

Our boy CHOOSES not to receive the Eucharist because he doesn’t believe he is worthy. The spiritual insight, the devotion, the fact that this teenager is worried he may have a mortal sin weighing on his soul…this boy isn’t just going through the motions, he’s putting work into this.

[embodiedfutures]

I am not Palestinian nor am I Jewish. Be that as it may, I hate settler colonialism, even more so as a brown, bi, genderqueer ‘Afab’ person. I just wanted to say. 1) your post on the topic is more empathetic and insightful than I’ve seen a lot of people be about this over my entire life and I’ve asked questions of both sides, I tend to stay out of the fray cause I don’t feel it my place to speak over Palestinians and Jews (who are critical of Israel). But, do you have any advice for being a better ally to Palestinians and combating anti-semitism and anti Jewish racism in the everyday?

hey sweetheart! thank you for your commitment to the movement and your earnestness. i am not Palestinian or Jewish either, so i did what is always considered best: i asked those who are! that's exactly why our Advocacy Committee within BFP exists :)

from one of our Palestinian youth volunteers:

if you have the money to do so, donate to the cause! the unfortunate truth is that to gain access to various resources, things cost money. more specifically, donate to humanitarian aid funds you've done the research for and are sure are doing work on the ground. even better if you can donate directly to those being affected! this includes Palestinians on the ground but also within the diaspora who need self care items, especially for all the work they've been doing educating others. for example, this is an organization this member volunteers with and trusts:

and these are two amazon lists of Palestinian youth within the diaspora:

share posts by Palestinians! the big thing is really just getting the word out, sharing their perspective. Zionist propaganda is hard to penetrate so the least we can do is uplift their voices by sharing!

from one of our Jewish youth volunteers:

understand that not all Jewish people are Zionists and not all Zionists are Jewish. saying the two are equivalent is not only antisemitic but ignores the blatant statistics, like the growing number of anti-Zionist Jewish young adults in the united states for example, or the fact that the biggest supporters of israel are actually evangelicals.

to that same point, know that israel has been purposefully trying to conflate the two in order to then label anyone who does critique the state as automatically antisemitic. it is a tool.

additionally, be careful with the rhetoric you choose to spread & subscribe to (i.e., watch how they describe israel. do they refer to the people as Jews or Zionists? it can tell you a lot about how educated they are and their vague stance on the matter)

my own additions as a longstanding ally and friend of those involved:

learn your history! there is a clear attempt to distort the history of Palestine. learn what Palestine was like before israel's occupation. learn about the way pioneering Zionists openly called Zionism "colonialism" and didn't even try to hide it. learn about how discussions of the Zionist project were discussed roughly 80 years before the Holocaust ever happened. this does not mean that some Jews did not, in fact, move to Palestine in response to such a horrific event, but in the words of a Jewish mutual of mine, israel's rhetoric literally weaponizes Jewish trauma by conflating these two dates in history.

BDS movement! stands for boycott, divestment, and sanctions!

when possible, actually speak to people of Palestinian descent. like seriously. posts are great, but actually speaking to people who are knowledgeable in real time can be so helpful for getting your questions addressed, so long as you are respectful, of course. a great place to do this, not even to advertise, is actually our Discord server linked in our bio @bfpnola

know that language matters, as inconsequential as it may seem. in the words of my Palestinian, Kashmiri, and Artsakhi friends and/or mutuals, when speaking of occupations, we capitalize the occupied people's country (ex. Palestine) while not doing so for the occupier's (ex. israel) to delegitimize them.

learn about Hamas and its history/purpose. here are my notes on two podcast episodes let by Palestinians:

thank you for your ask! im sure i may think of other things later but these are my answers for now.

-- reaux (she/they)

[artificialmoth]

Penance

Read here on ao3 or below!

Ratings & Tags Mature || No Warning Delta/Alpha || Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Vaginal Fingering, No Sex, Crying Delta hadn’t seen Alpha around much - it wasn’t a surprise. Alpha wasn’t pleased with what he’d done - what he’d agreed to, and hadn’t made it a secret. He’d stormed off to cool down after he found out, and it just seemed like he hadn’t cooled down yet. Truthfully, Delta hadn’t seen much of Alpha, or Omega, let alone the rest of his pack. He’d spent the days prior to his transition - the botched, painful transition that left his bones aching still - learning all he could about it. Preparing for it, in any way he could.

@skele-bunny

this WAS an ask but then tumblr ate literally all of it so,,, ok.

