#it's a different cloak. they all just look exactly the same
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salty-an-disco · 4 months ago
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some more variants/progressions for the voices appearances in some chap 3's, feat Grey and Thorn :)
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corkinavoid · 13 days ago
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For @mysterious-messages, to 'Bless the child' by Nightwish
DPxDC Long Time No See
The crow was incredibly persistent. Which, of course, made it ten times more annoying in John's opinion, because he was trying very, very hard not to pay attention to the pitch-black bird with blood red eyes that was perched right outside the window.
Can't he have one single night where no impossibly powerful force of nature interrupts his attempt to drown himself in liquor? Honestly.
The crow knocks on the window again. Three perfectly timed knocks; this bloody bird sure knows how to draw attention, but it also definitely knows Constantine is avoiding it. Which is why it's insisting on making itself a nuisance, no doubt.
To be fair, John is not even entirely sure who's crow is it. Morpheus has a crow at his disposal, but his crow is a bitch. He wouldn't have simply sat on the windowsill and enjoyed annoying Constantine for the sheer spite of it. Death has her crows as well - very thematic, if you ask John - and then there was that one asshole raven that claimed itself belonging to Apollo.
And then, of course, there was-
Actually, maybe he should see what the crow wants. Might be important, after all.
Constantine sighs and puts his whiskey back on the bar before standing up. The world tilts to the side a bit - he might have had a few too many drinks, yeah. But then maybe it's just the side effect of the messenger crow being here, who knows. Constantine would rather put his money on the latter for the sake of his dignity. Not that he has much of that left.
He makes his way to the window, looks at the crow for a long moment, making his last internal debate obvious, and then opens the window.
"The hell do you want?" He asks, but quickly realises it was in vain.
He is not at the bar anymore.
Instead, he is standing in the middle of a graveyard, surrounded by tombstones, fog, and eerie silence. 4/10 on the creepy effect, John has definitely seen this shit done better.
The cloaked figure sitting on the nearest tombstone stays silent, watching him with unblinking, blood red eyes. John sighs again, pinches the bridge of his nose, and reaches into the pocket of his trenchcoat for cigarettes. If he ended up out of the bar anyway, he might as well use it for a smoke break.
"I'd rather you not," the cloaked being says, not a demand but a request by the sound of it. Constantine grimaces, but puts the pack back in the pocket. Arguing with this one will get him exactly nowhere.
"What's this all about, then?" He vaguely gestures around himself, at all the death, decay, and other things that start with the letter 'D'. "I never knew you're into this kind of thing. Very Mary Shelley of you," he raises an eyebrow.
The being - the Dead God, the Ghost of Time, Clockwork, Chronos, and any other name he likes calling himself - huffs a deep, low and breathy laugh. Then, he stands up, his feet firmly planted on the ground for once. He looks different to how John is used to seeing him, all sharp edges and monochrome colors, shiny leather oxfords and loose sleeves with tight cuffs.
Honestly, he kind of reminds Constantine of vampires. He really hopes this is not actually some kind of a new kink of his because John so didn't count on that kind of night. Despite what he's said before.
"No," Chronos shakes his head, his appearance shifting from young to middle-aged. Constantine blinks; if there's anything he learned about the Dead God through their various get-togethers, it's that his age usually reflects his level of seriousness.
But he doesn't have time to ask, nor does he get a moment to prepare, when a child, a literal goddamn child no older than ten steps out from behind Clockwork.
It looks like a boy, dressed in jeans and a blue hoodie with a NASA logo on it, and- He does look like Clockwork. Same pale skin, same eerie, unblinking eyes, same unearthly air around him.
Only, his eyes are a faint blue, like ice and winter skies. Like Constantine's eyes.
The unholy fuck. And he means it literally.
"Is that-" he starts, his throat suddenly dry, pointing his finger at the boy before he even thinks about it, but the Ghost of Time laughs again, a dirty grin on his lips.
"Yours? No, thank the Ancients," he says, making sure to sound just a tad bit offended even if John can see the mirth on his face. Bloody wanker. Constantine lets out a slow, loud breath through his nose.
"Amen to that," he agrees and looks at the kid again. And, as soon as the initial shock wears off, a sneaking suspicion starts to form in his mind. He narrows his eyes. "I don't want to ask, I really don't, but I'm going to anyway. Why?"
Clockwork's face looks distant for a moment, his features shifting into old.
"A child blessed by time has no home in his own life. A child blessed by death has no place among others," he says, and John hates when they speak in riddles, but he thinks he might be getting this one right. "I am only loved when I'm gone, the moments being held dear in memory. But a child does not deserve that," Clockwork's voice sounds almost sad, and, while John does understand it's supposed to be a metaphor, it doesn't feel like one.
But then, he is the Time itself. Maybe for him it's not really a metaphor.
He looks back to the kid, and catches the boy looking away with a grimace. Seems like they have at least one thing in common - they both hold a great distaste to Cronos' solemn way of talking.
Constantine is so going to regret this, but he knows where the Dead God is leading.
"Yeah, okay," he rubs his face with one hand, and, before he has time to ask or say another word, the whole graveyard is gone, and he is standing back in the bar, the low murmur of nightly crowd and warm light around him. Just like before he opened the window to the blood-eyed crow.
The only difference between then and now is the kid standing by his side, looking at him like John is the stupidest man he'd ever seen. Oh, he is already regretting this.
Constantine drops his hand down and goes back to the bar, where he left his drink.
"Want a beer?" He asks, and the kid rolls his eyes, trailing after him.
"I'm twelve," he deadpans, and, yeah, okay, he's got a point.
Fuck it, he is calling in a favor from Bats. That man has, like, twenty kids, he should have some parenting advice.
~•~•~•~
Yeah, the song really reminded me of Clockwork for some reason. Why am I loved only when I'm gone? is really stricking me as a line written for him because you only cherish the time after it's gone, you smile at your memories and pictures, but you rarely ever pay attention to it in the moment.
Also, I did my best with the Gothic aesthetic there, and here's the additional vibe.
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Clockwork, just dropping a random ass kid on his occasional one night stand and vanishing into the night, knowing that John Constantine has a soft spot for kids and won't just fuck off to who knows where: it's for the greater good the better timeline
Danny, left alone with a clearly too drunk to think magician whose soul looks like a jigsaw puzzle: the fuck it's not
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entitled-fangirl · 3 months ago
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Devotion.
Benjicot Blackwood x Bracken!wife!reader
Summary: After the Battle of the Burning Mill, the reader is relieved to see Benjicot unharmed. The same could not be said for her brother.
Warnings: War, blood, death, murder, misunderstanding, cursing, harsh talk of women
A/n: This came from some dark place in my brain😭 Also the fucking PowerPoint presentation I could make on my differences in characterization between Benjicot, Cregan & Jace. Benji is the harshest out of the three obviously, so keep that in mind when reading. He's a lot more... crude.
Large italicized sections indicate a flashback!
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"Benjicot!"
The great Lord Blackwood turned at the sound, his face lighting up at the sight of his lady wife. 
He barely excused himself under his breath to the men he spoke to, briskly moving to her. He would run, but his heavy armor could never allow that.
He braced for her, catching her with ease as her chest slammed against his metal breastplate. Her arms wrapped around him, relaxation finally moving through her body now that he was alive and in her sight.
"What are you doing here?" He asked in a hushed state, holding her firmly to him. "You shouldn't have come."
"The battle is over," she murmured against his neck.
He couldn't help a small grin from coming over his face. "Only barely. There is still much to do."
She pulled away just enough to look around, taking note of the bodies that laid across the fields, cloaks both red and yellow alike. "That's why I've come. To help where I can."
He sighed and looked over her. "That's thoughtful of you."
She hummed. "You're still bloody. Did it not end yesterday?"
"It did." He looked down at his armor then back to her again. "The blood does not bother me."
"Have you not even washed yourself?" She reached up and wiped a bit of blood from his cheek.
He gently pushed away her hand. "You fret for me far too much."
"Can you blame me for doing so? Look around. In another life, one of these bodies may have been yours."
Benjicot shrugged. "But it's not."
She sighed and pulled away, taking in the sight of the bodies. "What warranted such a killing?"
Benji bit his cheek. "Border stones," he lied through his teeth. "Just the border stones."
She huffed. "Men and their land. I'll not understand them."
Benji forced himself to laugh, a guilty feeling erupting in his stomach. 
"BRACKEN!" Benjicot screamed as he and his men neared. "Put the boundary stones back."
Aeron Bracken scoffed. "We didn't move them."
"Ah. Did they move themselves then?" He questioned. "Just rolled their way over so Bracken cows can fill their bellies on Blackwood grass?"
"The assize-"
"Fuck the assize." Benjicot stepped into Aeron's face. "And fuck you. This is our land."
Aeron grew nervous under Blackwood's glare. "T… This is Bracken land."
Benjicot's tilted his head, studying the man closely. 
Having enough, Aeron turned around and began to storm off, muttering under his breath. "…babe killer-"
"What did you say?"
Aeron paused in his steps, realizing exactly what he had just done. But he was too stubborn to step down. He turned. "Your false Queen Rhaenyra is a kinslayer."
Benjicot paused. "Your uncle declared for Aegon, did he?" When Aeron said nothing, he continued, "Well then, let me tell you." He took steady steps towards the Bracken as his anger grew. "Aegon Targaryen is no true king. Just as you are no true knight."
Aeron's hands shook but his voice remained steady. "Craven. Little. Cunt."
Benjicot couldn't find it in himself to be mad at that. He even took a step back and let out a hearty laugh. "The only cunt I know of is your sister's."
Aeron growled and drew his sword, pointing it at Benjicot. "You'll watch your words, Blackwood."
The men with Benjicot all flinched, hovering their hands over the handles of their own swords. Benjicot laughed and held up his hands in mock surrender. "What? I can't speak of your sister's love for me? Dare I speak of her willingness to carry a Blackwood's heir contently? Because she would. She takes me so well-"
"-QUIET!" Aeron stepped forward. 
He grinned and stepped closer, the tip of Aeron's sword only inches from his chest. "You wouldn't dare."
"Must have been quite a fight," she remarked as the two walked through the fields. They avoided the people who loaded a few of the dead bodies up to take them back to their families. 
"Aye."
She looked up at him. "You've been awfully quiet." She reaches up and brushes his hair back.
He sighed softly, trying to hide his guilt. "Only the wears of war finally getting to me. That's all. Perhaps we should go to my tent."
She hummed and walked on. "In a bit." Her eyes scanned the field, obviously looking for something. 
He had a good idea what she was looking for. Any sign of her brother. "I've grown weary, my love. As I'm sure you have." He reached out and grabbed her arm to try to stop her.
Not even looking at him, she brushed her hand across his chest before stepping further from him. "Only a moment, Benji."
He forced another sigh, keeping his nerves down. "You shouldn't be out here. Let me take you back."
"Benjicot, please." 
"I'm only thinking of you, girl. C'mon."
She turned in frustration. "Just a moment."
When she began to look eerily closer to where he knew her brother lay, he rushed forward and grabbed her arm. "Darling girl, stop this now."
And she did. Her entire body froze and a soft sob wracked her body.
"A- Aeron?"
Benjicot cursed under his breath. "You shouldn't look at this."
Aeron lay in the mud next to the small creek. A sword ran through his neck, blood staining his clothes and the little grass that he lay on. 
She felt as if a bucket of cold water had been dumped on her, or a knife in her heart, a tremor now in her hands. 
She spun around. "Did you know about this?"
"What?"
Her eyes watered, her jaw clenched. He watched her pick at her fingers. "Did you know about this?"
Benjicot ran his tongue across his teeth. 
She didn't bother to wait for a response, running to the dead man and dropping to her knees at his side. Her dress began to soak in the mix of mud, water, and blood. 
The Blackwood watched with an aching heart. He swallowed hard. "Y/n…"
"No." She brushed her fingers over her brother's face, pulling the hair back. She tried to ignore how cold his skin was. "No, no."
Benji dared to take a step closer to her. He couldn't stand to only sit and watch her suffer like this. "Y/n," he tried again.
"Why?"
His voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper, "Why what?"
She sniffled. "Why couldn't you prevent this?"
Benjicot felt as if he'd been punched in the gut. His breath caught in his throat. "Do you think I wanted this?" He asked with a trembling voice. "I bled for our cause. War is unpredictable, and death has a way of finding its way into every battle."
Her fingers shook violently against her dead brother's shoulders. 
He forced a sigh. "I promise you I didn't want this. But he started it."
Her hand faltered. Her head tilted to look over her shoulder at him. "What?"
Benji bit his cheek. He shouldn't have said that.
"Benjicot. What do you mean?" She asked. "Were you there when it started?"
He couldn't bring himself to speak. He tried to, but his voice was gone, the guilt beginning to eat him alive. His eyes were set on the cold body. 
"W-" She followed his gaze, looking at the longsword that held her brother's body down.
Benjicot's longsword. 
Her head snapped back to him, noticing that he indeed was missing his longsword from its sheath. 
Her eyes slowly moved up Benjicot's entire body until she found his eyes. 
"You killed my brother?"
Benjicot pulled his sword out of a man's body, moving on to the next one. He was covered in blood, his armor starting to irritate his skin from the constant movement. But he hardly cared about that. 
His sword collided with another and he looked. 
"Take it back!" Aeron growled. 
Benjicot tilted his head, "Or what?"
Aeron stepped back and fixed his position. He looked terrified, but he refused to let it show. "Or I'll gut you. And I'll take my sister back."
"She's a Blackwood," Benji grunted. 
"She'll never be," the Bracken rebutted.
Benjicot's anger grew, pushing him to make the first real attack. He swung his sword with accuracy and precision, intent on doing anything to injure his opponent.
Aeron was quick, but he wasn't as accurate. While his dodges were good, he was only defense. 
So when he finally lifted up his sword to swing it in offense, Benjicot lifted his foot and kicked the Bracken firmly in the chest. 
Aeron lost his footing, falling backwards and rolling. He panicked at the cold feeling of the water that stood only inches from him. He groaned and tried to get up, but Benji was quick to keep him down. 
The Bracken reached out blindly across the ground, trying to find the handle of his dagger that had fallen from his belt. It was somewhere around here. 
There it was.
Benjicot caught his actions at the last second, pulling himself away before Aeron could cut him.
Aeron growled and sat up, getting up as fast as he could.
But the Blackwood knocked the dagger from his hand and tackled him back into the dirt, now straddling him. He bent down to spit in his face.
Aeron grunted and flinched. He tried to fight against Benjicot, but the darker haired man was beginning to lose his patience entirely. He grabbed Aeron's armor at his shoulders, picking up the boy's torso and slamming it into the ground again.
"I hope you're right," Aeron wheezed out.
Benjicot snarled. "What?"
"I said," Aeron said as he spit up blood from a tooth lost earlier. "I hope you're right."
Benji shook his head, "I don't care for final words and monologues."
"Then know this, Blackwood. I hope she does carry your heir. I hope you fill her with your seed over and over and over again." He laughed cruelly, looking up at the sky. "I hope the future of your house depends on a Bracken womb."
Benjicot slammed the man again. "Shut up."
Aeron looked him in the eyes now, using the last of his strength to get in his face. "I hope House Blackwood is forever tainted by the cunt of a Bracken. Your children will be Brackens."
"I said shut up!"
Bracken spit in Benji's face. "Fuck her well. I hope they look Just. Like. Me."
Benjicot felt something in him snap. His eyes glazed over. 
He stood and stared down at the man with no mercy. Benjicot pressed the tip of his longsword to the neck of his enemy.
"I hope that you're lost to time, Aeron Bracken."
Benjicot felt his heart break and splinter at the sound of her voice. His own was a whisper, "please, listen to me." He took a slow step toward her.
"STAY AWAY FROM HIM!" She screamed. She began to sob violently as she threw herself over Aeron's body, grief truly hitting her like a wall.
He staggered back in shock. His jaw clenched, the urge to gather her in his arms and make her see the truth becoming overwhelming. "Listen to me," he repeated. 
"We were s-supposed to be the treaty," she muttered against Aeron's chest. 
"W… What? What was that?" Benji asked.
She sat up. "You and I. We were supposed to be the treaty. The thing that could have prevented this. And we weren't. Divorce me or kill me, but please. Please. Don't torture me like this."
He was beginning to lose his patience again. "Dear girl, you must listen to me. You must."
She shook her head. "I won't."
"Y/n," he grunted and stepped to her. 
"NO!" She held a hand up, as if the young woman could stop the force that was Benjicot Blackwood. "Don't touch him!"
He held his hands up, forcing himself to calm down. "I won't. I just want to speak to you."
"You've done enough, Benjicot."
"I know. I know what I've done is cruel to you, but you have to let me explain myself."
"Leave, Benjicot."
He huffed. "I won't. You're going to listen."
She pushed herself up onto her knees. "Leave," she spoke through clenched teeth.
"What?" He asked in anger. "You're not going to return to Raventree Hall with me?"
"Not by will."
"You can't be serious. You'd rather abandon our marriage, our home, then return with me?"
She wiped at her cheek, unknowingly smearing dirt and blood across her face. "My home was with Aeron. M-My brother is dead. I have nothing."
He took a cautious step toward her. "You have me," he muttered, the words like a vow.
"You never wanted me."
Benjicot's arms fell to his sides, feeling utterly defeated. 
The man was a valiant fighter, a formidable warrior, and four words from his wife made him feel utterly hopeless.
He looked out over the field, debating what to even say. His voice broke, "You know that's not true."
"You killed my brother. If you love me- if you ever loved me, you wouldn't have done this."
"It's not that easy."
"It is!" She stood up. "It is that easy! All of this," she gestured around, "Over the fucking boundary stones?"