Delta hadn’t seen Alpha around much - it wasn’t a surprise. Alpha wasn’t pleased with what he’d done - what he’d agreed to, and hadn’t made it a secret. He’d stormed off to cool down after he found out, and it just seemed like he hadn’t cooled down yet. Truthfully, Delta hadn’t seen much of Alpha, or Omega, let alone the rest of his pack. He’d spent the days prior to his transition - the botched, painful transition that left his bones aching still - learning all he could about it. Preparing for it, in any way he could.

He was as willing of a participant as he could be, all while knowing he was just a test subject, a lab rat, to perfect this ritual. One that he wasn’t expected to wake up after.

But he had. He’d woken up in the infirmary, tucked into an uncomfortable cot in a private, sterile room. It was empty, other than him, and the machines monitoring him. And, in the days following, he only saw Omega infrequently. When the quintessence ghoul was making his rounds, when he’d stop in to check on Delta. It was isolating, and when he was finally cleared to leave the infirmary, nothing seemed to change.

He couldn’t fully understand - he needed his pack more than anything, but it very quickly seemed they didn’t need him. It was jarring - he’d wanted nothing more but his pack during the ritual, during that painful time where his newfound quintessence burned and tried to suffocate him, as his water receded unnaturally within him. He retained his Water traits - his gills, and fins, his finned tail and webbing for swimming, but even now, weeks after leaving the infirmary, after surviving that ritual, he was afraid. Afraid to swim, or even submerge himself in his tub.

It was bizarre. Before, his pack had to come and practically drag him from the lake. Now, he hadn’t even gone to the beach, let alone stepped foot into the water. It was nerve-wracking. Delta knew as well as any other water ghoul, just how dangerous the water could be. He was anxious that if he went, if he submerged himself, he’d die regardless. That the water would snuff him out, just as he deserved for turning his back on it.

Delta had been remarkably alone. Still recovering physically from the transition, he was temporarily relieved of any duties around the Abbey. All he was expected to do was show up when the Clergy, or Sister Imperator, wanted to show off their latest successful science experiment, and for Mass. He’d barely seen his pack - Omega was definitely avoiding him, and while Alpha wasn’t, he wasn’t being shy about glaring at him any time they were in the same room.

It made his skin crawl.

Delta didn’t really want this. He hated what he’d become, but it was either him, or Mist. And, frankly, Delta would rather go through the elemental transition as many times as it took, to prevent Mist from being chosen. All the same, it felt like Alpha, Omega, and the remains of their pack, the other ghouls, all thought he had. That he’d agreed readily, to ask for it. He hadn’t. He wished he could take it all back, really. He missed his Water, how it felt in him. Now, it was like it barely existed. Just the implication of it - like smelling rain, but the ground was dry already.

Delta had tried - he spent hours sitting in his large bath until the water got too cold even for him to stand. When he was just Water, Delta preferred warm water, and like most other Water ghouls, couldn’t sustain extreme temperatures. Now, he struggled to discern when he was cold, until he was shivering from it.

Which found him here, naked and dripping with water, clawing himself out of his too-large bath. The porcelain tub was slippery, and once he’d ungracefully hauled himself out of the tub, water already drained from it, he almost slipped again. Tile, freezing to his already cold skin, only made him shiver harder. Snarling silently into the empty room, his tail lashed, sending water splattering across the floor in an arc.

Once, in the past, before Delta managed to blow up every relationship he cherished, Alpha would be there to warm the bath for him. Keep the water nice and comfortable for Delta, until he climbed out on his own time. Always greeted with a warm embrace from Alpha, to keep him comfortable. To chase the chill the empty bathroom gave him, when he got out.

He didn’t have that now, though. Baring his teeth, he turned and snatched a towel, roughly drying himself off. It hurt - his skin was always sensitive, a fact left unchanged when everything else had changed. If anything, he felt more sensitive than before.

With a huff, Delta dried himself off roughly, ignoring how it made his skin burn and tingle. He’d gotten used to the feeling over time - mostly. It wasn’t pleasant. Soaking in the bathtub was nothing compared to the lake itself, and Delta hadn’t been there in well over three months, now. His skin was drying, gills aching uncomfortably and stinging when he breathed too deeply, and he longed for the water. He kept finding his scales peeling off, and while it didn’t hurt physically, it made his chest ache.

Once he wasn’t dripping wet, Delta stormed out of the bathroom, tail lashing behind him, flicking small droplets of water everywhere. Looking up, he stopped short, staring at the ghoul in his bedroom.

Alpha stood in his room, arms crossed hip cocked. He didn’t look happy, from what Delta could see of his profile. Eyes narrowed judgmentally at the mess of blankets and pillows on Delta’s bed. Almost a week ago, Delta had torn his nest up. It was a mess before. Not that it’d ever been neat, before he ripped it apart. He regretted it the moment he did it, but just didn’t have the energy to try and fix it, after.