"OVER YOU!" He yelled. "He dared to speak ill of you and you know I'll not have that!"
She felt a shiver move down her spine slowly. She looked over to Aeron's body. "Did he?"
"Darling," Benjicot tried to speak reasonably once again, "I am a dangerous man. It feels as if I fall asleep in battle and wake up covered in another's blood. I am no saint, and I refuse to pretend I am. But listen when I tell you that I am no liar." He sighed. "If he had let it go, perhaps he would still be breathing. But if defending your honor makes you hate me then perhaps it is worth it for I know I did what was right."
She was quiet for a long time, staring at the water. "Do you believe the old stories?"
His brows furrowed. "I'm not understanding you."
She looked up to him. "The weirwood tree. Do you believe that the Brackens poisoned it all those generations ago?"
Benjicot shuffles his feet, not sure what to answer. "I-I couldn't say for certain."
"And yet you still wear it on your chest with pride? Something you don't even know for certain?"
He looked down at his family crest and back to her. "It's a part of who I am. I can't change that."
She tilted her head. "Then don't expect me to either. You can love me or hate me, Benjicot Blackwood, but I am a Bracken no matter which way you twist your story. I cannot change my blood."
"Where are you going with this exactly, beautiful?"
She took a step towards him. "If you kill all of the Brackens in the world, it'll only lead you back to your own house. You shouldn't have married a Bra-"
"-Shut up," he ordered. 
She looked up in shock. "What?"
"I don't care what you are. I don't care if you're a Targaryen or a fucking toad. I do not care. You are mine, as I am yours." His eyes glazed over with a new emotion. "The rest of the world could rot for all I care."
She watched him take slow, deliberate steps to her until the gap was completely closed. He leaned in, his lips almost brushing hers. "I am addicted to you. I always have been."
She took in a shaky breath, her heart pounded in her chest. Only Benjicot had ever made her feel so alive. "I-I'm in love with you."
He paused, his eyes trying to read an emotion from hers. 
They had never said such a thing to each other. This was supposed to be a marriage for alliance purposes. There wasn't supposed to be love. There wasn't-
He couldn't stop himself, connecting their lips roughly with a low groan. 
He could faintly taste dirt on her bottom lip, but he paid no heed, pulling her closer to feel her body against his. "Have you ever felt this before?" He whispered against her. "Utter devotion?"
She let out a whine.
He kissed her again. "Fuck the weirwood tree. I'll worship you until the end of my days."
She tugged at his hair, making him growl with lust. He gripped her jaw easily with one hand, holding her firmly. He was never a cruel lover, but he was a firm one. 
"Tell me what he said," she managed to pant out.
"No," he hummed, beginning to kiss down her neck. His hand pushed her head back to expose more of her skin to him.
In the unyielding hands of the infamous Bloody Ben, she'd never felt safer. 
"I'll bury him for you." Was all the more that Benjicot said about it.
"Hard to jump your bones in all that armor," she whispered in his ear. 
"Fuck," He groaned. "Careful, Braken," he teased.
She pulled away and he instantly began to feel regret for his jest.
Her brows furrowed as she stared up at him. "Fuck you, Blackwood."
"Darling-"
Her lips pulled into a small smile and she began to laugh. 
"Don't fucking do that again," he exclaimed, grabbing her jaw again roughly. 
"You fell right into my hands, Blackwood," she continued. "The great Lord Benjicot, so gullible."
He pushed a smile down. "You're a cruel goddess."
"I don't think you mind."
He pulled her face to him, placing a heavy kiss to her lips. "You're right."
"Trust me, my lord, you'll be rewarded for your devotion."
His brows quirked up. "Will I?"
Her eyes flicked to his lips and back up to his eyes. "I can be benevolent when I want to be."
He groaned. "I'll worship you forever."
Only a year later, Benjicot held his newborn child to his chest, caressing the young boy.
The babe's eyes opened, revealing dark brown pupils.
Y/n cooed, "He looks just like his father."
Benjicot let out a breath he didn't know he was keeping. 
Aeron Bracken was wrong. 
Seems even genetically, Blackwoods were the dominant house.
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mygnolia · 3 months ago
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TASTE OF LIFE. l. heeseung
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THE TALE GOES...heeseung is invisible to everyone, robbed of recognition as people pass through and never acknowledge him. to live as a shadow who observes is hard—heeseung sinks into corners and simply wishes for a chance to be a part of something. but when you finally come to the biggest halloween party of the year and see him, he can’t help but be attached. 
pair -› lee heeseung x fem!reader | trope -› horror, literally no fluff | warn -› major character death, violence, stalking | REN SAYS.. first installment! also this is shit guys im so sorry I NEEDED TO GET THIS OUT ASAP ugh writing this much lowk killed me </3 | 3k words | library
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Mediocre. Normal. Ordinary.
That’s exactly how you’d describe the house that stood before you, with your bags tightly held in both hands as you ascended the few stairs to the porch. It felt like any other house, and you’d even compare it to the old one you were in. 
The previous home was different in one major way—it added years of aging onto your parents somehow, as if something had sucked the life out of their minds. It drove them crazy to stay home, and you couldn’t help but be embarrassed every time they mumbled in public about going home. 
They looked crazy. You just had to droop your head and pretend you didn’t know them. 
Your parents’ eyes lit up when they entered through the door, with wood flooring and a color scheme that reflected on their preferences. It was almost identical to your other house, so why exactly did they choose to move to a home that was no different than the last? If anything, you were just glad they were starting to feel more comfortable within the new space. It felt breathable, and something about the old place you lived in felt dirty and plagued. 
It wasn’t much of a struggle as you began to unpack the bags of clothes and boxes of items you brought with you, considering how little you cared about accents and decorations. With furniture already there, your room felt akin to your other one, but something was off. You tried to move the desk over to the window to gauge the effectiveness of the natural lighting, and when your curtains gave way to slightly clouded rays of sunlight in your room, you hummed with some satisfaction. Good enough. 
As Halloween came around, you understood how much everyone in the local town loved to celebrate. Houses on your way to school were filled with webs, lights, and jack-o-lanterns, and it made you believe that the pumpkin farm on the outskirts of town had a smart business model. On top of having an abundance of fall flavored desserts, the Yang family held the biggest party of the year, seeing as their son went to the same high school of yours. 
You had only heard whispers of the annual Yang Halloween party, rumored to be the best party of all time, was something you were looking forward to every year, even anticipating the post-celebration news to hit you from the town over. 
The day neared, and you got more and more excited to finally get to know people ever since you arrived in town. People knew of you as the new girl, but no one reached out, all too consumed in their own cliques to introduce themselves to you. 
“Taste,” you told the man waiting outside. “The password is ‘taste.’ “
The windows were tinted in red as moonlight streamed through one side of the building. The rest of the house was dark, with only flashing orange, purple, and green lights strung carefully to add to the mysterious ambience. Music blasted from the speakers and shelves were lined with decorations, ones that you were careful to avoid knocking over as you slid your way between crowds. There seemed to be never ending snacks, as people with tattered black cloaks always managed to keep the drinks filled and the rows neat. 
It was obvious that the family knew what they were doing when it came to throwing parties—you hadn’t seen one person without a smile on their face. The festivities like horror rooms and games were all through-out the floor, and there was always something for everyone to do. 
You fell into conversation with a few people, cutting it short as you excused yourself to the restroom. Down the same hall was a door that was left ajar, and you went to shut it before returning to the boy who you just met. 
“Hi.” 
You jumped back, eyes darting around as you searched for someone to match the sudden voice, and you heard a small curse in the same direction. Your feet were frozen as you only looked around, your hand still on the knob of the empty restroom as you hoped someone would come to break you out of your stupor.
There was nothing, you promised yourself, and the door shut with a click. Still, your gut swirled with fear as you slowly turned, anxiously rubbing the goosebumps on your skin.
“You can hear me, huh?” 
You knew the sound was coming to your left, where the flashing lights were nowhere to be found. All you had was the phone you fished out of your back pocket before you saw a flash of something pale. You immediately turned, trying to find it once more. 
You could’ve sworn there was something. 
“Hello?” You probably looked insane to any bystander, calling out to the dark when you swore you saw something nearby. 
To both your surprise and horror, someone floats through the closet door, his limbs passing through as a grin makes his way onto his features. 
You’d think the ghost in front of you was attractive, if it wasn’t for the fact that you were experiencing something supernatural for the first time. 
Bile rose in your throat as you became disoriented looking at the figure. With a yelp that caught confused stares from only a few people nearby, you scurried out of the house, bumping into bodies as the door grew closer and closer. 
Like a bubble about to burst, the house feels stuffy and humid until you open the large doors, swallowing the cold air of the night like a lifeline. Your head spins with confusion, and you can’t seem to understand what you just saw until he seeps through the wall once more. 
“I’m sorry if I scared you.” You yelp at the sound of his voice, taking a few steps back as you look anywhere but his sullen face. 
The sound of your heart won triumph over anything else as you kept trying to make space between you and the creature in front of you. When he begins to glide closer, you take it as your sign to grab your small clutch and begin a brisk walk back home, no matter how dark.
“My name is Heeseung. No one’s ever seen me,” he explains, easily drifting behind you. 
“Get the fuck away from me, Heeseung.” Your voice sounded shaky as the wind rushes past your ears. You felt hopeless, unable to hear his footsteps or gauge where he could be. 
He’s right next to you, speaking directly to your profile all of a sudden. “Please, no one’s recognized me since I died. Please, you have to help me.”
The change in proximity has you jumping from being frightened, and you try to cover your ears to block out his voice. 
The worst part of it all was that Heeseung could touch you. You felt the cold of his fingertips without the pressure of his mortality in his fingertips. Effortlessly drifting next to you, he worked to pry your fingers from your ears as a plea for you to hear him out.
“I don’t care. Leave me alone.” You began speeding up, seeing your house in sight and the ghost beginning to fall back in his misery. You didn’t care about it, only wanting to go home and pretend everything was a bad dream. While the ghost wasn’t ugly by any means, the supernatural facet of his identity kept you up as you feared the creature outside your window at any moment. 
What you didn’t know was that your gut feeling was right–Heeseung wouldn’t stop until he got what he wanted. 
You didn’t know what was louder–Heeseung’s voice in your ear, or the thudding of your heartbeat. 
Your scream echoed around the empty house when he appeared for the second time, your heart dropping as the lack of sleep you got from the night before made you even more on edge now. Everytime you looked down a corridor, shivers racked your body and you were unable to go anywhere without a flashlight. You swore you saw him in the corner of the room, and if not–something was horribly wrong with you. 
There he was again, staying by the edge. “Please, get away from me, I can’t give you what you want, Heeseung.” You tried to keep your voice as steady as possible, as if you weren’t shaking from fear that you’d be joined by an intruder everytime you turned the corner.
You couldn’t shower or change without wanting to tear your hair out, and there was no way to quell the anxiety after you saw him stick an arm through your home. 
There was nothing you could do. No one who you could go to about this. You were truly all alone. 
Class felt like a blur with an ache in your head and an emptiness in your stomach. It was exhausting for you to dart around the room, waiting for him to appear. 
He was waiting for something, you knew it. 
You felt on edge constantly, like you were going insane. Every small movement triggered some sort of reaction, so much so that your classmates began to notice and snicker. 
You felt like your parents–and you had no idea how to make it stop. 
It was the third day of your sleepless torment. Your parents often left you alone according to their new work schedules, and you were still stuck having to hide from the apparition until you left for school. He looked torn apart, too, but you couldn’t understand why he couldn’t give you space. It got so bad to the point where you heard whispers of him in every corridor. You couldn’t stand it anymore, and your bloodshot eyes and scratched arms were a sign that something had been wrong ever since Halloween. 
There was only one person you could tell about this, and you didn’t even notice how bad your fingers had been when you went to pick at the dry skin once more. 
“Jungwon,” you mumbled as you passed him. He turned around, immediately recognizing you as someone he didn’t know much about. 
“Is everything okay?” He asked, concern knitting his eyebrows as you asked for him to talk with you outside. 
Something was off that day. The clouds were gray, dipped with unease. The sky was bathed in dread, and Jungwon could tell something was wrong by the way you couldn’t find the sun no matter where you looked. 
“What’s wrong, ____? You’ve been looking horrible ever since Halloween.” You flinched at the word, eyes stinging with tears as you were pushed back into thinking about that night. You never should’ve worn your black dress or added some cute cat ears. You never should’ve left the house. 
“There’s something in your house, Jungwon,” you pleaded, your gaze frantically searching for any sign that Heeseung followed you. “It’s like a spirit, something happened and it won’t—“ your words came to an abrupt halt when you heard a chuckle from the boy in front of you. 
A laugh tore through as Jungwon crossed his arms and looked at you with a pitiful grin. “You’re funny. Good prank, though,” he smiles, about to turn. 
You had no idea what came over you when you went to grab his arm. Jungwon was practically a stranger to you, but one more sleepless night without a cure would’ve made you go insane if he kept following you. You needed to get rid of Heeseung. 
“No!” Your voice rang out louder than anticipated, and the sudden shout made you wince, still holding onto Jungwon’s arm. “You don’t get it, something’s following me around, he keeps talking to me and no one else can see him—“ 
The boy yanked himself out of your grip, suddenly frustrated, and you feared the worst; Yang Jungwon would tell the whole school that you were crazy. 
“Please, Jungwon—” you tried once more, “he’s real—he’s everywhere and I can’t get rid of him—it was because of your party,” at this point, your eyes were filled with tears as you begged your only hope from leaving. “You have to help me—“ 
“I don’t have to do anything for you, ____.” He sneered, growing impatient. “I don’t know who put you up to this whole prank, but you need to stay away from me.” He spun around, paying you no attention as you crumbled to a heap on the ground and sobbed hopelessly on the pavement. 
The sky was darker than ever, and it was still afternoon.
Even as you walked down the empty dirt roads to your house, you couldn’t help but hear Heeseung’s voice ring in your ears. As you started running to push the sound out and replace it with your heavy breathing, your eyes began to shut with exhaustion. Slowing to an eventual stop in front of your house, you heaved, gasping for air that felt like it was escaping your lungs any moment as you held into the porch railing
“You’re home. What took you so long?” 
Your vision was blurring slightly in the corners, and the corners of your eyes felt puffy. You were slipping out of consciousness, but you remembered that voice anywhere. “Get away from me, please.” 
Heeseung pursed his lips, feeling slightly bad for the state that you were in. “I told you, I can help you.”
When you saw his pale shoes in front of you, your body reacted instantly, scrambling back to create some distance. You hadn’t registered that a wooden splinter from the floor cut into your palm until Heeseung saw the blood seep into the planks underneath you. The porch made no sound under his quick footsteps, and it only instilled more frustration at his lack of perceptibility. His sudden approach left you frightened as you waved a hand in the air, unable to feel the wound from the state of your body. “Go away, Heeseung!” 
He frowned angrily. “Let me help.” He kneeled next to you and reached out for your wound before you yanked your hand back, stumbling as you got back up and tried to make your way to the entrance.
“Please, stop,” you cried, taking two steps towards the railing before your legs gave out. Heeseung tried to reach out for you again. But you pushed away his hand, the slap of the force making no sound. It was almost humorous how much your torture was one sided, but you had no more energy left to defend yourself.
Heeseung went to grab your wrist, worry etched in his features as your state deteriorated in front of him. You kicked his leg, hot tears staging your cheeks as you sobbed for him to leave you alone, but the more carelessly you moved, the more the large splinter dug into your hand. He begged for you to stop–to let him help you before anything bad happened, but you couldn’t understand through the sound of your own hysterics. 
A mix of going days without sleeping, paired with your lack of appetite and delirium left you defenseless no matter how much you tried. You struggled against the ghost of Heeseung’s grip as he tried to stop you from hurting yourself even further. You felt bile in your throat when he was close, and you found the opportunity to yank your arm out of his grip. You underestimated the force, however, and your hand hit the wood behind you. Momentarily distracted, you focused on the blooming pain of the impact and the slowly trailing blood. It was out of body how you couldn’t process the sensation of your fingers tracing the messy wound, and you became a slave to your exhaustion as the boy came back.
You fought against him weakly, the blood from your wound becoming a larger problem the more you used your hands to do anything. 
“You don’t get it!” He yelled, tears of his own forming from the anger of having to go against you. 
Why couldn’t you just stop? Why did you keep pushing him away? You were selfish, trying to ignore him as if you didn’t understand his predicament. You were the only one who could’ve seen him, and he was the only one who saw you in return. “Even Jungwon doesn’t believe you,” he mumbled bitterly, seeing you slowly slip in and out. “You wouldn’t even help me, ____. It’s all your fault.” He talked as if you could hear him, the life in your eyes gone by the time he wiped his tears and finally looked at you, with your wrist going limp in his hold. 
“I don’t get it.” He wept angrily, before getting up and leaving you there on the porch steps in a heap. 
Heeseung turned to glance at you again, his semblance of a heart in pain from how things had to end up. “You seemed so nice–so promising. Jungwon swore we could've been friends.”
You didn’t know if it was possible to kill a ghost twice. After all, your death turned you into a floating apparition of yourself, as you watched your parents mourn their attempts to shield you from their own fate. Being a ghost wasn’t so horrible, but Heeseung was right; it was lonely. 
When a voice calls your name apologetically from where you sit on your rooftop, your gaze settles on him with fury, and the moment you rush over to him and your fingers close around his wrist, you knew that you wouldn’t stop until you properly got rid of Lee Heeseung.
No matter how long it took.
--
i swear the rest of them will be better. and shorter.
zyvlxqht firstclassjaylee @riribelle @jaylajakey @minfolio @strxwbloody @r1kification @strayy-kidz @mimismenu @jwonistic @haechsworld @machambrx @ririsreverie @hollxe1 @wonnina @heeseungismymanz @cyjhhyj @eunimaybe
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violettwrites · 3 months ago
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but daddy i love him! — tp!daryl
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a/n: this is something a little different from my trailer park!duo i’ve been writing, but i listened to one taylor swift song and i couldn’t help myself
if you enjoyed my writing, don’t forget to like, reblog, and/or comment! i really appreciate the support 🫶🏻
summary: reader comes from a well off, extremely religious family. when she becomes close with the town’s local outcast, her father, the local preacher, has something to say about it.
pairing: tp!daryl x goodgirl!reader
warnings: none tbh !
word count: 2,778
resources: divider by @adornedwithlight
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ever since you were a little girl, your life had been laid out in front of you. you had a path to followed and you had never deviated from that path. you kept your faith close to your heart, god with you everywhere you went.
your father was the well known preacher in your small town, where everyone knew everyone.
and everyone knew you— the preacher’s daughter. the one expected to be perfect, sinless, and pure. people looked to you as a reflection of your father’s teachings, a symbol of his devotion. for years, you wore that role like a cloak, heavy with responsibility, but it fit you. at least it did, until you met daryl dixon.
daryl wasn’t like anyone you had ever known. rough around the edges, always lingering on the outskirts of town with his older brother, merle. both of them stuck in a trailer park on the other side of the county line. they were known for getting into trouble— as sinful as they came, as your father said, warning you to stay away from them. but there was something about daryl that drew you in. maybe it was the way he never tried to impress anyone, or how he seemed to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders without ever saying a word.
you can remember the first time you noticed daryl dixon— leaned up against the outside of the gas station, his bike parked in front of him as he stood there, a cigarette between his lips. when you had caught his gaze, in that pretty little white sundress, looking like the epitome of an angel, his blue eyes locked onto you. you had left the church once the sunday service was over, in need of a sweet treat in the shape of a slushie. on your way out, with your blue raspberry slushie in hand as you passed him, you had locked eyes with him, those piercing blue ones boring into yours.
it was a few weeks later when you saw him again, this time behind the church. you had come out to get some fresh air after a long sunday service, your father still inside talking with some of the congregation. daryl was leaning against a tree, his eyes scanning the horizon like he was waiting for someone— or maybe something.
“shouldn’t be out ‘ere, should ya?” his voice was rough, like gravel under your feet, but there was a softness in it that surprised you.
you hesitated, unsure whether to run back inside or stand your ground. “maybe not,” you replied, your voice steady, even though your heart was pounding in your chest. “but i could say the same for you.”
he gave a half smile, barely there, before his gaze turned back to the woods. “ain’t exactly my place, is it?”
“no, but it’s not like anyone’s going to come looking for you here either,” you said, stepping closer. there was something exhilarating about talking to him, like you were teetering on the edge of something dangerous, something thrilling.
daryl didn’t say anything for a moment. he just stood there with his hands in his pockets. you could see the faint outline of a bruise under his eye, and it made you wonder what kind of life he lived. you had heard rumours about the dixon brothers, but you had just assumed that was all talk.
“yer the preacher’s kid, huh?” he asked after a long silence, eyes coming back to focus on you— and your heart pounded against your chest again at his piercing blue eyes locked in on your figure.
“don’t call me kid,” you scoffed for a moment, looking down at your white sandals, brows furrowed before looking up at him. you nodded eventually, chewing on your bottom lip. “and you’re one of the dixon brothers.”
daryl chuckled at your defensiveness of being called kid, but left it at that. he nodded his head at your observation. “reckon that’s what people call us,” he hummed, however it seemed there was a bit of defensiveness in his tone too.
“is that all you are?” you asked quietly, somewhat curious about the boy behind the rough exterior with the name he carried.
for the first time, daryl looked at you, really looked at you. his brow furrowed like he was trying to figure you out, figure out why the preacher’s daughter was out here talking to him like he wasn’t the town’s pariah. he didn’t have an answer; but you could see that same quiet rebellion mirrored in his eyes, like he was just as unsure about his place in the world as you were about yours.
from that moment on, your paths crossed more than you’d like to admit. you’d find him by the church sometimes, or he’d show up at the gas station, always at odd times like he was avoiding being seen. the two of you would talk, but never for long, however it was long enough for you to feel like there was something more to him than the town’s whispers could ever capture.
it wasn’t long before you started sneaking out, the weight of your father’s expectations growing heavier with each passing day. you’d meet daryl in secret, late at night, down by the creek just outside of town. the moon would be high in the sky, casting a silver light over the water, and the two of you would just sit there— talking about whatever came to mind those nights you’d spend together. your faith, his avoidance of it, your families, your hopes, your dreams. nothing was off topic.
in daryl, you found freedom— a way to break free from the life that had been laid out for you since birth. and in you, daryl found something he’d never had; someone who didn’t judge him. someone who saw more than just his last name.
but the world you both came from was small, and people talked. it was only a matter of time until your father had you cornered in your room, his voice rising as he yelled at you.
“i will not have my daughter running around with the dixon boys!” you could tell he was mad, it showed by the way his face was red, and more obviously by his tone.
“you don’t— you don’t understand!” you cried, your voice smaller, but still just as loud as his. you could feel the sadness in your bones when people talked down on the dixon brothers— especially daryl. he was just someone, much like yourself, trying to find his place in this world. “he’s good, daddy! he’s good!” he really was. you had never met someone as gentle as daryl dixon. how his calloused hands were so soft against your skin, or how his words weren’t seething with hatred towards you. he was so much better than those boys in your congregation— the ones your father wanted you to be with.
your father looked at you like you’d lost your mind— like the devil had taken over your soul. shaking his head in disbelief, he stepped closer to you. “good? you think that boy is good? i’ll tell you what, (y/n), that boy is trouble. he’s a dixon. you’re risking everything by being with him— your reputation, your future, your soul!” his voice grew louder with each word, a sharpness to them that cut right through you, however you could hear the fear in them, and it left you trembling.
tears welled in your eyes, but you wiped them away, standing firm. “he’s not like everyone says he is, daddy. you don’t see him the way i do! he’s kind, he listens— he cares!” your voice broke as you tried to make him understand, but you knew in your heart it wouldn’t matter. “he cares about me.” daryl dixon would never be good enough for your father, or anyone in this town.
the silence that followed was suffocating, the weight of your father’s disapproval hanging in the air like a storm about to break. another step closer, his voice softened, but it was still filled with authority. “you need to stop this, before it’s too late. before you lose everything.”
you but your lip, choking back the frustration, the sadness, the weight of it all threatening to overwhelm you. “i’ve already lost something.” you paused for a moment, swallowing the lump in your throat that was practically choking you. “i’ve lost myself.”
your father froze for a moment, as if your words had slapped him right across the face. his band, once poised in an authoritative gesture, fell to his side. “what are you talking about, darling?” his voice was softer now, edged with confusion. “you haven’t lost anything. you’re just… mixed up.”
you shook your head slowly, your tears finally spilling over, falling down your cheeks. “no— i’m not mixed up. for the first time, i feel like i’m seeing things clearly. daryl— he doesn’t ask me to be anything i’m not. he doesn’t expect perfection from me. he doesn’t see me just as the preacher’s daughter; this image you’ve painted of me. he truly sees me.”
you could see how your father’s eyes softened for a brief moment, but the stern preacher facade quickly retired. “it is my job to protect you from people like him, from this kind of confusing. he’s luring you in, you’re just too young to understand.”
“i’m not too young to know what i feel!” you countered, your voice shaking but firm. “you raised me to have faith, to believe in the good in people. but you won’t even give daryl a chance!”
“because i know where this leads!” he snapped back at you, his voice booming inside the four walls of your bedroom. you stood there for a moment, body shaking as you looked up at him, fear and sadness laced in your eyes. “he’ll break your heart. he’ll pull you down with him. and when he’s done, you’ll be left picking up the pieces, alone.”
the words stung, but they didn’t deter you. you were tired of being afraid, of being conformed into someone you weren’t. you stepped closer, standing as tall as you could in front of him. “maybe he will. maybe i’ll get hurt. but that’s my choice to make. not yours.”
for a moment, your father looked like he wanted to argue further, but his face softened again, the fight draining from him. he sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “you don’t understand, (y/n). you have no idea how hard life can be. i’m trying to protect you.”
you swallowed hard, feeling the lump in your throat grow again. “i’m not a little kid, anymore. i don’t need protecting.”
with that, you turned and walked out of your room, your heart pounding in your chest. you knew this wasn’t the end of the fight. your father wouldn’t give up easily, but for the first time in your life, you weren’t walking a path someone else had laid out for you. you were walking down your own, no matter how uncertain or dangerous it seemed.
and no matter where it led, you knew daryl would be waiting at the end of it, standing in the moonlight by the creek, with those piercing blue eyes that made you feel like, for the first time, you were truly seen.
the tension from the argument with your father was still heavy in your chest, but you pushed it down as you made your way towards the creek, the pale light from the moon guiding you. your heart beat faster with each step, knowing he’d be waiting for you like he always did.
as you approached the creek, the familiar sound of water rushing over rocks greeted you, and there, leaning against a tree in his usual spot, was daryl dixon. his silhouette was bathed in moonlight, the soft glow highlighting the hard lines on his face and the quiet strength in his posture. he looked up at you when he heard you approaching, his blue eyes finding yours immediately.
“you’re late,” he muttered, but there was no way real bite in his words. he looked you over, as if checking to make sure you were alright.
you shrugged your shoulders, a small smile tugging at your lips despite the weight of the evening. “had to deal with my dad. he knows about us.”
daryl’s eyes darkened slightly, and his jaw tightened. “figured that’d happen sooner or later.” he kicked at a rock, his hands stuffed into his pockets. “what’d he say?”
you took a deep breath, stepping closer to him. “he said i’m throwing my life away, that i’m risking everything by being with you.” you laughed bitterly. “he thinks i’m gonna lose my soul just for knowing you.”
daryl’s gaze dropped to the ground, and he shifted uncomfortable. “maybe he’s right,” he mumbled. “ain’t no good for ya, (y/n). you should be with someone better. someone who ain’t…” he trailed off, his voice tougher than usual.
you felt a pang in your chest at his words, but you weren’t about to let him talk like that. without thinking, you reached out and took his hand, your fingers intertwining with his. his calloused skin was rough against yours, but the warmth of his hand grounded you.
“don’t say that,” you whispered, stepping even closer so you were standing right in front of him, chests almost touching. “you’re good to me, daryl. i don’t care what my dad, or anyone else, says. i know you.”
he looked down at your hands, his fingers tightening around yours for just a moment before he glanced back up at you, those blue eyes searching your face for any hesitation. “you don’t know everything, though. ain’t nothin’ in my life but trouble.”
you shook your head, your voice soft but firm. “i don’t care. i don’t care about the rumours, or what people say, or even what my dad thinks. i care about you.”
for a long moment, daryl didn’t say anything. he just looked at you, his brow furrowed like he was trying to figure out why you were here, why you kept coming back to him when you had every reason to walk away. but then, slowly, his expression softened, and he let out a heavy sigh.
“yer somethin’ else, ya know that?” he muttered, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. it was barely there, but it was enough to make your heart flutter.
you smiled back in return, feeling a warmth spread through you that had nothing to do with the cool night sir. “maybe. or maybe you just bring out a side of me no one else sees.”
daryl’s eyes flickered, and for a second, you thought he might pull away. but instead, his free hand came up to brush a stray piece of hair from your face. his touch was gentle, careful, like he was afraid you might break.
“yer dad ain’t gonna let this slide,” he said quietly, his thumb brushing your cheek. “you sure this is what ya want?”
you didn’t hesitate. “i’m sure. i want you, daryl. i only want you.”
his gaze softened, and for the first time, you saw a flicker of something vulnerable in his eyes. “alright then,” he whisperer, leaning in just enough this his breath mingled with yours. “if that’s what ya want.”
and before you could respond, his lips brushed against yours, soft and hesitant at first, like he was giving you a chance to change your mind. but you didn’t pull away. instead, you kissed him back, your hands coming up to rest on his chest as the world around you seemed to fade away. the creek, the woods, the weight of your father’s disapproval— none of it mattered in that moment. all that mattered was daryl, his lips on yours, his arms wrapping around you, pulling you close as if you were something precious. something worth holding on to.
when you finally pulled away, breathless and your heart pounding, you rested your forehead against his, your hands still pressed against his chest. “i’m not going anywhere,” you whispered, your voice steady, even though everything inside you felt like it was trembling.
daryl nodded, his arms still around you, and for the first time, you saw a hint of relief in his eyes. “neither am i,” he said quietly.
and in that moment, standing there by the creek with daryl’s arms around you, you knew that no matter what came next— no matter how hard things got —you wouldn’t be facing it alone.
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babbushka · 5 months ago
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Death At The Dive Bar
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Flip Zimmerman X F!Reader
Inspired by this request, some weird twilight-zone occult occurrences happen to happen to our favorite detective. 3.4k, NSFW
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It’s always the same -- a scream, a crash, broken glass bloodied on the floor. A gunshot maybe, or maybe not. In the dead of night, acts of violence hiding beneath a cloak of darkness. 
It’s always the same -- a 911 call, frantic panicked voices demanding someone come down from the station, someone please help, before it’s too late, even though the very act of them picking up the phone means it’s already done. 
It’s always the same -- until it isn't. And on a dark and stormy summer night in the thick of the Rocky Mountains, a tiny dive bar calls the nearest police dispatcher, and calmly requests to speak to one Detective Flip Zimmerman of Colorado Springs. 
Flip had been in the area when he got the call over the radio, wandering around, scoping out the woods. He knew at once where it was, had heard stories of the place of course, way back in the day when he still wore the weight of the war like a thick leather jacket around his shoulders. When he pulls up in his Chevy it looks exactly the same as it always had been described: run down, small, with a buzzing neon sign proudly proclaiming The Mile High Tavern as the best place to grab a Coors within 50 miles. Nevermind that it was the only place. 
He sits in his truck and glares at the bar. Popular with passers-through along winding scenic roads and most frequented by motorcyclists seeking shelter from the rain, he wonders (not for the first time this week) what the hell he’s getting himself into. The note from the dispatcher had been vague -- a lady was askin’ for him specifically, and he was supposed to find out why. Things like this didn’t bode well for him, usually. 
Especially not lately, not with the way his last relationship flopped. He had tried to explain to the nice woman that his job took up a lot of his time -- had hoped that her big city job had given her a different perspective, but she didn’t seem to think his work hours applied to her. That had been three months ago that she left him, and he was still sore from it. 
No, a woman asking for him directly was the last thing Flip wanted to get himself tangled up in, regardless of the reason. 
Despite the rain, there isn’t the usual line of motorcycles out front. In fact, there was only one car to be seen, an oldie -- something chrome plated and pink, but he can’t really tell in the rainy darkness. The Mile High Tavern appeared for all intents and purposes to be empty, and so Flip takes one last drag of his cigarette, makes sure his gun is loaded and in its holster, and with a sigh of resignation steps into the downpour. 
“Let me get you something nice and warm,” A friendly voice calls over to him from the counter when Flip steps over the threshold, your back turned to him. All at once, Flip’s heart begins to pound. Something about this place felt odd to him, an uneasy feeling that shifted his stomach around. He took another step closer and you continued, “I’m afraid the only hot thing we’ve got tonight is coffee.” 
“Coffee’d be just fine, thank you.” Flip nods with gratitude, before sitting at the bar. Looking around, he notes how quaint the little place is. It’s neat and clean and warm, and he confirms that you are the only person in here. He wonders if you’ve been alone long, and frowns. “I’m sorry - I’m Detective Zimmerman, someone here rang for me?” 
“I’d be that someone, yes.” You slide him a cup of black coffee down the counter that you lean against with a smile. It is dazzling, bright in the dark light of the dive bar. “Thank you for coming out here, I appreciate how quick you were.” 
Well shit, Flip grimaces into his mug, now he feels like an asshole for sitting in the truck debating when, or if, he should brave the rain to head inside. 
You smile at him like you knew he was out there biding his time, a teasing smile that lets him know you’re not mad, even though you could be. It wasn’t professional for a law officer to keep someone waiting like that. 
“What seems to be the trouble?” He doesn’t bring up the fact that they’re alone. 
It was dangerous these days, with all the murders in the woods lately. Women being slaughtered left and right by what Flip is certain is a serial killer, but no one will take him seriously enough about it to do anything. Not without more evidence. 
“Do you..” You pause, as if you’re trying to find the words. No, that’s not it, as if you’re having a hard time spitting them out, like something is preventing you. “May I sit next to you?” 
You look at him with expectation and hope, and he stares into your eyes, searching for what the hell brought him all the way out here on his night shift. The clock strikes three in the morning. 
He doesn’t notice himself nodding with allowance, until you’re walking around the counter and getting close to him. Even though it’s warm in the bar, your hands are cold. 
“Thank you,” You breathe, getting close to him. Not so close that you’re touching, but close enough that he could brush against your shoulder with his own. “I don’t usually work alone, but tonight the other server is sick, and with the storm we aren’t expecting too many people, so here I am. There was something out there.” 
You stare directly into his eyes, and he’s almost taken aback by the seriousness and bluntness of your voice. Your voice is hypnotic almost, the edges of your words fuzzy and sharp at the same time, an impossible combination that has his palms sweating. He wonders for a brief moment if you slipped something into his coffee, but the thought leaves him as soon as it arrives.
“What sort of something?” He finds himself asking quietly, not wanting whatever it is to overhear. He thinks back to the past few weeks, the broken in-houses, the tape on the floor, the screams of agony. Flip sets his jaw and leans in close, looks deep into your wide open eyes, pupils huge in the dark. 