“... Alpha?” He stared at the fire ghouls profile, still holding the damp towel, fully nude. Alpha’s spaded tail twitched, and he turned around to look at him.

Oddly, Delta felt shy under his gaze, holding the towel in front of himself, as if to hide. As if Alpha hadn’t seen every part of him already. Hadn’t already stripped him bare in more ways than one, before.

“What happened here?” Alpha asked finally, tipping his head toward the remains of Delta’s nest. Delta’s eyes followed, scanning over the tangle of blankets and pillows, before he shrugged.

“Redecorating.” He replied, as primly as he could, turning away to get dressed. Trying to ignore the heat of Alpha’s eyes on him, tracking as he crossed the room to his dresser. Alpha scoffed, and even with his back to the larger ghoul, Delta knew he wasn’t pleased with that answer. He could hear the tapping of Alpha’s tail against the floor, and could feel the heated glare on his back.

“Why’re you in here, Alpha?” Delta asked, fishing out a pair of pants. Sleep pants - soft and comfortable to lounge in, soft enough that it didn’t irritate his already perpetually sore skin. The only times, now, that Delta got dressed properly, was for meetings with the Clergy and Mass.

Alpha didn’t reply for a long moment, long enough for Delta to get his sweatpants up, and tied, tighter than normal. He’d lost weight - he’d barely had an appetite since his transition, struggling to eat, let alone keep most food down.

“You haven’t left your room in a while.” Alpha replied finally, turning away. Delta peeked over his shoulder, watching as Alpha picked up a rumpled blanket from his bed, sniffing at it, wrinkling his nose. “Have you washed these?”

“No.” Truthfully, Delta hadn’t even been sleeping with the blankets and pillows, formerly known as his nest. The mess had existed in a state of movement, constantly being shoved to his floor at night, or whenever Delta decided to go to bed, and then put back when he got up. He knew they were gross - he’d spent the first few days of his time out of the infirmary, stuck in bed. Too sore to get up, feeling like his muscles were seizing constantly. He’d spent those days barely able to roll out of his nest to begin with, ultimately leaving his nest gross with sweat and tears.

“I can tell.” Alpha sniffed, dropping the blanket like it burned him. Like the stale scent of Delta, of his pain and distress, disgusted him. Delta wouldn’t be surprised if it did. Staring at Alpha’s back, Delta tried to take a steadying breath, ignoring how his gills ached. He swallowed down the hurt, straightening up slightly.

“Why are you here, Alpha.” He repeated - less of a question, this time. Demanding a better answer.

Alpha paused, turning finally to look at Delta, narrowing his eyes, “What, you want me to leave so you can keep rotting in here?”

Scowling, Delta snapped his tail, irritated, “Like you’d care either way. You’re probably only here for an easy lay.” He scoffed.

He ignored the look of hurt that flashed across Alpha’s face - it was a low blow. Delta knew that. He knew how Alpha was seen by most people in the Abbey. Knew he was seen as a player, how it affected Alpha’s self-worth, being treated like he was easy. He fought the urge to apologize, swallowing the words that felt like sandpaper.

“You’re right.” Alpha scoffed, “So, get over here.” His hurt bled away, hiding behind anger. Alpha was always quick to emotions, quicker to anger. He was harmless, more bark than bite. Delta knew it, knew he’d never raise his hand to harm anyone he didn’t feel deserved it.

Ignoring the guilt in his chest, Delta shrugged, walking closer to him, waiting until the fire ghoul reached out. To Delta’s cold skin, Alpha’s hand was burning when he grabbed him by the forearm, dragging him in closer.

The kiss was more teeth than anything else, Alpha’s hands burning hot on Delta’s bare skin, pulling him in close.

Alpha tasted the way he always had - like smelling a campfire from a distance, the mix of wood and smoke was downright intoxicating.

Delta missed it.

He moved when Alpha did, allowing him to practically drag Delta as he walked backward, toward Delta’s mess of a bed. He turned before he bumped it, ever aware of his surroundings, shoving Delta down roughly. Alpha climbed up, straddling him before he could even begin to recover.

Maybe if this had been before - when Delta was just water and not… whatever he is now, Alpha would’ve been gentler. Would’ve warmed the bath for him so he could stay for as long as he wanted, dried him off gently so his skin wasn’t irritated. Laid him out and lavished him with easy, gentle attention, and Delta would do the same to him.

But it wasn’t. The hold Alpha had on Delta’s hips, for a moment, felt gentle. Reminded him of how many times Alpha guided him into a lazy grind, more cockwarming than anything else.