“A figure, on the other side of the window. I saw it in the lightning, I saw its eyes. I think it’s a man. I’m scared.” You whisper, lowering your voice to match his pitch. 
“I can escort you home -- ” He goes to get up, a rush of protective energy flowing through him, scraping the bar stool against the wooden floor, the sound so so so loud in the quiet of the bar, but your hand is gripping his arm the second he gets up.
“No!” Your voice is too sharp again, dark around the edges, and Flip looks down and sees panic in your eyes. He softens immediately, and even though he’s not supposed to, even though it’s unprofessional, even though you’re a stranger, he pulls you into a hug for some comfort. You throw your arms around him in return, and he’s not certain who is comforting whom. “No -- I -- I don’t want it to know where I live, if it follows us. I was hoping you could keep me company.” 
Your face is pressed into his chest, and for the first time in a long time, he feels complete, he feels like he’s never ever going to let go. He feels like you were made to fit into his arms, against his chest. He grows hot, his throat clearing as he immediately steps back to give you some space. 
You’re a stranger. 
He doesn’t even know your name. 
The rain pounds outside and lightning flashes, and Flip snaps back to reality. 
“I don’t think I can stay all night, I would have brought backup.” He grumbles, rubbing the back of his neck, offering, “I can do a search of the premises, if that would make you feel better.” 
“You shouldn’t go outside.” You shake your head, and Flip lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, glad that you have relieved him from what would have been one bitch of a job. Especially when you look up at him through your lashes and bite your lip and say, “I would prefer it if you stayed in here. With me.” 
“Alright.” He smiles, throwing all caution to the wind because what the hell else is he going to do on a Monday night? “If you’d feel safer with me staying here with you, I’ll stay. But in the morning, I’ll escort you either home or to another safe location, or hell even to the station and you can give a statement, and we’ll have someone out here searching the woods.” 
“That sounds like a plan, thank you.” Your hand rests on the bar counter close to his, so close, he nudges his pinky against yours. There’s no rings on your finger, he notices. 
“In the meantime, what should we do?” He licks his lips, knowing that it’s wrong, it’s an abuse of power -- but who has power over whom? He’s getting lost in your eyes, in the pretty smile you give him as you reach over the bar counter and grab a small rectangular pack of -- 
“I have a deck of cards.” You brandish them at him, looking over your shoulder with a grin. The way you’re bent over the bartop has Flip’s mind doing awful things, things like picturing you without any of those clothes on. “You any good at poker?” 
Flip was not good at poker. 
He’s lost the past two games and you’re already shuffling for a third. The energy in the bar has relaxed significantly, and Flip is starting to forget why he’s there. 
“Let’s up the ante.” You say, in an attempt to discourage or motivate him, he isn’t sure, as you shuffle and shuffle and shuffle the cards. “Each hand someone loses, they take something off.” 
“I don’t see how this ends any other way than me naked.” Flip grunts, not entirely displeased by the prospect. 
“You could win, and then I’d be the naked one.” You point out, and he laughs, a snort through his nose that exhales blue wispy smoke from his cigarette. 
On the first hand, Flip loses -- but that’s all it takes. He unbuttons his shirt and you’re hot on him, pinching his cigarette out and flicking it into the ashtray for him, your lips searing onto his. No one can ever find out about this, can ever know he’s about to fuck this stranger on the job, fuck you silly over the bar counter while on a call, and you don’t seem like the type to tell. Not with the way you’re pulling your blouse up over your head.
He hadn’t really paid any attention to what you’re wearing until it’s off, in a heap on the floor around him. The undergarments you wear are old fashioned, a bullet bra and girdle that hold up a pair of stockings. The clothes on the floor are old fashioned too, almost like the same exact uniform that a waitress might have worn at the Tavern twenty years ago. 
But they look new, and maybe the tavern never updated their uniforms,Flip doesn’t care, not with the way your hands are on his belt, pulling his hard dick out of his pants and spitting down onto it, spreading the spit around, his tip leaking and joining the mix. 
With ragged breath, he pushes you down face first onto the bartop again, pops the straps of your bra, your garter, pushes down your stockings. They rip under his rough treatment, and he feels bad for a moment, just a moment, until his cock is rubbing at the soft wet folds of you and you let out a moan that fills the tavern with warmth. 
“I don’t have a -- ” He starts, pulling away, trying to remember that he’s almost forty for fuck’s sake, he needs to be responsible, he needs to -- 
“It’s alright.”  You reach behind him and grab at his hand, leading him to drape his body over yours, giving him permission to fuck you anyway. 
With a sharp breath he pushes in all the way, bottoms out so that his cock is completely enveloped inside of you, his hips pressed against the smooth skin of your ass, and he almost can’t move he’s so blinded by the feeling. You’re so tight, and so wet, the bar smells like musk and sweat and rain, the sweet salty combination making his mind go dizzy. 
He’s never talked much during sex, and this is no different, but in the back of his mind he wishes he had something good enough to say to you, something impressive. Instead, he thrusts in a steady harsh rhythm that has your knees buckling, your hands gripping the far edge of the bar counter, your cheek pressed against the polished wood, mouth dropped open and eyes shut tight in pleasure. 
Flip’s hands on your waist are tight enough that he could dig them into you if he wasn’t careful, he could leave marks. He almost wants to, wants you to remember him when this is over and he’ll have to go back to the station, have to write a report about all of this. Not this, not you, not the way your sweet cunt clenches around him as you take his force, take his length, hot and pulsing inside of you. 
He needs to see you, all of a sudden, he needs to. Grabbing your arms, he pulls out only long enough for you to whine in protest for a few short seconds, and then he’s taking you to a booth, taking you somewhere padded that he can lie you down and brace himself on top of you. 
You lick your lips as your head rolls back, legs spreading for him to nestle between them as he bends over you, those same legs hooking around his waist. You’re completely naked, your perky breasts begging to be sucked on, and so he does. He wonders if the rasp of his clothes on your skin feels nice, if you like it. If you like him. 
It’s too hot in here, Flip thinks, his eyes shut as he pants against your body. Too hot and bright, bright behind his eyelids as he groans and moans. He’s sweating, and it’s loud, the sound of rain too loud, its wooshing a roar that deafens his ears. He almost can’t think about anything else, can’t think about the way you feel under him, why is it so bright why is it so hot -- 
It hits you first, and you’re squirming, panting and moaning as you come. Flip can feel it squelching between your thighs, his cock pulling out shiny and glistening with your orgasm. It makes him go over the edge, his come filling you up, the hot white spread of it. He tries not to worry about fucking you raw, but it’s been a long time since he hasn’t used a rubber. 
You give him a big grin, stretching out beneath him, your legs falling to the sides where they can. It’s still raining. 
Wordlessly, he gathers you up from underneath him and settles you down on the floor, kissing all over your face, your neck, your breasts. Your stomach chuckles underneath him as you hold him close, breathing in the smell of him. He doesn’t want you to ever let go. 
“Then don’t.” You sigh into his hair there on the floor, and Flip closes his eyes, tired from the events of the day. 
He doesn’t realize that you’ve responded to his thoughts, until he’s in a deep sleep. 
In the morning, he’s alone. 
In the morning, the dive bar isn’t just old, it’s run down. The windows are smashed like kids had been playing pranks here, tossing bottles and rocks through the glass. The shelves are all empty, no liquor, nothing. 
Flip feels like he is frozen as he looks around him. Where were you? Where were the cards that had scattered all over the floor? He is fully dressed, asleep in a booth that is covered in dust and cobwebs -- it wasn’t that dirty yesterday, was it? 
He’s sick, his stomach lurching as he sits up. He doesn’t even know your name to shout it out into the bar. In the light of morning, the rain has stopped, and Flip gathers himself up on uncertain legs. He looks around, trying to find any trace of you, but there isn’t one. There’s only one set of boot prints in the dust on the floor, his own.
Confusion continues to wash over him, which slowly morphs into panic. These windows weren’t broken last night, the floor wasn’t dusty, where the fuck were you? He stumbles to his truck, his mind working double time trying to piece together what happened. Surely he hadn’t dreamt this, what was he doing last night? He wasn’t drunk, he wasn’t stoned he -- 
“Come in, Flip, come in!” A panicked voice crackles from his car, and making sure his gun is still in the holster, Flip runs right to his truck, hopping in and turning the engine over. 
“Ron?” Flip grasps the radio tightly in his hand, tuning the frequency to hear better. “Ron is that you? What’s going in?” 
“Flip! Where are you?” Ron asks, direct to the point. 
“I’m up by the fork in the mountain pass, just off the scenic highway.” 
“What?! Are you safe?” 
“Of course I’m safe, why wouldn’t I be? Ron what the fuck is happening?” Flip’s eyes are hard on the tavern, and even from the outside, something is wrong. This place was not open last night, it couldn’t have been. The walls are blackened with soot, the doors are boarded shut. How did he get in -- how did he get out?
“There was flash flooding, down the scenic road. It brought rocks down with it from all the rain. Search and rescue found a couple cars down the cliffside.” Ron rushes to explain, and Flip feels like he’s going to be sick. 
“They’re dead?” He pinches the bridge of his nose -- people were getting caught up in a flash flood while he was getting laid last night. 
“Yeah. You need to get back here, where did you say you were at again?” Ron asks, and Flip can hear that he’s pulling out a pen and paper from his desk. 
“Mile High Tavern. I spent the night here” Flip responds, and then there’s silence. “Ron? Did you hear me? I said I’m at -- ”
“I heard you, but that’s not possible.” Ron’s voice is shaken, “That bar burned down back in ‘57.” 
All at once, everything stops. 
He blinks, and he’s in the roar of the inferno as he comes into your body.
He blinks again, and the bar is gone entirely. 
Nothing remaining but a patch of scorched earth in its place. 
No neon sign. 
No motorcycles
No single car out front. 
Ron is saying something on the radio, but Flip can’t hear. He is reversing out of there so quickly that he almost misses the flash of something behind him -- almost. Flip looks back in his rearview mirror at the bar and sees something, a shape, a young woman in old fashioned clothing far away, through the trees. 
A hand waves, and Flip knows that whatever you were, you saved him, protected him from the flash flood that killed. You saved him, and he fucked you, and he’s sick to his stomach about that, not sure what was real and what isn’t, not sure of anything anymore except that he wants to find you and do it all over again. 
But he blinks, and you’re gone. 
200 notes · View notes
unlimitedlust · 5 months ago
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Just Pretend - Noah Sebastian x Reader (+18)
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Author’s Note:
Hey everyone, this is a halloween themed one shot, I know there’s still a couple of months left to halloween, but "Just Pretend" + the cold weather over here got me inspired on that theme, so there you go 🎃
Warnings: 18+ (as always), old love, fingering, unprotected p in v, creampie. As always: English is not my first language, forgive me for any mistakes.
W/C: 2.8K
I’m quite insecure about this one in particular because I think my head’s been frozen by the cold these days, but anyway I hope you enjoy it!
Please, let me know your thoughts on this one on the comments and feel free to like and/or reblog it, your feedback means the world to me ❤️
Now have fun!
Halloween night was one of your favorite nights of every year. You loved the decorations in the neighborhood, the autumn color leaves covering the streets, the costume parties, the smell of pumpkin spices, anyway, you loved everything around this season.
But this year you had a halloween date. Your neighbor’s son, Bill, whom you’d been talking online for a while now, was in town and had invited you to a halloween fair.
Even though Bill was exactly your type of guy and seemed to be a very decent man, you weren’t ready to get involved with someone new, deep down you knew Noah was still under your skin.
Your relationship with him was short but as intense as it could get in every aspect, but at the same time you two were like magnets to each other, you were in different moments of your lives, so it tore you apart.
But almost a year had gone by since you last saw him and you needed to move on, and what better way to do that other than going on a date with a very hot and attractive man and maybe - hopefully - get lucky at the end of the night?
Today you were feeling bold and confident, so you wore your Akatsuki cloak zipped up to your neck with nothing but a black lingerie set underneath it, black boots and Itachi’s headband around your forehead. You applied some makeup in shades of red and black, with a blood red lipstick on your plump lips and finished it all up by letting your hair fall loose on your back.
Just as you finished getting ready you heard your doorbell ringing and your date was there, dressed as very hot Fred Kruger. You were definitely getting some tonight.
It was a cloudy and chilly night, but the cozy atmosphere of the fair kept you warm along with your date’s company. 
You walked hand in hand under the yellow light strings hovering over the fair, laughing about a silly joke Bill had just told you when for a split second you thought you’d seen a familiar face in the crowd, Noah’s face. You tried to look back at the direction you thought you saw him, but he wasn’t there.
“Are you okay?” Bill’s light squeeze in your hand took your attention as you’d stopped walking out of sudden.
“Yeah sure” You reassured him with a smile, although still startled by the thought of seeing him there.
You shook it off and kept on walking with Bill to a caramel apple tent. He bought one and drove it to your lips, offering you the first bite as you dug your teeth on the hard caramel shell, successfully taking a piece of the apple and Bill ran his thumb on the right corner of your lip to clean a small piece of caramel stuck there.
You thanked him and suddenly felt a pair of eyes lingering heavily on you coming from your right, and that’s when you knew you weren’t seeing things. Noah was there. The Crow’s makeup all over his face and short hair now, but definitely Noah.
Your eyes connected for a split second but you averted yours quickly, locking them on your date again so he wouldn’t see that you got distracted from him once more, after all you were flustered and your heart was hammering in your chest, but you didn’t want to ruin your date.
Bill took your hand again and led you to the big corn maze by the end of the fair and you thanked him internally for taking you away from Noah’s sight.
You giggled nervously at the scarecrows by the entrance of the maze as you yourself were avoiding a very specific “crow”.
“Come on, let’s split up, if I make it to the end first I win another date with you, what do you say?” Bill suggested as you got inside the maze.
“Then I might just lose on purpose” You winked at him and parted ways inside the maze.
You were glad your date had the idea of splitting up inside the maze because seeing Noah unexpectedly after such a long time had you on edge and you really needed some alone time to process everything.
So you wandered aimlessly through the maze, not bothering to actually find its way out or even marking the places you’d passed by already.
“Y/N” A deep voice behind you made you stop on your tracks as you immediately recognized its owner.
You turned to meet him and his gaze and you couldn’t help but to revel on how terribly captivating he looked as The Crow, the white skin contrasting heavily with the dark makeup, the smeared eyeliner around his eyes and running down his cheeks and the black lipstick to finish it all up as Eric Draven.
“Hey Noah” Uncertainty laced your voice as he took a couple of steps in your direction, standing only a couple of feet away from you.
“Nice costume choice” He raked his eyes over you dressed as one of his favorite characters, which also happened to be one of your favorite.
“Thanks, you look good too… What are you doing here?” You spit out faster than you intended.
“Just wanted to check on you… Is that your new boyfriend?”
“No, not yet at least” You shrugged, unsuccessfully trying to look unphased.
“I hope he treats you right” He took another step closer, towering over you “It’s a shame that by this time a year ago we were proudly matching our costumes out there”
The weight of his words and the memories they brought caught you off guard as a knot of longing formed on your throat.
He sighed “It hurts to see you with someone new”
You widened your eyes in bewilderment at his confession followed by a lightning bolt lighting up the sky, announcing the rain as isolated but heavy raindrops started to slowly pour.
“It took you seeing me move on to reach out to me?” You asked in a hurt tone. The countless nights you spent crying over your break up only to hear it after such a long time “That’s not fair, Noah”
The pouring got heavier and you and your clothes started to soak in its cold droplets.
“I really wish I could come back in time to fix things… I’m sorry”
“I…” Your head was all over the place, you weren’t able to think things straight at that point. Having him in front of you brought back the butterflies in your stomach and at that very moment, despite the hurt that still lingered, you didn’t wanna discuss things long overdue “We both know it was my fault too, there’s no need for you to apologize for the past now” 
You both smiled gently at each other and he took your hand in his.
“Come on, we can continue this someplace else, it’s cold and the rain is getting heavier”
You followed him through the maze and only now you realized how big and puzzling it really was, because you wouldn’t know your way out of there on your own, especially with the rain and the thunders rumbling in the sky.
Sensing your apprehension, Noah brought you closer to his body wrapping his arm around your shoulders.
“We’re far from the way out yet, but there’s a shed around the next corner, we’ll stay there until it stops raining, okay?”
You nodded and seconds later, just as he’d promised, there was a small wooden shed amongst the corn maze.
He closed the door behind you and although it wasn’t the most comfortable place in the world, it was better than staying under that cold rain. You were shivering as you took off the soaking wet boots from your feet, bothered by the slushy feeling of your wet socks inside them.
“You should take off that cloak too, it’s too wet, you’ll get sick if you don’t” Having him protective over you after all this time got you feeling warm inside.
But there was a problem, if you took it off you’d be practically naked in front of him, so you just hoped he’d let that go as Noah rummaged through a cabinet trying to find something to warm you.
“I found you a blanket” He turned to hand it to you, but stopped on his tracks when he saw you trembling, with your cloak still on “Are you okay?”
He placed the blanket on a chair and came closer, both of his hands cupping your cheeks as he gently tilted your face so his gaze could meet yours. The warmth of his hands spread down your body as you melted with the way he caressed your cheeks affectionately and you lost yourself in his perfect features, the way the wet strands of his hair dangled over your face hypnotizing you with how hot he looked with his new haircut.
“I am. It’s just the cold” You answered lightly as you unwittingly leaned into his palm, earning a kiss on your forehead.
“Then come on, let’s take that cloak off, I really don’t want you getting sick on me”
His fingers went to the zipper right above your chin, but your hands held his wrist in place as he was about to pull the zipper down.
“I can’t” Noah had a puzzled look on his face as he waited for a believable explanation “I… I’m…”
“I’m waiting”
“I’m not wearing anything but bra and panties”
The air inside the shed got suddenly thick as he processed that information. At the same time it thrilled him knowing that basically only a cloak had him away from your body, he was mad about the idea you’d wore like that for another man.
“For him?” The anger in his tone sent another wave of shivers down your spine as he cornered you, his face and his body only inches away from yours as his gaze burned holes into you.
And like a flipped switch, you weren’t feeling cold anymore and the rain wasn’t the only thing that had you wet.
“He’s not the one in front of me now, is he?” You teased him and dropped your hands from his wrist, his hand still on your zipper.
Taking it as a signal, Noah pulled the zipper down slowly, your chest heaving in anticipation as his gaze fell on your body, drinking you in after so long. With your bra now fully exposed, he bit his bottom lip as he watched your hardened nipples perched up against the transparent layer of black lace covering them.
Once he’d finished unzipping the cloak, you slipped it off your shoulders and let it fall on the floor, Noah’s eyes were predatory over you.
Breaking the distance between your bodies, Noah hooked his finger in the waistband of your panties and pulled you towards him at the same time he finally connected your lips in a fierce kiss.
Your tongues rolled against each other as you both drowned in the intensity of the moment, devouring each other after so long, your fingers entangling in his wet hair pulling him impossibly closer as he ground his hips against you, allowing you to feel how hard he was for you.
He let go of you for short seconds to take off his wet coat and black t-shirt, his once black lips were now stained by your red lipstick and you only wondered what you were looking like, hair wet from the rain and red and black lipstick stained all over your lips just like his.
“I fucking missed you” He groaned before latching his lips on yours again passionately.
One of his hands kept you glued against him as the other made its way on your spine, finding and undoing your bra clasp swiftly, making it slide off your shoulders right after.
Both his hands cupped your now exposed breasts and fondled them, kneading them as he played and pinched your nipples between his fingers while his lips now left yours and trailed down your neck, leaving angry marks on his way because he had full intention of marking you as his.
Your hands traveled down his chest and abs to his belt, fumbling it open as his tongue and teeth abused the most sensitive spots on your neck, making you whine softly on his ear at each sting followed by his soothing tongue.
After unbuckling his belt, one of your hands found its way inside his pants, palming his hard restrained length, making him grunt and buck his hips forward against you as you started to pump him slowly just to entice him.
One of his hands left your chest and went straight down between your legs, wasting no time in pulling your panties aside and pushing two of his fingers inside you, the sudden stretch making you gasp and clench around him, as he immediately started to work on the special place inside you he knew got you seeing stars.
You hooked a leg around his waist allowing him to go deeper with his fingers as you now took support on his shoulders, your body under such a pleasure you didn’t thrust your own balance.
“Noah…” The way his name came from your lips as he finger fucked you felt like music to his ears because since the last time you’d been together he dreamt about hearing it again.
“I fucking missed this…”
Along with his fingers, Noah started working on your clit with his thumb, applying pressure on it as he drew tight circles on it, making you bite the crook of his neck to keep a scream out of you as you were seconds away from your orgasm. Until he pulled away, making you whine in frustration.
“I wanna feel you cumming on my cock”
He licked the fingers that were inside you and the look on his face while he did that, like he was just having a taste of heaven, got you throbbing in need.
You took off your panties as Noah pulled his pants and underwear down just enough to free his hard erection, then pulled you up against the wall, your legs hooking around his hips as he held you by your ass cheeks, lining his tip to your entrance.
Your eyes were connected as he pressed against you, both of you moaning on each other’s lips as his entire length sinked at once inside you due to how wet you were, stretching you in a way only he did.
Your head fell back on the wall behind you as he slowly slid in and out of you, bottoming you out at every thrust, your manicured nails clawed down his back as he started to pick up the pace and the intensity of his rhythm.
You trailed love bites on his neck right below his ear, where you knew he was sensitive, earning a low grunt out of him as he focused on fucking the shit out of you against that wall, the position allowing you to feel every inch of him inside you, pushing all of your right buttons.
One of his hands found its way between your bodies and he instantly connected his fingers on your clit, moving them in sync with his hips slamming against you, and the feeling of him throbbing inside you along with his fingers on your clit got you closer to your high once again.
“Noah, I’m so close, don’t stop” You begged in his ear and you felt his skin shiver under your touch with your words.
The angle and the depth of his thrusts, along with a very specific flick of his fingers on your clit made your eyes roll to the back of your head as your body shuddered and your walls clenched around him, a deep moan erupting from your lungs as he kept fucking you, painfully riding your high as he too was close to his own.
Just as he felt your body going limp in his arms, he was about to pull out when you kept him inside by locking your legs around his waist and begging on his ear: “Cum inside me please”
Your plea got him cumming hard as his fingers dug into your hips keeping you in place as he stilled, spilling deep inside you as he bit the crook of your neck, still high from his release.
He leaned his forehead against yours and kissed you gently as he pulled out of you, his cum running down your thighs as he did so, and you missed him inside you already. You missed him.
“I missed you so much” You wrapped your arms around his neck, afraid of having to let him go again and it was now your turn to confess “Heaven knows I’m never getting over you”
“Wanna try again?”
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eqt-95 · 9 months ago
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chapter 1 is up on ao3!
A hangover. It had to be. There was no other earthly reason for the throbbing head, her impulsive hatred for existence, and the wave of nausea that demanded Big Belly Burger stat.
There was just one problem.
This wasn't her couch. Hell, this wasn’t even… her fingers brushed the ground and met… dirt. Why was there dirt? Why was it so hot? And why - she squinted, blinking and flinching until her eyes adjusted to the brightness - why did this look like a desert?
Lena groaned. It came out like the croak of a sad frog.
Cotton-mouthed, head pounding, and feebly hoping this was a bad VR trip, she curled to sit up. Vertigo would be better than whatever this was. She pressed a sympathetic hand to the bridge of her nose and noticed the maze of red sand lines against the deep burgundy fabric of her three-piece suit. The suit she was wearing the night before. The power-suit she had chosen to increase her confidence for when…
A shiver crawled across her skin. It was as welcome as it was unsettling, though before Lena could think much about that, it was sapped by the sun baking down on her. She closed her eyes though that wasn’t particularly useful at shutting the world out.
“End simulation.”
A beat. 
Nothing.
Two beats.
Nothing.
Lena’s itty bitty flicker of hope extinguished. It was a feeble, desperate, aspirational attempt anyway.
She swallowed, feeling an entirely different wave of nausea strike.
Eyes flicked open and scanned the horizon. Face already contorted in a scowl, it quickly deepened.
It was a vast sea of nothing. So much nothing. Not a single cloud interrupted the blanket of sky. Not a single hue contrasted the monochrome palette of reds and orange. Not even the hiss of a reptile rippled across dry, cracked earth. The most interesting thing was the dots of rocks sprinkled across the ground like decorations on the world's driest cupcake. The horizon was cloaked in haze and, if the glistening line of sweat on Lena’s own brow was any indication, it wasn’t the wet kind that brought cleansing rainfall.
Well done, Luthor.
Shaky knees were forced into action, though standing was no more enlightening than sitting. It took a staggering second before she found her balance. For added helplessness, she spun uselessly in a circle to discover everything looked exactly the same in every direction.
The sun hung overhead. Odd how it felt larger in a desert. Lena half-wondered why vultures weren’t also in the sky, circling their next meal.
A meal. She’d give up half her L-Corp shares for a burger. Better yet, she’d give up half her shares for a genie to grant three wishes: a burger, aspirin, and sunglasses. She wasn’t asking for much - just a few simple comforts while she shriveled into nothing.
Hand cupped over her eyes she scowled toward the sky, half-hoping one might suddenly descend from it. And for all her luck, there was something floating. It was a speck, a shadow of something, a rendering error. And it was getting bigger. She hoped it wasn’t something designed to kill her.
It was.
It wasn’t.
“Of course it’s you,” Lena sighed. It was a sigh meant to express her general disgruntlement for her situation, for Supergirl, for life in general. It did its job well. Her arm dropped in defeat. 
“Were you expecting someone else?” 
The cape. The flowing blonde hair. The hubris.
read the rest on ao3
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quibbs126 · 7 months ago
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…Okay, you may end up seeing these drawings yet again on a later date
I finished the page, which was small at 500x500 px, but I wanted to make the page bigger. I did that, and I drew one new thing, but now I don’t know what else to draw on there. So for now, I figured I might as well post the original full page right now
Yeah, sorry for the laziness
This is the other sketch I finished on there, for those curious
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Anyways, so yeah, this new style practice I’m trying
The original page I tried these out on is this, which also isn’t full, but I thought trying it out with actual characters instead of just random poses and shapes would be better, so I switched over to Cookie Run characters
The method is still a work in progress when it comes to all the shapes and the red sketch layer
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I suppose what I should do now is try drawing a bunch of different Cookies that have different body shapes, so that I have practice with that. As well as maybe attempt some full body ones
I suppose you can suggest some if you want, considering I don’t know who to draw other than like, Hollyberry or Avocado, since I should try drawing large but not buff characters here. But I should also probably draw more skinny, and also chubby
But on to what I actually drew
So I already talked about Peach Blossom and the top Dark Choco drawing prior, so no real need to elaborate
The Dark Choco and Dark Cacao one was me drawing them in their younger forms to see how they compare. Not for any sort of study thing, but just in a symbolic sort of way. Since they’re so similar looking
I think I had a lot more fun with Choco, especially his hair. I remember Cacao being mostly annoying for his weird cloak thing that I don’t understand
The hand pose was ass though. I knew the general idea of what I wanted, that being them with their hands over their swords, but I was struggling to figure out how to draw the hands. Not to mention I had to change the pose from the red sketch because the swords were further down than I put them. I still don’t think I did the pose exactly correct, but screw it, it’s good enough
I’m also noticing that Choco looks way lighter in skin tone compared to Cacao. Like yeah, I know he’s normally slightly lighter, but it’s far more noticeable here. I’m pretty sure it’s because I used Dark Choco’s ToA colors here (bc they work better with my black lineart), which are slightly lighter, as well as just that Dark Choco is wearing much lighter colors while Dark Cacao’s are relatively darker. So maybe it just makes them contrast more
I liked drawing them, but I also did basically do the same body type 3 in a row, so I should probably draw different characters
Anyways, let’s talk about that extra sketch
So for those who likely don’t remember, that there is an OC of mine called Prickly Pear Cookie
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I made her entirely on a whim one day, and she doesn’t really have any character or story, just vibes, but I really like her design and wanted to draw it again
I probably should give her some sort of bra though. The shirtless chest looks cool but in my opinion sounds really uncomfortable without at least that
I did originally draw her with the green skin, but it looked weird so I shifted it to more of a yellow so it looks more human
Honestly I really like how she turned out
But yeah, I think that’s about it for now. Just wanted to show this
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ierofrnkk · 3 months ago
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Many Moons Are Deep at Play
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werewolf!Steven x reader (~3.1K)
Summary: Ever since you and Steven were attacked on the last night of your camping trip, he’s been different. Six months after the fact, you learn exactly how different he’s become.
Content: 18+, gn!reader, the other MK boys aren’t around (sorry), body horror, graphic description of a werewolf transformation, Steven is a werewolf, he’s in pain for like 400 words sorry, overuse of italics
a/n: does this count for monsterfucktober? who cares. the title is from ‘dark necessities’ by rhcp!
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It’s been exactly six months, eight days, and fifteen hours since you and Steven barely made it back alive from that camping trip.
It was your idea; you suggested that this was the perfect time of year to go camping—the weather was incredible and honestly, the two of you needed a break from the city, even for a few days.
What a mistake that would turn out to be.
The first few days were great; the spot you two had picked to camp out was perfect, there was nobody around to bother the two of you—it was great.
The last night was when things went terribly, awfully wrong.
You and Steven had put out the fire for the night and were preparing for bed when you heard it. At first, you both thought it could’ve been a bear or perhaps a neighboring camper’s dog that had gotten loose, but you very quickly—and too late—realized that it was something much, much worse.
The beast had lunged at the two of you from beyond the clearing, cloaked in darkness beside the taunting, hopeful glow of the full moon. You two barely had time to react—you managed to just get knocked back by the sheer force of such a creature, but Steven was less lucky.
The thing had gotten the best of him, but only for a second before being startled and running off. It still left its mark on him—a nasty scratch that ran from the top of his shoulder down near the middle of his chest.
You both are lucky to have made it out of there with your lives—thankfully, Steven’s injury was no more than a flesh wound, and healed with little scarring. When law enforcement arrived at your aid, you had been told that there had been sightings of wolves in the area, and were told that this was just a ‘freak accident’ and that you two were ‘not in any more danger’.
It was a difficult few months after that; poor Steven, as skittish and anxious as he already had been, was a total mess after the incident. He was grateful to have you around, though, and you helped him to return to some sense of normalcy.
Things have been generally pretty normal, but once a month, Steven is…different.
It’s like for a few days, he’s less like himself—he’s more reckless, clingier, like he can’t tear himself away from you even for a second. He’s abandoned his veganism, too, which you’ve found most strange.
He’d given you some rushed, stilted response; something about how he’d gotten tired of tofu scrambles and veggie wraps. It was very unlike Steven, but he’d been through a lot, so you’d forgiven it.
There’s a lot more steak in your fridge than you thought you’d ever have.
One day a month, though, he goes away overnight—tells you that some of his mates invite him over to have dinner and play some games, and you let him. He never tells you which friends he’s with, or where he goes.
A part of you thinks he’s lying.
He comes back all disheveled the morning after, a bit worse for wear, but he always insists that it’s just because he and the boys got a little wild the previous night.
It all doesn’t add up. You figure he’s just going through some kind of crisis in the aftermath of such a horrific attack.
But after months of this same routine, you’re fed up—it’s been too long of him lying and dancing around questions, skirting away from giving you any sort of solid, definitive answer.
“I’m coming with you tonight,” you tell him as the two of you sit on the couch together, spending time before he vanishes overnight.
He looks at you like he’s seen a ghost.
“No! No, you—love, it’s not—there’s nothing for you to worry about. Promise.”
You’re not convinced.
“I am worried, and I’m going to come with you. I don’t care what your friends say.”
He’s flustered now, nervous and looking like he’s trying to find an escape route to get out of this conversation. A part of you feels guilty for pressing him like this, but you need to know.
After what feels like an eternity of Steven struggling to find the right words to say, give some decent response to what you’re suggesting, he speaks up, voice soft.
“You can’t come with me, love.”
You make a face. You never knew Steven to be so insistent that you stay away from him, even if it’s overnight. So, you give him an ultimatum.
“Fine. If I can’t come with you, then stay home.”
He makes it seem as if that’s the worse option of the two, but he knows that you’ve got him backed into a corner. Either let you come with him, or stay at home.
That seems to have gotten through to him, and he nods, resigned. It was inevitable that you found out, and he knows that he’s damned no matter what he chooses.
“I’ll stay home, but we have to talk about this, yeah?”
You nod right away. Finally, you’re getting somewhere with him, so you’ll take whatever you can get.
He shifts in his seat beside you, suddenly feeling awkward and much more nervous about having such a conversation, but he eventually speaks up.
“After what happened to us a few months ago, I’ve been…different.”
No shit, you think. He continues, fidgeting.
“At first, I didn’t know what was wrong with me, I thought I’d just gone mental, yeah? But I didn’t. Something, er, worse happened.”
Your brows knit together in confusion, and you’re immediately able to tell that he’s stalling. Playing with his words and trying to put off this inevitable confession. You need him to tell you.
“Steven, just tell me.” You interject, tone a bit more firm than it usually is.
He tenses, and immediately blurts out the confession like the words burned in his throat.
“I’mawerewolf.”
What?
The words were rushed, all jumbled together but it was so obvious what he’d just said. You can’t believe it.
“Say again?” You ask, desperate for clarification.
His face is flushed red with embarrassment, and he can’t meet your gaze anymore—he’s awful at this, but he eventually gathers the nerve to repeat himself.
“I’m a…werewolf,” he cringes at the word, hating the way it sounds from his mouth. To further elaborate, he gestures vaguely in the direction of the window, where the sun has set and tonight’s full moon has begun to rise.
“You know; full moon, lycanthropy and all.” He makes a sad, awkward little howl noise, probably in some attempt to be funny or lighten the mood.
You stare at him, dumbfounded.
Unfortunately, it all makes too much sense.
The “wolf” attack, the disappearances once a month, the sudden change in his appetite.
Steven’s a werewolf.
The glow of the moon through the window is suddenly much less comforting. You realize he doesn’t have a lot of time before he’s unrecognizable.
“I go out to the woods every month,” he starts again after a beat of silence.
“I don’t want to hurt anybody. Don’t want to hurt you.”
You feel the guilt burn in your throat—that’s why he’s been so flighty, hiding away from you every month.
You don’t even have anything to say. What can you say to something like that?
You aren’t given much time to dwell on your thoughts before Steven doubles over in pain before you, and immediately all of your senses go on high alert.
“Oh fuck, Steven, are you okay?”
It’s a stupid question. Obviously, he isn’t.
You wish there was something you could do, but you don’t exactly know the protocol for what to do when your boyfriend starts turning into a werewolf.
“Fine! Fine, just—ah-“ he grimaces in pain, arms wrapped tightly around his middle.
You give him as much time as he needs, and he manages to get a few words out through his pain.
“Put away anything fragile—ah, fuck—please. I can’t-“ he doesn’t finish his thought, dropping to his knees from where he’d sat on the couch, and your heart aches for him.
After a few seconds of standing dumbly in place, you move with nervous speed, grabbing anything immediately fragile—glassware, the framed photo of the two of you in Cairo, anything breakable—and toss it all onto your bed, before shutting and locking the door.