And then Alpha dug his thumbs in, claws prickling at the delicate skin, thumbs digging in tight into the hollow of his hips. It hurt, just enough to remind Delta otherwise.

The kiss Alpha pulled him into was just as vicious as the first one - all teeth and tongue. Alpha’s fang caught awkwardly on Delta’s bottom lip, scoring the inside just enough to draw blood. He pulled back, hissing quietly and tonguing at it, trying to soothe the sting.

“Don’t bite me, asshole.” He huffed, brows pinching together. This wasn’t how he expected.

Curled up in his nest, especially in those blurry, early days of being back in his own room, wracked with pain and guilt alike. He’d longed for Alpha to be gentle with him. For Omega to come to him, to soothe his pain away with his big hands and a soft smile. For kindness. He didn’t find it then, and he can’t find it now.

“You like it.” Alpha sneered, but when he reached up and grabbed a fistful of Delta’s grown-out hair, pushing his head to catch him in another kiss, he didn’t bite again. He was remarkably careful to keep his teeth to himself, for once.

Alpha started a dirty grind - it didn’t do much for Delta, the friction was too high for him to feel much at all, but it still felt nice. He could pretend he was desired, for once.

One of Alpha’s hands landed on his collarbone, sliding up to the side of Delta’s neck. A warm thumb rubbed along his closed gills, a tempting pressure to open up for him. A soothing warmth.

And, like always, Delta’s gills fluttered against his thumb. Welcoming him in.

Alpha didn’t hesitate, though, turning his hand and viciously hooking his fingers in Delta’s gills, claws just barely glamoured away. A shred of kindness, even when Alpha’s overly-hot fingers felt like a burning brand in Delta’s throat.

He fought a gag, nose wrinkling as he sunk his teeth into Alpha’s lip just as viciously, drawing blood. Alpha growled, pulling back and, thankfully, taking his fingers out of Delta’s already sore gills.

Baring his teeth, blood welling up and dripping off his lip, Alpha reared back, “Th’ fucks that for?” He hissed, swiping his tongue over his lip.

“Keep your fingers out of my gills.” Delta snapped, pushing at Alpha, trying to get him to roll off.

Annoyingly, Alpha stayed rooted on top of him, straddling Delta like he belonged there. “Fine. Don’t bite me, then.” Alpha scoffed, “C’mon, let’s just play.” He murmured, voice gentling down to something softer, sweeter.

“You’re putting in all the effort, then.” Delta grumbled, as if it were a chore to let Alpha fuck him. It’d never be one - he wanted Alpha, more than anything.

Rolling his eyes, Alpha scooted back, pinning Delta’s thighs down, “As if I don’t always.” He grumbled, looking down as he fiddled with the drawstrings of Delta’s sweatpants. “Could you have tied these any tighter…” Alpha scoffed, brow furrowing as he worked the knot loose. His tail lashed in irritation, but clearly it wasn’t enough to dissuade him. Once he got the knot free - Delta didn’t offer any help, naturally - he yanked both the sweatpants, and Delta’s underwear, off together.

He barely raised himself up onto his knees to make room, shoving the pants down to Delta’s knees roughly.

Grunting, Delta glared up at him, “Way to swoon me.” He huffed, narrowing his eyes.

Alpha didn’t offer him a response immediately, just pushed Delta’s legs open as far as he could, humming, “You’re still getting wet.” His tone was teasingly light.

Delta couldn’t help it. He loved Alpha, despite all the hurt and complicated emotions he’d been dealing with. Just having Alpha close, let alone on top of him, had him getting wet.

It was embarrassing. It was something Alpha adored teasing him about, in the past. It had always been rather light, before. But something in Delta told him that it wasn’t meant quite so lightly, now.

Alpha leaned back, one hand skating up to rest on Delta’s hip, the other stayed on the inside of his thigh. A warm, comforting weight there, keeping him spread open.

“So pretty for me…” Alpha murmured softly, hand sliding from Delta’s thigh up to his slit, thumb sinking into him slowly.

Delta sighed, tilting his hips up as much as he could manage, trying to invite Alpha to touch him more. Needing more from him.

Alpha chuckled lightly, pulling his thumb out and swiping his first two fingers through Delta’s slick, “Still so slick after everything, huh?” He murmured, bringing his hand up and licking his fingers clean, “What was the point of what you did, if nothing changed?”

Delta huffed, “Shut up, get your damn fingers in me.” He reached out, grabbing onto Alpha’s wrist, pulling his hand back down between Delta’s legs, “Fuck me or get out.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m gettin’ there, love.” Alpha murmured, voice low. He teased one finger in, seemingly testing the water.