By the time you return, Steven’s gotten rid of his clothes, and it’s the least of your concerns.
“I don’t want you in here when I—“ he cries out in pain, and your heart aches for him.
He doesn’t want you in the room with him when he turns.
You nod unsteadily, trying to wrap your head around this situation. An hour ago you figured that he might’ve been hiding something from you, but you never had thought that it’d be something like this.
Even though he’s warned you, you can’t take your eyes away from him.
The first thing that changes are his hands; his nails elongate into what you can only describe as claws—sharp and deadly.
You keep a safe distance.
With a pained shout, he arches back, and you bear witness to the grotesque sight—and sound—of his breastbone and ribcage cracking and stretching, expanding his chest to better accommodate the anatomy of a wolf.
It’s killing you to see Steven—your Steven—hurting and knowing there’s nothing you can do about it.
His canines stretch and sharpen into points. You back away from the living room.
You watch as he falls forward, leaning on his hands and knees; his back arches, his spine cracking and popping as his entire form is rearranged.
The sounds of his bones and joints cracking and shifting are awful enough on their own, but combined with the sound of Steven’s cries and shouts in agony, it’s that much worse.
His joints are rearranging, moving and grinding against one another. It’s grotesque and horrible, and you can’t believe that this is what Steven goes through every month.
It’s awful, and it gets worse when you see the way his face distorts, his nose and his cheekbones cracking horribly as his face stretches into something more canine than human.
It doesn’t take long until he’s completely unrecognizable. A hound; a werewolf.
You stand a fair distance from the creature that used to be your boyfriend, watching as the beast paces around your living room, sniffling and snarling as it takes in its surroundings.
“Steven..” you murmur, and the beast turns in your direction.
You can see Steven’s eyes, deep and brown—and even as unrecognizable as he is in this state, you still know that this is your Steven.
Against your better judgment, you step closer, treading softly and praying that he remembers you.
The wolf’s ears flatten against his head, and it takes a cautious step backward. It—he—growls, something low in his throat. Not quite a threat, but a warning. You can’t tell if it’s out of anger or fear.
He looks like a wolf, but bigger. You don’t know if that scares or excites you.
Every alarm bell in the back of your mind is blaring, telling you to run, get out of there, but you can’t. Not when you know that the wolf in front of you was your boyfriend a handful of minutes ago.
Slowly and carefully, you lower to your knees—you vaguely remember a documentary you and Steven had watched about wolves, how if you approach them on their level, they’d be less inclined to attack you. They’d be less threatened.
The wolf steps forward cautiously, sniffing the air in front of you as it tries to determine if you’re a friend or its next meal. It takes another step forward, and you put your hand out—palm facing upward—in front of it.
Those deep brown eyes you recognize so fondly as Steven’s never leave yours as the wolf sniffs your palm, its nose nudging your fingers as it does its best to understand who you are.
You let out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding when it presses its nose against your hand, a large, warm tongue swiping across your fingers.
He remembers you.
“Steven,” you breathe, and he huffs in response.
You move your hand carefully across the wolf’s snout, brushing your fingers over the fur on the top of its head gently.
You’re petting your boyfriend like you would a dog at the shelter.
The wolf takes another step forward, and you can see more of Steven in its eyes; that care, the affection, it’s all still there, just expressed differently.
He’s a lot bigger up close, definitely larger than any dog you’d ever seen, and that’s more obvious when the muzzle of the dog (if you can even call it that) nudges against the side of your head, then under your jaw. You can hear the way he sniffs and huffs as he takes in your scent.
Your hand slides from the top of his head down behind his ears, and you’re able to feel how soft his fur is. It’s dark, dark brown, much like Steven’s own hair color.
My boyfriend’s a werewolf, you think. Yeah, no big deal. I can roll with this.
You scratch behind his ears briefly, before you let your hands trail across more of that soft fur. With every pass of your hands, you can feel the strong beat of his heart, the way his chest expands with every breath.
After he’s gotten a good idea of your scent, he nuzzles against you for a few more moments. You can’t deny that the feeling is nice, like subconsciously, you know that it’s him.
You continue to pet him, before he shifts, and lays across your lap, putting all of his weight on you.
It doesn’t surprise you at all that Steven’s werewolf form is as much of a cuddler as he is. He’s warm, impressively so, and you take the tranquility of this moment to truly process the way this evening has gone so far.
Steven’s a werewolf. That night six months ago when you were attacked, he’d gotten scratched by what you can only assume was another werewolf, and that was all it took.
You resume brushing your hand across his fur, wondering what happened in your life to bring you to this point—sitting on your living room floor while Steven’s oversized werewolf form lays across your legs like some big lap dog.
Most of the night passes the same way, with the wolf curled up as best as it can in your lap, until you move him off of you when your legs fall asleep. There’s no complaint, though, and he settles down on the floor right in front of you, going right back to sleep.
Much to your surprise, nothing was broken like he thought when he told you to hide away anything fragile, and the two of you end up falling asleep on the living room floor.
When you wake up the next morning, Steven’s back to himself. You take this time before he wakes up to take in the sight of him now, and mentally compare it to the way he looked last night.
You drag your hand lightly down his bare back, fingers tracing his spine, remembering the feel of his thick fur beneath your touch. He stirs, so you retract your hand, allowing him to wake up on his own.
He does, turning and stretching as he comes out of sleep, sitting up to get himself more awake.
Before things can get awkward, you grab the blanket that rests on the back of the couch, pulling it down to cover his lap, since his clothes lay in a haphazard pile on the other side of the room.
He turns to you, a sheepish grin on his face as he takes in the sight of you.
“Hiya, love,” he murmurs, voice soft and still thick with sleep.
“Sorry about…everything.” He gestures to himself, before letting his hand fall lamely back to his lap.
You shake your head, moving so that your head rests on his shoulder, now sitting beside him as the two of you wake up in the aftermath of an interesting and unexpected evening.
“It wasn’t as bad as you probably thought it’d be.”
Now it’s his turn to look at you, dumbfounded.
It’s only then that it dawns on you that he might not remember everything that happens when he’s turned, so you fill him in.
You recount the events of the previous night to him, from witnessing his transformation to the way his wolf had cuddled and nuzzled against you for most of the night until you fell asleep.
“Oh, uh, I didn’t—“ he shifts, keeping the blanket across his lap.
“—didn’t know that I’d been such a lap dog.”
He says the words sarcastically, in that self-deprecating tone that you always associate with Steven.
You take it in stride, chucking softly.
“Oh, yeah, total pooch,” you tease.
“We even played fetch at one point.”
He flushes a bright red, the color bleeding down his neck, and you swear you can hear the way that his heart rate skyrockets.
“Shut up.”
After a few beats, you speak up, voice a bit softer and more sincere.
“You go through that every month?”
He pauses, eyes falling to the blanket in his lap, hands fidgeting with the fabric. He nods, taking a slow breath.
“Not really a good way to spend the evening, is it?”
You both chuckle softly, taking this quiet morning to become accustomed to what very well might be a new routine for the two of you.
“You were pretty calm, all things considered.”
He hums, nuzzling against the side of your face as you speak. You can’t help but make the mental connection between the way he did that same gesture as a wolf last night.
“Maybe you should just stay here when you..y’know. Turn.”
You can feel him pause for a moment, thinking, but after a few seconds, he resumes his nuzzling against your jaw and neck.
“I don’t want to put that responsibility on you,” he murmurs, tone low.
You shrug, bringing a hand up to card gently through his curls. You remember the texture of his fur beneath your fingers.
“I didn’t mind it all too much. It’s not like you tore up the apartment or anything,” you gesture around, his lack of destruction apparent.
You can feel the way he grins shyly against your skin, and your hand continues to brush through his hair.
“Thank you,” he hums sleepily, breath warm against you as he speaks.
You’re definitely not opposed to one morning a month turning out this way.
tags: @winniethewife , @faretheeoscar , @silvernight-m
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emma23 · 1 month ago
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Invisible in the crowd :
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Steven grant x reader
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The dim lighting of the British Museum’s after-hours event created an atmosphere that was both elegant and a little awkward. You stood near the back of the room, clutching your glass of champagne as you observed the crowd. It was one of those charity events where people came dressed to impress, mingled, and pretended to care about the auctioned artifacts. But you felt like a ghost among them, blending into the background. No one knew who you were, and you doubted anyone would notice if you disappeared.
You glanced around the room, noting how easy it was for everyone else to strike up conversations or laugh over drinks. But not you. No, it was as though you had some kind of invisibility cloak on.
Great, you thought. No one would be looking for me in a room full of people.
You couldn’t help but let a small, dry smile slip. It was a sad but funny truth. You were always the last to be noticed, if you were noticed at all. The thought made your chest tighten with a strange mix of humor and loneliness. It wasn’t like you were actively trying to be the center of attention—God knows you preferred keeping to yourself—but still, sometimes it would be nice to feel... seen.
From across the room, you noticed a familiar figure—someone who seemed just as out of place as you. Steven Grant. The shy, awkward man from the museum gift shop, always stumbling over his words, but with the sweetest demeanor and the most fascinating knowledge of Egyptian history. You’d met him once or twice when you’d come to the museum. Unlike everyone else, he didn’t ignore you. In fact, he’d been almost endearingly attentive during your brief conversations.
Steven was currently hovering near a display of ancient artifacts, fiddling nervously with his tie as if it were choking him. His eyes darted around the room, and you could see that same lost, out-of-place look in his eyes that you felt. The only difference was, Steven was probably trying not to draw attention to himself—while you were trying to convince yourself you didn’t mind not having any.
As if feeling your gaze, Steven’s eyes met yours, and for a brief moment, you were certain you saw his face light up with recognition. He hesitated, then quickly looked down, adjusting his glasses.
Cute.
You took a deep breath and decided, for once, you’d make the first move. You crossed the room, slipping between groups of people who barely acknowledged your presence, until you stood in front of Steven.
“Steven,” you greeted softly, offering him a small smile. His head shot up in surprise, and you noticed the way his eyes widened behind his glasses.
“Y/N! Oh, hello! I didn’t—I didn’t expect to see you here. I mean, why would I, right? It’s a bit of a... fancy thing, this, isn’t it?” he rambled, gesturing to the room around him. “I’m not sure why they invited me. Must’ve been some mistake, honestly.”
You chuckled, folding your arms. “Pretty sure they know exactly who they invited. You’ve been here longer than half these people.”
Steven blushed at the compliment, his nervous energy apparent as he shifted from foot to foot. “Well, yeah, I suppose I’ve been working here for a while now, but I don’t know if I’m the sort of person who fits in at these things, you know? Bit out of my depth.”
“You and me both.” You raised your glass in a mock toast, and Steven smiled at the gesture, relaxing slightly.
The two of you fell into a surprisingly comfortable conversation about the museum’s latest exhibits and, of course, ancient Egypt. Steven lit up when you mentioned how fascinating the myths were, launching into a passionate explanation about some obscure god or legend. It was hard not to get caught up in his enthusiasm—he had a way of making even the driest historical fact sound intriguing.
As the evening went on, you found yourself moving closer to him, drawn to his warmth and kindness. Steven was so genuine, so different from anyone else here. And as much as he thought he didn’t belong, you couldn’t help but feel like he was the only person you wanted to be around.
Eventually, the conversation hit a lull, and you both stood in companionable silence. Steven cleared his throat, looking down at his feet. “So, um... you came here alone, then?”
“Yeah.” You shrugged, glancing around. “Not exactly anyone waiting for me.”
Steven frowned slightly, his brow furrowing. “I find that hard to believe.”
You laughed softly, shaking your head. “No, trust me. In a room full of people, no one’s looking for me.”
Steven opened his mouth to protest but seemed to think better of it. Instead, he reached up to rub the back of his neck, a gesture you’d come to recognize as one of his nervous tics. “Well... I was.”
You blinked in surprise, your heart skipping a beat. “You were?”
Steven nodded, his cheeks flushing a deeper shade of red. “Yeah, I mean, when I saw you across the room, I was, um... I was kind of hoping I’d get the chance to talk to you. It’s not every day you get to talk to someone who actually listens to what you’re saying about hieroglyphics.”
His words were shy but sincere, and you couldn’t help the smile that tugged at your lips. “Well, I happen to like hieroglyphics.”
“Really?” He beamed, clearly pleased with the idea that someone shared his passion.
“Yeah,” you said, stepping closer, lowering your voice slightly. “And maybe I happen to like the person explaining them, too.”
Steven froze, his eyes going wide with surprise. “Y-you do?”
You nodded, feeling your heart race as you realized just how close you were now. His lips parted slightly, and you could see the hesitation in his eyes—Steven wasn’t the type to make the first move. But that was okay. You were.
Before he could overthink it, you leaned in, pressing your lips gently to his. Steven let out a soft gasp of surprise, but it didn’t take long for him to kiss you back, his lips soft and tentative against yours. It was sweet, unhurried, and so utterly Steven.
When you finally pulled back, you were both a little breathless. Steven blinked at you, his expression a mix of awe and disbelief. “Wow,” he breathed, running a hand through his messy curls. “That was... really nice.”
You smiled, brushing a stray lock of hair from his forehead. “Yeah, it was.”
For a moment, neither of you said anything, just enjoying the quiet between you. Then, out of nowhere, Steven chuckled—a soft, warm sound that made your chest tighten in the best way.
“What’s so funny?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.
He looked at you, his eyes twinkling with humor. “I just... I still can’t believe I got invited to one of these things. And now here I am, kissing someone in front of an ancient Egyptian statue. Not exactly what I expected tonight.”
You laughed, shaking your head. “You know, Steven, I don’t think anyone could have predicted this.”
He grinned, and you couldn’t help but notice how much more confident he seemed now, like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. “Well, I’m glad it happened. I, um... I’ve always liked you, Y/N. I just didn’t know how to say it.”
You smiled, feeling your heart swell at his confession. “You don’t have to say anything, Steven. I think I get it.”
Steven reached for your hand, holding it gently in his. “I’m glad I found you tonight,” he said softly, his eyes locking with yours.
And for the first time in a long time, you felt truly seen.
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sourholland · 9 months ago
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Guilty as Sin
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CHAPTER ONE ; azriel x fem!reader
summary: the lost princess of the dawn court finds herself brazenly escaping her own personal living hell. seeking refuge, as well as peace to plot in the city of velaris—she meets azriel shadowsinger and through the throws of disdain and discomfort they are forced to work side by side, intertwined through their shared scars.
a/n: ok so this first chapter is literally all exposition and world building within this world, i’m so sorry :( i promise that it will very much so pick up. this series is mainly about me exploring different aspects of my writing, i’ve never written a long series before. my longest is 50k and each chapter was about 2k words so this is something i feel really proud to put out, even if it is just the first chapter. if you’d like to be tagged please let me know!! this fic isn’t necessarily inspired by, but is a lot like taylor swift’s new song “guilty as sin?”. feedback always appreciated:)
warnings: strong language, mentions of trauma regarding men, heavy themes of ptsd and suicidal thoughts
spotify playlist (unfinished)
wc: 5.4k
Run.
The word cut through your mind, slicing through each and every thought you possessed as you gazed downwards at your bloodied hands. There was so much blood. Hot, thick blood ran down your forearms, coating your face and the inside of your mouth. Your stomach lurched, however by the grace of the Gods, you fled.
In over fifty years, you had not left this camp. Since you were just a girl, at twelve years old, you had resided within the hidden stone of the warrior camp. Now you had no choice but to utter a quick prayer to the Mother and run fast and furiously forward without looking back. Only the knife you had just used remained sheathed at your hip as you felt the ground beneath your boot-clad feet. There was a cloak pulled around you, it covered your face well and kept you concealed. 
What was that saying, you thought silently to yourself in between painful dry heaves. ‘Feet don’t fail me now.’
It was nightfall and you ran tirelessly through the forest you had been warned to never brave on your own. As a child, your mother had warned that you must not meet what lurks after dark. She told you that not even those beasts would mind slaying the Princess of the Dawn Court. To them, the title was useless and your blood was just the same. Blood. You reeked of those warriors' blood and sweat and desperation. It was clad to your skin like a layer of oil or grime, the taste of iron making you spit. 
A part of you wondered if you would die out in this forest, no idea where you were or what place Cousin Thesan had brought you so many decades ago. Stopping to lean against a tree, you panted and let the silent tears flow at once. Where were you? For all you knew, he had dropped you within the Continents and only used very good wards to keep the camp hidden. Why had you let them take you? What hadn’t you fought harder against Thesan’s word as Amarantha began exercising power among Prythian.
You had no answer, but only began to run once again. There was no choice, unless you planned to slit your own throat and simply give up. No. You are a warrior, you are a fighter and nothing would keep you from finding your cousin and demanding answers for his crimes. That’s what his actions were to you, criminal and inhumane and you would not be surprised if in the end–you adorned his blood on your hands as well. 
“Who dares enter this part of my forest?” A voice drawled from nowhere in particular, causing you to flinch and raise the dagger shakily in defense. “What is your name, girl?”
The voice came from the trees, you swore to yourself. It came in whisps and wind, the blackness of the forest making it impossible for you to determine where exactly the source was. If there was a source. It omitted what you swore was a chuckle, an unfamiliar sound to you for so long. Sweat collected at the nape of your neck and temples, hair stuck down to your forehead and your skin blazed as you continued to rotate in full circles with your dagger pointed at nothing.
“Y/N, Princess of Dawn and Bringer of Light. What is your business in dwelling here? This is no place for a young Fae girl. Especially one so sweet as yourself, and you wear the blood of ten men. It is as if you hope to die tonight,” the voice whispered, a hot, invisible breath on your neck. “Do you hope to die tonight?”
“No,” you finally spoke into the abyss. “I hope to locate my homelands, I am in search of the High Lord of the Dawn Court. Show yourself.”
The voice ignored your demand, “leave this forest, Princess. For the ones hunting you are far worse than those warriors you slaughtered miles back.”
The stiff cloth of your dress began to itch beneath your robes and you stood taller than before as the voice surrounded you. Perhaps you would die tonight, at least you would have gone out thrashing and fighting until your final breath. There was a mild ache behind your brow and the night sky showed no signs of daybreak.
“And why have you refrained from killing me?” You finally asked, shifting back and forth and contemplating whether or not to begin running again. 
“I possess no body. I am nothing but the wind and the trees and the breeze against your skin,” it hummed, cynically. “Cross the river up ahead and veer left, the path will lead you out of the forest and into the countryside where at least you will not be hunted for sport and strewn up and cut open for the creatures that dwell here to eat you alive.”
A cold chill ran up your spine and left your fingers to form fists.The spirit-like being was gone as fast as it had stumbled upon you. How did you know, you wondered idly for a moment. Its presence was absent, the air feeling more desolate and empty than it had moments before. It could very well be a trick, a way to lure you into its very trap and do exactly as it said.
You continued on to the river and went left, just as the being had told you to, as it had cooed into the shell of your ear. It was only about a mile later and you were coming into a dark clearing where animals lay sleeping along large acres of land. There were cows and sheeps first, then you saw pens of pigs and chicken coops further. Looking back, you saw how truly terrifying the forest was in comparison to the moonlit field.There were a set of yellow eyes staring out at you, but as soon as you blinked they were gone as if they were never there to begin with. While you knew you would never know, you threw a prayer up to the Mother regardless and hoped that the breeze-like thing that had most likely saved your life was at peace.
There was very little you could do besides walk along the outskirts of the land and hope to find some inclination of where to locate your court. Your court. The Dawn Court was filled with your people, people who had not seen you in five decades. The memories of your childhood were like knives in your gut, twisting and turning until finally you expelled them from your mind and breathed in deeply. The trek was long and you walked all through the night with no direction of where to go or what to do with yourself. There were not exactly any signs pointing you towards your home, or once home. Now you had no home, the camp was much more like a prison than a home to you. 
“Are you lost?” A little Fae girl spoke, taking in your appearance as she found you still walking along the countryside that next morning. She did not appear to be scared, however she was very young and held a basket of wildflowers in her hand.
“Yes,” you almost cried at the sight of her, another human and a female at that. It had been fifty three years since you had encountered someone of the same sex. “Where am I?”
“I live just beyond that hill. You are in the Dawn Court,” she said wearily, pointing over and beyond the hill that sat a few hundred yards away. “Should I fetch my father to help you?”
“No,” you said, knowing well what you had done the night prior and how you appeared. “I am looking to get to the Dawn Court Palace, do you know where I might be able to find it?”
The girl, no more than nine, looked over you once again and it was as if she was assessing your soul. She drew her lips into a fine line and set the basket down to begin spouting off some directions. You nodded, taking in all of them with careful consideration and noting that the spirit had led you onto the right track for some odd reason. Once the girl had finished, she merely bowed her head and turned back towards her house. 
.·:*¨☆◦✦◦☆¨*:·.
The Palace was nothing like you had remembered it. It was so much brighter and broader than you recalled within the narrow escape of your child-mind. The Dawn Court Palace gleamed under the beaming sun that had been burning your skin for hours as you followed the little girl’s instructions. 
It was so vast and yet it seemed to call out to you, there was a long way to get to even one of the many stairs leading up to the Palace and so many guards standing tall at every entrance you could see. There was no way in, you thought. Not when you look as you do. Would any of these men even know who you are, you wondered. 
“Who goes there?” A loud voice bellowed, bringing you away from your thoughts.
Who says who goes there, you thought. Prick.
Well it looks like Cousin Thesan spared no expense in making sure no one went in unnoticed, you rolled your eyes internally and spun on your heels to meet the look of the brooding male who wielded his weapon against you. He did not recognize you, as you had expected. His eyebrow had a long scar going through it and he held a blade in his hand, waiting for an explanation.
“Stand down!” You matched his tone, standing tall while the male practically laughed in your face.
“You are lucky that I have not already gutted you for crossing into our territory–”
The sound of you swallowing hard could be heard from even where he stood. You planted your feet and let all of those lessons on looking the part of royalty run over you. The guard was cut off by your sharp and fierce voice, “I am Y/N, Princess of Dawn! Stand down or don’t. I can’t say that I really care either way, but you very well might when I cut out your tongue and feed it back down your throat.”
The man went rigid for a moment and he took in a sharp breath. He seemed to be assessing you, his eyes scanned your frame while his weapon remained as it was. A part of you wondered if he thought you were bluffing, however the dried blood seemed to tell him everything he needed to know. He maintained his authoritative stance, only drawing back to call over some of his men. He whispered something into one male’s ear and his face went blanche. He looked over you with such careful consideration and shock, his eyes wide open and doe-like from where you stood.
“You claim to be the Lost Princess?” He finally spoke, tilting his head to the side to expose a long, fleshy scar across his neck.
“Well the last that I checked–I am the only Princess of the Dawn Court, however I am most certainly not lost, sir. I do wish to speak to my cousin, though,” you requested, earnestly. “As soon as possible.”
The Lost Fucking Princess. Who even comes up with this bullshit?
One of the males who adorned guard-like clothing brought you into the Palace wearily. He did not lay a hand on you, but motioned you to walk in front of him as if you posed some sort of threat. Perhaps you did, killing Thesan had crossed your mind once or twice. The idea of watching him writhe excited you quite a bit. The thought nearly brought a smile to your lips, only managing to suppress it when you began climbing the steps.
.·:*¨☆◦✦◦☆¨*:·.
The male brought you to a throne room, sunlight dancing along the walls and spilling onto the floors. Everything was so magnificent, the aura of the room was nothing short of golden. Blood boiled within you as you recalled all of the years you had wasted away to nothing, hidden in that rotting, despicable camp where all you ate was leftover meat scraps and watered-down soup for over fifty years. 
Thesan sat at the forefront of the room, he wore a crown and spoke to the male at his right in a hushed whisper. It was almost as if he did not know you were here, like he was uninformed of your arrival in his court. When the male who brought you in nearly tripped over his feet to murmur into Thesan’s ear, you had your answer. Your cousin’s eyes snapped towards you in an instant, he rose to his feet immediately and you swore you could feel the blood pumping in your ears. With a hot face and white knuckles, you barreled towards him with the intent to kill.
“You promised me! You promised me!” Your magic rippled across the room as you shouted, pure rage causing the ground to shake. “You left me there to rot like vermin! How could you?”
With tunnel vision, the two men who had been holding you back were nearly invisible as the ground continued to shake violently. Thesan was silent, his eyes were wide with genuine revelation and disbelief. Thrashing and clawing and screaming was all you could do. He had taken years from you, good years that had been ripped away and stolen from you as a child.
“You’re nothing but a fucking liar, Thesan. We share blood! I am your family and you threw me out to the wolves. I was twelve years old and you abandoned me. I trusted you with my life. My life!” you cried and flinched at the guards’ hands. “Get your fucking hands off of me!”
The two men who held you were sent flying backwards by an invisible force, your magic had been provoked and was now rippling off of you in waves. Thesan approached with his hands out, he still had not spoken a word. With a wave, he cleared the room and it was only the two of you left standing.
“Y/N,” he said in a soft hush. “Please just allow me to explain–”
“Explain? Explain how you brought me to your sick fucking camp when I was a girl and lied to everyone under the guise of my protection? Explain how after three months, your letters and visits stopped? Oh, perhaps you plan to explain how you left me to live with ten cursed warriors for over five decades and I have to find out six days ago that Amarantha was defeated by a human girl years ago as I still sat by idly waiting for my dear Cousin Thesan to retrieve me from my own personal living hell?” The words were like knives, piercing Thesan one after another as you resisted the urge to rip out his throat. “Explain, go ahead.”
Thesan could not believe his eyes, nor the venom spewing from your lips. He surveyed your too-thin figure and cold eyes, how they had changed so much since he had last seen you as a small girl. Everything you said was true, to some degree. He could not deny any of it, however he had not realized how the camp had treated you. He had not banished you, but relocated you for reasons of his own before Amarantha could rise to full power. When Thesan caught word of what had begun under the mountain, he made rash decisions and sacrifices that he was not proud of and would have to live with for the rest of his immortal life.
“Y/N, I did send you away for your protection. Do you believe that my brother would have let me live if I sent his only child away to live in squalor while we all reside in a palace? I sent you away because my people were being ripped from their homes and your mere existence puts a target on your back,” he said, steadily. “A Princess, the sole heir to the Dawn Court. It is unheard of. When my brother’s mate–your mother–birthed a girl, our people were ecstatic. As years passed and Amarantha began her show of power, everyone grew antsy for my heir. I tried, I remain trying to produce an heir to this court.”
You shook your head, hot tears running down your dirt-crusted cheeks. “Not good enough,” your voice cracked.
“Please, just hear my words,” he begged you. “When you were twelve years old, I assumed tensions were at their height and our people grew restless. Amarantha had begun slaughtering innocent Fae across Prythian and with no heir, whispers surfaced of the Princess of the Dawn Court. A female heir, one who reeked of power at that. Males who would never kneel before a female began to place bounties on your head, terrified that I would be slayed and there would be no one but you to resume my place.”
Thesan breathed deep, but continued. “I told my brother that the safest option would be to make you disappear. We would claim that you were hunted by Amarantha’s loyal subjects, nowhere to be found. I gathered some of my strongest men who had committed wrongdoings within my court and banished them to the camp where they would be tied until I liberated you.”
“You locked me away with criminals!” You seethed, already knowing but surprised at his willingness to utter the words freely. “How do you think your filthy, touch-starved, vile men acted once I had first bled?”
“This is where I have committed wrong,” he whispered. “It was only supposed to be a year, maybe two while I gained footing and figured out a way to take back what Amarantha had stolen from me. Three months after I sent you away, she captured the entirety of this court. Every court, save for Spring, went Under the Mountain. You were concealed, hidden so well by my wards, that she never even bothered to go looking for you. She believed that her own subjects had killed and discarded you. That was the extent at which things had gotten, she merely trusted the death of the Princess of the Dawn Court was another insignificant casualty to her reign. Everyone believed you to be dead. My letters stopped because I was trapped, my power basically nothing compared to what it once was.”
The truth washed over you slowly, blinking away tears but staying put and shaking your head at him. It was still not good enough, it would never be good enough. For fifty-three years you had known nothing but scraps and gangly men and the dirt underneath your bleeding fingernails. 
“It has been years since Amarantha was defeated,” you gritted out. “Defeated by a human girl–”
“Feyre Cursebreaker, High Lady of the Night Court and human no longer. Myself and the other High Lords used our power to bring her back from death as High Fae,” he told you. “I know you will never forgive me for not retrieving you immediately, however we entered a gruesome war against Hybern and have only just begun to recover and rehabilitate. It is no excuse, I know this. I hoped by now that I would have an heir, nothing has changed in regards to how your existence might be received by this court.”
He had left you there while everyone rejoiced in their freedoms, fought on the frontlines of battle, and then even still once we had won. Nothing but pure, unadulterated rage consumed you and yet all you could muster up was a pathetic noise straight from your throat. He had done all of this because he simply was not capable of bearing a child and assumed that you’re suffering was all the more worth it if he could fuck his way to the ideal future High Lord of Dawn. All men are the same, you thought with a sickness churning within you.
“You are a sick excuse for a man,” was all you spat. “Where are my parents?”
“Dead,” he lowered his head. “They died swiftly, soon after we arrived Under the Mountain.”
The gift that just keeps on giving, you thought whilst holding back a near sob. He gazed upon you with pity, finally taking you in wholly. The blood. There was so much blood and he could tell from the scent that it did not belong solely to you.
“What of the men at the camp?” 
“Dead,” you replied, just as he had. “I cannot say they went swiftly, as I slaughtered them all.”
The images of blood spewing and spilled flashed across the forefront of your mind, the way that some of them went quick and others went begging for a semblance of mercy. You looked down at your palms, flexing your fingers and feeling the energy throughout your entire body. It pulsed at the tips of your fingers, throbbed in the heels of your feet, and thrummed at the backs of your eyes. Over the years, there had been no one to teach you to manage it so more often than not it consumed you whole. 
You could kill him, you let the idea wash over you. Or at least you could try. In his home with all of his warriors, it would prove difficult. He was the High Lord, your High Lord–no, death was too swift and simple. You would need time to plan out your next steps, you pondered whilst maintaining a stone cold facade. You would have to play your cards right, he would deal with you based on how you acted as you stood before him. Truthfully, the idea of living with him puts you on the brink of physical sickness. You would rather die than be forced to stay under the same roof, lips curling slightly with disgust as he gave you another look filled with shame and guilt.
“I will not stay here,” was all you spat at him. “Not here, not in this court with you, I wish to be sent elsewhere.”
“Elsewhere? Do you understand what will come of your sudden return to our lands?” Thesan’s eyes were fixed on you, his voice near hoarse. “Y/N, I know that–”
“I will not stay here. I ask this one thing of you. I will not spread word of your pathetic sterileness, nor my title to the Dawn Court if you will simply offer me this one thing. Do you not owe it to me?” 
While the immense grief and pain in your voice was authentic, you made sure to create the illusion of your complete and utter wreckage. Mustering up tears, you had to get out of this place. There was no possibility of your survival if not, not even at the hands of these so-called people out for your blood–but at the hands of yourself. Every bit of you was exhausted, conveying complete and utter devastation into your eyes as he debated your request. 
Do you not owe it to me?
Thesan rubbed violently at the bridge of his nose and nodded to himself, he squeezed his eyes shut and for a moment you remembered the admiration you once felt for him. Admiration turned into blazing resentment and rage that had nearly created an earthquake. He wouldn’t force you to reside here under him, would he?
“I will do my best at making other… arrangements,” said Thesan after a few moments of tense silence. “I make no promises, as we may very well be approaching the brink of another war, however in the meantime you should wash up.” 
A breath of relief escaped you, “what of the guards who know who I am? I told them.”
“I should like to call in a favor from Rhysand,” he murmured, almost as if he was speaking to himself.
.·:*¨☆◦✦◦☆¨*:·.
“Leave me, please” you said to the servants gently, thanking them for the filled tub and fresh gown that was laid out for you within the spare bedroom and adjacent bathing room.
Everything was so prim and proper and doused in sunlight, it made you nostalgic for a life that once was. The water was steaming, layers of blood and grime covering you as you sunk down into the tub. The magic of the tub was forced to refresh itself almost as soon as you sat, growing murky immediately as you began to scrub your skin raw. 
Would it be easier to drown yourself, you breathed a shallow breath. No, someone was posted outside of the bedroom door listening in. A guard, most likely. He would hear, putting an end to your pathetic excuse of a suicide attempt and then Thesan would never let you leave. Or maybe he would, perhaps your untimely death was just what he hoped for in order to rid himself of the problems you presented him with.
Getting clean felt impossible, even with the tub enchanted to replace its filthy water. Your hair was oily and your skin remained covered in a film of grease. It took over an hour just for you to feel somewhat clean. At the camp, there had thankfully been a tub with running water and an enchantment of certain supplies so you never went without. Food, however, was hunted for you and everyone else. As the only female, every night you received what was left on the bone of whatever animal they had slaughtered in the nearby woods, eating last time and time again. 
One of the servants came in to help you dress in the gown custom to the Dawn Court, it fell to your ankles and glistened with what you could have sworn was pure sunlight. The tall woman braided your hair back and applied rogue to your cheeks and an oil to your lips. As you gazed into the mirror before you, you could hardly recognize yourself for the first time in five decades. There was something so regal about you, a light cascading off of you like an aura of gold. Thesan possessed the same coloring, the light pouring out from him in bouts of power. 
The woman knew who you were, you could tell that much from the way her eyes danced across your reflection. She said nothing, though. You thanked her, smiling softly as if she had not just seen you covered in days old blood and filth. The Lost Princess, you recalled what the male had referred to you as outside. She has no idea what to think of you, it seems. Maybe that was for the best, perhaps you were better as the shadow of a girl who once was but no longer existed. Instead, some sort of killer prowled beneath your now eternally crimson stained skin. 
“The High Lord has called for you,” the woman said softly, pulling you from your thoughts and causing your eyes to drift to meet her gaze in the reflection of the mirror. 
Once you had begun your trek back to the same room as earlier, the sun had begun to fall and the sky was painted endless shades of pink and orange. There was so much open space, all of the windows gaping to allow for as much sunlight as possible during the daytime. You had never felt so exhausted, eyes burning from the lack of sleep you had acquired on your journey and the use of power earlier on in the day. 
When you entered the room, Thesan was in conversation with a man that you could only assume was Rhysand. He was attractive in an almost inconceivable way, like one of the Gods. None of the males at the camp had resembled anything like him, no one in the Dawn Court resembled anything like him. Lucky High Lady, you thought mindlessly. Rhysand seemed to chuckle at nothing, turning to meet your gaze.
“Princess,” he greeted you with the friendly upturning of his lips. “Welcome back from the dead is in order, I suppose. I’m Rhys.”
“Funny,” you huffed a stiff laugh at him and extended a hand for him to grasp. Power ricocheted off of Rhysand in a way that caused your stomach to flip. “Y/N.”
His eyes simmered with something like pity mixed with amusement, he was not blind to the fact that you still had not looked Thesan in his eyes. Rhysand had been steadfast in arriving at the Dawn Court, his solemn look told you that he had been briefed on some of what was going on. How much, though? What had Thesan deemed important enough to share and what was determined as insignificant. Clearly as you had been cast away as insignificant, he could not be trusted to relay information.