Delta sighed softly, rubbing his thumb against the inside of Alpha’s wrist, before letting go and retracting his hand. He closed his eyes as Alpha pressed a second finger in, curling them lightly.

“She still here?” Alpha asked abruptly, thumb rubbing along the underside of Delta’s clit, clearly trying to tease his tentacle further out.

Shifting, Delta huffed, “Shut up. Stop.” He grumbled, though he didn’t even sound very commanding to himself.

Alpha offered a cheeky grin, “That’s a yes in my books.” He replied, but he stopped trying to coax her out. Spreading his fingers, he leaned back slightly to watch, admiring Delta.

Delta stayed still as best he could, despite wanting nothing more than to squirm under his gaze. Suddenly, any fuzzy warmth he felt, snuffed out. Alpha’s gaze felt too heavy on him.

Suddenly, Delta was hyper-aware of the weight he’d lost. The way his hip bones jutted out in a way they’d never done before. How he could see his own ribs slightly, how dull he looked now that his scales were flaking off. The lack of care he’d shown to himself showed starkly in his body.

His tail flicked, writhing slightly despite being pinned partially under himself. He tried to stay still, tried his best to focus just on Alpha’s fingers in him, fingering him open. But, he could feel his expression twist into something more uncomfortable, and Alpha picked up on it.

He’d always been a keen observer - hyper aware of anyone around him, nothing escaped Alpha’s attention. He was beyond giving in bed, always focused on whoever he’d fallen into bed with, rather than himself. It’d take both Delta and Omega to get him out of his head enough to really enjoy himself without focusing on them too much.

“What’s up?” Alpha stopped his hand, looking up at him closely, eyes narrowed. Fighting a sigh, Delta debated his response.

He could lie. He’d enjoy himself, eventually. Surely.

… He couldn’t do that to Alpha.

“I’m not in the mood anymore.” He stated, voice low.

There was no hesitation, no argument, no scowl, from Alpha. He sat up fully, pulled his fingers out and wiped them messily on his own pants. “What d’you need?” he asked, already clambering off of Delta and tugging Delta’s underwear and pants back up. “Want me to stay? I can get you another bath ready. Or I can go get you water and a snack and leave you be.”

Delta lifted his hips slightly, letting Alpha settle the sweatpants back up, before dropping back down with a sigh. Before he could even reach to tie the drawstrings, Alpha was doing it for him. He watched in real-time as Alpha’s brow furrowed at just how far he had to tug the drawstrings til the sweatpants were as tight as Delta preferred.

“You’ve lost a lot of weight…” He murmured, as if he just noticed. Maybe he had - maybe he’d been too focused on everything else to realize it. Maybe it’d been denial. Delta wasn’t about to ask, he didn’t want to know.

Looking away, uncomfortable under the weight of Alpha’s words, of his gaze, he sniffed slightly, “Yeah. A bit.”

“This isn’t a bit, Delta…”

Oh, Alpha sounded sad.

“Have you been eating?”

Delta was silent, maybe for too long, given how quickly Alpha’s scent soured. The warm smokey notes shifting closer to house fire smoke than campfire.

“I have. Just… It’s hard.” He admitted, voice stilted. Embarrassingly, he felt his eyes well up slightly, stinging with tears. Delta thought he’d cried himself out weeks ago.

Alpha was silent, before he leaned forward, holding himself up with a hand beside Delta’s shoulder, leaning over him. “Oh, Delta…” He murmured, cupping his face, and wiping under one of his eyes gently.

Swallowing thickly, Delta closed his eyes, bottom lip trembling pitifully. He wanted to hold onto the hurt and anger with Alpha - longed to yell at him, to show him just how badly he’d hurt Delta, but he couldn’t. He just pressed his face into Alpha’s hand, whimpering quietly.

“I’m sorry.” Alpha murmured quietly, leaning and pressing his forehead against Delta’s, butting his horns against Delta’s gently, “I’m so sorry.” His tone was beyond gentle - just as warm as Delta remembered it to be.

He broke.

Turning, he wrapped both arms around Alpha’s shoulders, pulling him down to crush himself under the fire ghouls weight, sobbing. Burying his face in Alpha’s shoulder, he wept, finally finding the comfort he’d wanted nothing more than to have, before.

“It hurt!” He sobbed, fisting Alpha’s shirt. Alpha tucked both arms under him, squeezing him close.

“It hurt so bad -” Delta’s voice broke, warbling in his throat as he sobbed. Clinging to Alpha, trying to not claw at his back. “I was - I was so scared -”

Alpha moved, not quite pulling away, but made enough space between them that Delta’s heart seized in his chest. He clung tighter, trying to pull Alpha in closer, trying to keep Alpha fully on him. As long as he was there - as long as Delta could feel his weight on him, it meant Delta wasn’t shattered yet.

“Don’t - Please, I’m sorry, please, please don’t leave me again!” He sobbed, gripping to Alpha’s shirt tighter. One of Alpha’s hands slid up, cupping the back of Delta’s head tenderly.

“I’m not. I’m not, Delta. I’m here.” Alpha soothed, voice low. He pressed his lips firmly to the side of Delta’s head, “Just gonna lay us down better, okay? I don’t wanna squish you, love.”

Delta sobbed brokenly, but didn’t have the energy nor the strength to keep Alpha from moving him. Alpha made it as quick as he could, rolling over so Delta would be laying on top of him. All the while, he kept Delta crushed to him, holding him tight.

“I’m not leaving you.” Alpha promised, guiding Delta to tuck his head down under Alpha’s chin, “I’ve got you.” His hand stayed on the back of Delta’s neck soothingly, thumb rubbing back and forth soothingly. His other hand settled on Delta’s back, rubbing up and down his spine repetitively.

Delta couldn’t help but sob helplessly against Alpha’s collarbone, squeezing his eyes shut. Helpless against the weight of his own hurt and grief.

Alpha stayed quiet, cradling him close, rubbing up and down his back as soothingly as possible. At some point, he started purring. Delta didn’t know when - he only registered it once he’d calmed down slightly. Once he was just crying without sobbing, lashes sticking together and cheeks hot.

Breathing hard, he turned his head to tuck his nose against Alpha’s skin, sniffling wetly.

“Feeling a bit better…?” Alpha asked tentatively, voice low, rumbling in his chest just like his purr.

Delta couldn’t trust his own voice, refused to risk breaking again, and just nodded faintly.

In response, Alpha hummed quietly, acknowledging him. They remained in silence for a few moments, Delta’s breath shuddering and wobbling. His shoulders heaving with silent, fought-off sobs that threatened to overtake him again.

When Alpha spoke again, his voice was kept low still, not breaking the tentative peace.

“Do you want to take a bath?” He asked softly, hand never stopping, still rubbing up and down Delta’s back slowly, “Or, it’s still light out. Could grab a towel and run down to the lake. If you want.”

The offers were tempting. Delta longed for both - the intimacy of lounging in his too-large tub, with Alpha there to keep him warm and entertained. To step out into his waiting embrace. But, sneaking off together to go to the lake was just as enticing. It’d been far too long since they’d done it - it was his favorite way of playing hooky. Noone but his packmates dared try and get Delta out of the lake before he was ready and willing to exit. And no one was stupid enough to try and take his prize away from him - no matter how needed Alpha, or any of the others, were elsewhere. If they were in the lake with him, they weren’t going to be going anywhere.

But, he didn’t have the energy. Didn’t want to make the trek down to the lake, didn’t want to have others see him. He’d hidden away in his room for so long, he didn’t want anyone else to see him, not more than needed by the Clergy.

“Bath, please.” His voice was thick and warbly with tears, despite him sniffling and trying to calm down. He felt Alpha nod, before the ghoul started moving.

Alpha moved gradually, sitting up without dislodging Delta from how close he’d settled. “I’m gonna stand up.” He warned softly, waiting until Delta wrapped both arms around him, before he stood.

He hesitated for a moment, adjusting Delta, guiding both legs to wrap around Alpha’s waist, one hand on his thigh to keep him up, the other on his back. Once he felt Delta was settled, Alpha walked to his bathroom.

Alpha warmed himself up before Delta could even shiver from the cold of the bathroom, patting his thigh to get him to unwrap his legs. Setting him down, Alpha smoothed his warm hands down Delta’s sides, untying his sweatpants again and letting them drop, pushing his underwear off with them.

“Sit while I run the bath.” Alpha murmured, pressing his lips to Delta’s forehead gently. He held Delta by the hips, guiding him to settle on the closed toilet lid, before pulling away. He leaned over, teasingly hiking his tail up over his hip like he always did before, pointedly showing off his ass like always.

Delta could appreciate the normalcy above all else, even if he didn’t have enough energy to properly appreciate Alpha in that moment. Wiping his nose, Delta’s ears twitched as Alpha started the faucet, holding his fingers under the rushing water. As if he could really tell the temperature difference, when everything short of hot was cold for him.

Delta ignored the snot smeared on his wrist, blinking tears out of his eyes. “... I’ve missed you, Alpha.” His voice was still frail, wobbly even to his own ears.

Alpha’s tail twitched, shivering briefly, before he straightened up. Flicking water off his hand, he turned to look at him, eyes soft, “I’ve missed you, too.” He replied quietly. The water ran loudly in the otherwise quiet bathroom.

Silence reigned until the tub was full, and Alpha deemed it just warm enough. He helped Delta up again, lifting him up to help him step into the tub. It wasn’t needed, but he still did it regardless. He took his spot beside the tub at Delta’s feet, as Delta sat down and submerged himself as much as he could in the warm water. Alpha dipped his hand into the water, grabbing Delta’s ankle and rubbing soothingly.

Delta dipped down to dunk his head, lingering for a moment. It stung, his gills ached uncomfortably. His tub was plenty big enough for him to be able to dunk his head without his knees coming out of the water - something he was always grateful for.

Surfacing again, he blinked water out of his eyes, refocusing on Alpha after a moment. Alpha looked lost in thought, brow furrowed in what Delta could only assume was concern.

Swallowing hard, Delta found his voice again, “I didn’t want this.”

His voice seemed to startle Alpha, the fire ghoul finally looking at him properly, eyes wide. “I - What?”

Delta hesitated before repeating himself, watching in real-time as Alpha’s expression twisted slightly. Alpha stayed quiet for a moment, swallowing hard before replying.

“I know. I know you didn’t.” He paused briefly, before continuing, dropping his gaze, “Even if you did, I shouldn’t… I shouldn’t have pushed you away.” His voice was stilted, as if he was struggling to put into words how he truly felt.

Delta sniffled slightly, sitting up a bit more in the tub, “I know.” He mumbled quietly. He wanted to tell Alpha everything - wanted to explain how the transition felt, how it felt like his very being was unspooled. He couldn’t find the words, just reached out for Alpha.

The fire ghoul obliged, moving closer and letting go of Delta’s ankle, reaching to take his hand, “I’m sorry, Delta.” Alpha murmured, voice gentle. He squeezed his hand, bringing Delta’s hand up to press a kiss to his knuckles.

Delta closed his eyes, swallowing hard. He nodded faintly, sniffling and squeezing Alpha’s hand in return, “I know.” He replied, eyes stinging with fresh tears.

Alpha sat up further on his knees after a moment, leaning over to press another kiss to Delta’s forehead, but redirected easily when Delta tilted his head up. Catching him in a soft kiss, Delta wrapped an arm around Alpha’s shoulders loosely.

Breaking apart, Delta blinked his eyes back open, “Get in with me?” He asked quietly, pleadingly.

Alpha didn’t hesitate, standing up to strip fully, leaving his clothes in a heap off to the side. He climbed in easily, tail flickering. He guided Delta to lean forward, settling down behind him, legs on either side of Delta. He wrapped both arms around his waist, petting over Delta’s hip gently. Nudging his nose behind Delta’s ear, he rumbled a low, content purr.

Delta leaned back into Alpha comfortably, holding Alpha’s hand in place gently. Resting his head against Alpha’s shoulder, he closed his eyes, finally feeling the tension he’d been holding onto since he left the infirmary, bleeding away.

“I love you.” He sighed, feeling Alpha turn his head, pressing a kiss to the side of Delta’s head.

“I love you, too.” Alpha spoke it into Delta’s hairline, pressing his nose into Delta’s hair gently, “Can take you to my room, if you’d like. Snuggle in, take a nap…”

Delta nodded, “... Wait for ‘Meg to get home. We… We should talk.”

The fire ghoul stayed quiet for a brief moment, before nodding, “Yeah.” He agreed, purring a bit louder, “It’ll be okay. We’ll be okay.”

Sniffling, Delta squeezed his eyes closed, “... I’ve missed this. I’ve missed you.” He admitted, swallowing hard, “You and Omega were all I wanted.”

Alpha ducked his head down to tuck his face in the crook of Delta’s neck, sighing slowly through his nose. “I’ve missed you.” He agreed softly, “Neither of us were sure you were alive until Omega saw you. I’m sorry I didn’t come.”

Delta shook his head, not dismissively, “I’m okay. I forgive you.” He soothed. The hurt was still there, lingering in the back of his mind, but he knew once Omega was back from his shift, they’d talk. Would work things out properly.

It didn’t diminish the hurt, Delta didn’t think anything would. All the same, Delta had plenty of hurts to live with, now. More than willing to live with it, too.

They didn’t soak long - just long enough for Alpha to help clean Delta up - before they were out. Like he expected, Alpha got out first, grabbed a towel and wrapped it around his hips. Snagging a spare from under the sink, he helped Delta out and wrapped him in a big hug immediately, warming him up before he could get cold. Wrapping the towel around him, Alpha scooped him off his feet immediately.

It was enough to startle a laugh out of Delta, clinging to Alpha to keep his balance, even if Alpha’s grip never faltered.

Alpha didn’t stop in Delta’s room, marching right into the hallway, holding Delta over his shoulder. Delta hung limp once in the hallway, hiding his face behind his wet hair, accepting his fate to be paraded through the hallway to Alpha’s room, in only a towel.

Only when they were in his room, did Alpha set him down. Which, for Alpha, meant dropping him harmlessly into bed. Delta grunted on impact, flopping back and purposefully rubbing his head into Alpha’s comforter, rolling over to dry himself off using the soft blanket. Alpha snorted, stepping away to grab a change of clothes for both of them.

Neither of them spoke, not even after pulling shirts on and nothing else. Alpha peeled the blankets back, waited patiently as Delta crawled further up the bed to slide in. He joined Delta quick, slipping into the bed behind him and tucking the blanket around him almost aggressively, like always.

Smiling, Delta settled right in, nestled under Alpha’s chin comfortably. Alpha wrapped both arms around him, squeezed him tight, before running his fingers idly up and down Delta’s back, tail wrapping around Delta’s.

It was soothing, and between blinks, Delta dozed off. Safely tucked in bed with one of his mates, waiting for the second, warm and finally at-ease, he slept.

[velvetwyrme]

oouuouua please make a follow up on the superhero pap x reader theyre one of my favorites also im excited to see tf fic from yuo

im glad you enjoyed it!!! i got a comment on it recently while i was thinking abt how to continue it and that seemed to click my brain into action LMAO

EHEHEHE hopefully! soon!! ive got a few things in mind but im also waffling over Really Starting because i have so many things ongoing but... auauugh the IDEAS plague me!!!!

also heres a sneak peek into my brain because im in the mood to chatter, but feel free to skip it if you so desire:

for Origin Story im LOOSELY planning any continuation/s to be kinda standalone stories all centered around a superhero trope (like the Origin Story ;]) because i think that could be fun to work with. i enjoyed writing some of the larger Undertale cast, something that i WOULD have liked to do in FF, except Edge and the MC in that are both pretty reclusive socially abfjfbdjdghkf,, oh well.

anyway. i have tons of ideas for the various tropes, so its really a matter of picking a place and Writing. i really want to feature more of Alphys in this because i love her dearly <3

as for TF fic... most of them are reader inserts unsurprisingly lmaooo but ive got a few non-reader inserts floating around there too. im kinda just throwin stuff at the walls of my mind to see what sticks, but heres a few of my draft titles for your perusing pleasure:

into the fire: noble-ish au with a human reader who is supposed to be gifted to one of the members of the household. reader makes a failed escape attempt torn bedsheet style and is saved :] inspired loosely by the visual novels i used to read/play back in high school LMAO. skeletiano, i will forever be sad i could not romance you.

between you, me and soundwave: reader writes rpf abt mechs on earth LMAO. i see people mention humans writing fanfic about Cybertronians in passing but i think itd be funny to put that at the forefront. extremely silly and low stakes fic. probably.

drift compatibility: mecha! pilot! au!! exists purely because i read 1 (one) fic about plugsuits and just went "hmnngh... mecha pilots are fun to imagine interacting with Cybertronians... also there's DRIFT compatibility... i can totally do some fucked up shit with that" and now it's spiralled wildly out of control because at some point i started thinking about Governments and Social Structures and got distracted with worldbuilding lol. i have many many many ideas and i can only hope i can string some of them together so I can EXPLODE it out of my brain either through writing or art. also theres smut that happens wayyyy down the line which ill probably end up writing first and posting separately LMAO

penance is a prison: my take on Titan AU but as a fic because my brain is so so full of thoughts abt this au. i'll probably just end up drawing a lot of these scenes instead but like. its there! partially written!! im emotions abt it!!!

self explanatory long title: human/borrower au constructicons/jazz/prowl poly. i love rare not-so-pairs a lot and im particularly fond of this set. also i just like thinking abt either jazz and prowl getting menaced by a bunch of tiny guys OR the opposite where a group of construction workers have two borrower roommates. this one is more just random idea dumps instead of a fic but still fun to think about LMAO

ALSO! MINI REC. while you wait for me to (eventually maybe) write TF fic, you should check out boostergoldishh's works on ao3 for some tasty tasty TF reader insert fics. im still planning on making a rec list but they updated today and im filled w/ much love for good writing.

and as a bonus if you got this far (thank you!!): the super secret draft chapter title for the next NEXT FF chapter because its pretty silly

if my cowriter sees this hi. ill share the doc soon but its pretty much empty, its just there to remind me whats coming next LMAO 👍