“Rhysand has consulted with his High Lady and they have agreed to offer you a place to stay in the Night Court for as long as you should require it,” Thesan informed you. 
“At what cost?” 
“No cost,” Rhysand assured you at once. “Thesan has… told me of your circumstances–”
“What circumstances?” You demanded, cutting him off. “What did he tell you?”
There was a tense silence as you grew flustered and aggravated by your cousin. Thesan knew nothing of your circumstances, he knew absolutely nothing of what you had endured. Rhysand had strangely given you a look of understanding, it was as if he knew exactly what you were thinking. Like he had been inside of your mind, reliving the experiences with you.
“He told me of your power, he told me you have yet to learn how to wield it as well. He says that he senses you may have inherited more than just his healing gifts, but that the nature of your identity is sensitive. I admit that I do have to agree with him in concealing your return, Princess–for now, at least,” Rhyand only looked to you, his words carefully chosen so as not to upset you. “I have a house in Velaris, the city where I live, it houses three people as of late. My two brothers, Azriel and Cassian, and my mate’s sister Nesta. You would stay there, it is secluded enough that you will have as much privacy as you desire. I spoke with my healer Madja, she has agreed to allow you to work under her in an apprenticeship of sorts. She’s one of the best, not just in Velaris but anywhere in Prythian. I feel you both may be able to benefit from each other, her experience and your magic. My cousin Mor has offered to train with you once she arrives home from Vallahan on business, until then one of my brothers–”
You cut him off again, “Training? I do not wish to offend you, but why should I need your family to train me?”
“Y/N,” he began, assessing how honest he should be. “You have no muscle built up whatsoever and considering the fact that you have no hold on your own power–I suspect that your ‘training’ consists of the intent to kill and luck. In Velaris you would learn to fight and hopefully hone some of that power.”
It was this or nothing, you knew that. Either you would remain in the Dawn Court, or you would go with Rhysand and figure it out from there. Thesan’s face was now unreadable as you looked between both of the High Lords. 
“All the while I hide away so that no one knows my true identity?”
“No,” Rhysand responded. “You have matured, when you left this court you were only a girl. No one in Velaris will question you once I dim some of that power coming off of you. My inner circle knows your true identity, however to everyone else you will be ordinary High Fae. This is partially why you’ll work under Madja.”
Nodding slowly, you consider your options or lack thereof. Rhysand seemed genuine enough, you thought to yourself and could have swore he smiled slightly. Giving Thesan a once over, you met those violet eyes and nodded slowly.
“Alright, I’ll go to Velaris.” 
210 notes · View notes
bubbles-for-all-of-us · 1 year ago
Note
Hi grl! First of all I wanted to tell you how much I ABSOLUTELY ADORED your kaz x reader series (exactly as you are)! The way you treated kaz character, how he actually cares (even if he tries to mask it) about the reader and his crows, how he wants to be better for reader, and how he consideres himself weak when he fails at a simple thing like touching his loved one or expressing his feelings... Besides, I hate it when people just ignore kaz haphephobia and trauma but, again, your work was amazing.
Now that you're taking requests, could you maybe do a one-shot/two-shot about him and non grisha crow!fem!reader? Maybe a flangst/fluff, something to do with him trying to overcome his touch aversion brick by brick for her, or with a sunshine reader who's been through so much trauma but she's a sunshine (not naive) with everyone to try and lighten their moods and hide her trauma... or idk literally about anything you can think of (I just want some kazzle dazzle content tbh hehe)
Thank you so much, you're great <33
Your girl is rusty when it comes to Kaz but boy do I miss him. So, I hope you will enjoy this!🫧
warnings: abuse, blood and implied violence.
Petal
On nights when Kaz felt like sabotaging himself, and that was most nights, he forced himself to watch your restless form as nightmare after nightmare ripped through your mind, making you claw at the plush blanket beneath you, drenching you in cold sweat. Kaz forced himself to watch because it’s his fault. His fault that he didn’t see it. How could he sit here and claim that he knew it all? Knew even the exact time a leaf was going to fall from a tree when he missed something so important right in front of his nose.
Kaz remembers the time you had first stepped into the club. Hair windswept. The cloak way too thin for the winds outside. You had barely given yourself a chance to look around before your whole body grew stiff as you prepared yourself for the worst. See, Kaz had been forced by Nina to hand out leaflets about the club hiring new staff. “You can be wiping your ass with the coins you have and I’m there alone with cracked skin on my hands”.
But everything had screamed at Kaz to say no from the moment he saw you. Too sweet. Too pure. Too innocent. Who even wears flowers in their hair in the dead of autumn? Yet he couldn’t look away. “We don’t sell cakes here, move along”, his cold voice cut through the silence, as he motioned you back to the door with his cane. One more beat of surprise and fear. And yet another beat came out clean and steady. “I can sell beer too or whatever that you sell here”, your hands had been clenched in fists as you spoke. A slight tremble. But even the dismissive silence hadn’t chased you away. “I can mop the floor, I can do it all. Can even sing if guests need entertainment. I just…”, that whole time you had been talking to the darkness. Since the club was empty still Kaz was a fan of hiding in its corners. “You don’t even have to pay much just so I could buy some food”, that had stirred something deep in Kaz. Imagines of Jordie flashed by. Empty stomachs. Cold streets. But then if you were suffering from the same fate he had you wouldn’t be standing there shining like the sun in the spring sky.
But Kaz hadn’t even been close to imagining what you were going through. Nina had fallen in love with you almost immediately so the hustle of you two twirling through the club had become a regular sight. It was the difference in your stance that the first monthly pay had made. You had been late to work the first day after. Your movements were slower. Eyes hollow and tired. “Well one of us celebrated nicely huh”, Nina had nudged you, “Up all night spending that earned coin”, you had returned her smile with a somewhat made-up smile of your own but that had been the first time Kaz had an inkling that something was happening behind close doors.
“You can eat food in the club, you know”, Kaz had managed to find you alone in the storage room, organizing the boxes. Your hair was falling out of the loosely done bun, draping across your face in such an enchanting way that Kaz had to make sure to not let his jaw hang low. You had swept some of it away with the back of your hand, “there’s no need, plenty of food at home”, you said. It was a slight jab and your eyes instantly had grown wide at the realization so you added, “Thanks to you, of course”.
Kaz had humbled, letting his gaze linger. “You can also, as an employee, stay here for the night if there’s a need”, and there it was that sharp bob of your throat. But you shook your head, “I appreciate it but”, you shrugged, “I’m fine in my own home”. You wondered if he was going to push or order you to do so but Kaz had simply turned around and walked away but his mind was already set. Just things had been set into motion even sooner than he expected because a couple of days later you had once again barely been walking at the end of the week.
“You’re stalling orders, man don’t like waiting”, Kaz said firmly, for the first time making you flinch slightly. “I’ll pick it up, I’m sorry”, you said bluntly, reaching for two more pines when Kaz’s eyes drifted to your exposed wrist.
The end of his cane pressed against the purple mark, “What is this?”, his tone was cold, dripping ice. You knew how he was with his investments. No flaws. Always useful. “I… A barrel fell…”, you mustered, making Kaz raise a brow, “A barrel?”. You nodded eagerly, maybe too eagerly. “And left fingerprints on your skin? Do you think I’m stupid?”, Kaz’s tone had turned sour. You quickly shook your head, “Of course no, you are the best…”, “Who did this to you, YN?”, Kaz cut you off making you look up at him instantly.
You couldn’t tell him. He couldn’t know. “It’s nothing…”, you whined right as Kaz stepped right in front of you his gloved hand now the one wrapped around your aching wrist. That not only was purple and blue but also broken. “Looks like something to me. Who?”, Kaz demanded. His electric blue eyes pierce your soul. You let out yet another whimper as your eyes started burning with tears. You had a feeling what end the person would meet and her and now you were the one vowing the thread of life. “My father”, your voice had been barely a whisper but Kaz’s face had turned ashen. And then he turned around. As if haven’t just given him your biggest secret.
“Kaz”, you called after him. Wanted to reach for him yet more than aware that he hated touch. “Go to the office in the back of the club”, he turned back, white medical wrap in his hands, “You are staying in the house from tonight”. Taken back all you could was watch him. As his trembling hands reached for your wrist, wrapping it up for support.
“But…”, you muttered. “Nina will bring you food and then walk you to your new place”, he was speaking as if all of this had been set for months. “Kaz…”, you tried to cut in but it’s like your words didn’t reach him. “You won’t be working for the rest of the week”, he grumbled and you failed to understand if that annoyed him or not. “Kaz, please”, you muttered but once his eyes met yours his expression was like nothing you had seen before, “Any stuff you want for yourself from that place?” You blinked a couple of times before shaking your head. Kaz’s fingers lingered on your skin before he dropped your hand, “Good”, he said as if you had signed your life away to him fully and stepped out of the back room.
Now weeks down the line here he is. With your father’s blood on his hands. Still lingering. It didn’t give him the closure Kaz wanted. The old fuck died too quickly for his liking. Not to mention that Kaz hated the man even more now because even if physical he wasn’t here. His actions still haunted you. “Please”, you cried, head turning to the side as you tried to flee from the horror, “Don’t lock at the door, no, papa”. Kaz pulled back from the wall he had been leaning against, crossing the room in a couple of strong steps. Then there was the choice that he had to make. He doubted that seeing him first thing out of a nightmare would make you happy. So he slowly, through gritted teeth made himself lay on the side of your bed. Now his own frightened eyes watched you because Kaz could feel the heat from your body.
Your head turned to the side with another plea, this time hitting Kaz’s arm. His whole body got ridged. The salty smell of the sea filled his senses. But then a content sigh leaves your lips and Kaz sees the tension in your body fading. The content was minimal. Your forehead was resting against his upper arm, fingers grazing his palm. Kaz took a sharp breath in. Making himself turn to look at you fully. His heart practically clawing at the chest at the sight of your clam features. All because of… but he didn’t let himself entertain that thought. Not now. Not tonight, “I’ll always protect you, petal”.
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penkura · 3 months ago
Note
👉👈 if you write for them,,, could you do the “person hitting on them in a bad” scenario but with Usopp and Sabo? If you wanna do anyone else that’s cool too, but I’m just curious how they’d be 👀👀
would usopp be especially ballsy and confident to protect his sweetheart??? how would sabo intervene?
thank you, and I hope you’re having a super super great day :))
Ahh I know this is SUPER later but!! I've never written for Usopp or Sabo!! I hope you enjoy this and that you enjoy it!! :)
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Usopp
You’ve known Usopp to be protective of you ever since you met when he joined the Straw Hats. You don’t know why, it’s been like that for so long that it’s just normal to you. Even in battle if you look like you’re being backed I to a wall, it’s like something takes over him and he’s more willing to fight to keep you safe. Nami has sworn its because he likes you but you don’t think so, he’s just being a good crewmate in your mind.
It's kind of painful to Nami and Sanji who can tell Usopp definitely has a crush on you even as you constantly deny it. Zoro has even seen it, you’re either blind or feigning ignorance to them as they all watch you at a bar, chatting with Usopp with a grin on your face while he does the same, but Nami notices a flush to his cheeks that you don’t seem to see, or you think it’s due to the alcohol you’ve all been sharing.
You eventually get up to get drink refills for everyone and when you do, Nami kicks Usopp hard enough under the table that he yelps a little.
“What was that for?!”
“Just tell her already! We can all see you like [Y/N]!”
Usopp tries to stutter out a response while Sanji sighs and shakes his head.
“It’s painful to watch.”
Before Usopp can tell them off, Zoro nudges his shoulder and nods towards the bar.
“Better do it fast before someone else gets her.”
Turning that way himself, Usopp sees exactly what Zoro is talking about, though to him the situation looks different. You’re waiting for drinks, facing the bartender, with a man about your age it seems trying to get your attention. You don’t listen to the stranger, when he moves closer you step away to keep distance, telling him you aren’t interested in whatever he wants from you.
“Come ooooon, I can show you a real great time while you’re in town~”
“Mm, nah, we’re leaving tomorrow.”
“Perfect then,” the guy puts his hand on your shoulder, holding tightly for a second, “We have tonight and—”
You shoved his hand off in time to see something hit the guy’s face and cover him in ketchup it looks like, before a smoke bomb hits him and makes it hard to see. You’re not entirely sure what’s happened until you see Usopp run over and grab your wrist, telling you it’s time to go as he runs out of the bar with you in tow. It makes you laugh while you run to keep up, thinking that maybe Nami was on to something about Usopp liking you as more than a crewmate.
You’ll have to talk about that later.
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Sabo
As a member of the Revolutionary Army, you’re used to going undercover for any mission that you’re sent on. You’ve gone on several with various colleagues and worked to get all the information you can to help dismantle the World Government and the systems in place. Its an easy job for you, you’re good at pretending to be interested in people who tell you boring things, though you do listen for anything that might be important. Dragon trusts you to get the information you need and bring it back, you’ve always got someone with you in case things go sideways and you need help.
Though if Sabo is sent with you, things can still go awry simply because of him.
Sabo has been your closest friend ever since you joined, more recently telling you his feelings for you and becoming your boyfriend, he doesn’t like how often you go undercover in bars. He only wants you to be safe, but watching you flirt and joke with men at the bar makes him almost drop the drink he’s holding as he sits in a booth with Koala, both in cloaks and hiding the best they can but watching you closely. Both ready to jump into action if needed, but Koala laughs at Sabo while he shoots daggers into the back of the man making you (fake) laugh at the bar.
“I don’t get why Dragon puts her on these missions…”
“Cause she’s good at getting information out of people?”
Grumbling, Sabo sets his glass down before he breaks it in his grip, still watching as you look the slightest bit uncomfortable when the guy you’re talking to sets his hand on your knee.
“Plus,” Koala whispers, also watching but looking to Sabo briefly, “He knows you’ll jump into action if she needs help.”
Not even a moment later, when he noticed the guy move his hand further up your thigh, Sabo throes a Fire Fist his way, letting you get up and run back towards Koala as the other man tries to fight your boyfriend. It doesn’t last long before he’s on the ground begging for mercy and the barkeep is moving to throw both of them out, you just sigh as Koala pats your back.
“He was just about to tell me what time that Celestial Dragon would be arriving tomorrow.”
“Maybe we shouldn’t bring Sabo next time.”
You’re definitely going to be asking Dragon to leave Sabo out of the next recon mission, maybe just not tell him about it at all.
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Text
We Come Back Every Time - Anakin Skywalker
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A/N: I haven’t even watched Ahsoka, but all the clips of Anakin live rent free in my mind. Not gonna lie, this went in a completely different direction than I first imagined, but I’m not mad about it.
TS Prompt #4: Style
Pairing: Anakin Skywalker x Reader Word Count: 2.1k Synopsis: No matter how many times they say it's the last, Anakin and the reader always find each other coming back for more. (Warning: smut)
“And I should just tell you to leave, cause I know exactly where it leads, but I watch us go round and round each time.”
Midnight - the rain is pouring in Coruscant. The planet is weather controlled, and Anakin curses himself for not thinking to check it beforehand. But this far into the city, as far as he has come, he doesn't care.
His cloak is drenched by the time he arrives at your door. He knocks once. When the door opens, you are wearing pink pajamas and a scowl on your face.
"What are you doing here, Anakin?" you ask, tilting your head up to look at him, slowly, as if he is barely worth your time. The thought aggravates him in the special way that only you can.
"I know what we said last time," he says, his voice low.
"We said it was the last time," you say. Anakin laughs gently.
"And how many times have we done that?" he asks. You let out another annoyed sigh, but he sees the slight smile on your face. "Are you going to invite me in? I am dripping all over your hallway."
"You can come in but you can't stay," you say, swinging the door open. Anakin walks in, barely waiting for you to open it, because he already knows you will let him in.
"Oh, do you have other plans tonight?" he asks.
"It doesn't matter what my plans are," you say, walking into the living room after him. "We can't keep doing this, Anakin."
"Why?" he asks. He takes a step towards you, a smug smile on his face, but you turn away quickly.
"You took an oath, when you joined the Jedi. Each time we do this, you risk your place among the Order."
"Maybe I don't care about all that," he says, again moving closer to you, placing a hand at your waist. You look up at him with a disbelieving frown.
"Maybe I do," you say, and push him off gently. "I have my own future to worry about, too. My firm just took on another senator. If we got caught, it would be a scandal, and I could lose my job."
"We won't get caught. We haven't so far."
"It only takes once," you say with a sigh. He looks at you for a moment, then nods. He knows you're right. He's had this same conversation with himself each time he comes to your apartment.
"I'm sorry," he says.
"Don't be sorry," you say. And after a pause, "You look like you've had a long day."
"You could say that."
"Want to talk about it?" you ask, already moving to your bar cart to make him a drink. It's another rule violation, and he sees you pause for just a moment, but continue to make the drink.
"I had another activity in mind," he says. You let out a tut of laughter.
"Please don't sit on my couch," you say, stopping him in the motion. "You're wet."
"I noticed. If you want I can take this all off," he says, returning that smirk from earlier. You roll your eyes and swallow your own drink.
"How about just the cloak?"
"Sure," he says, slipping it off gracefully. Your eyes are on him, on the clothes that cling to his body. "Y/N?" he asks, and your eyes shoot up to his, caught.
"Yes?"
"See something you like?"
"You are so full of yourself," you say, rolling your eyes again.
"You think so?"
"I know so," you bite. Anakin smiles when he realizes you've moved closer to him.
"But you like it."
"I don't."
"You do."
"I don--"
"Just come here," he says lazily. You are breathing heavier, your chest rising and falling, and Anakin knows he's staring, too.
"You think you can just play these same games and I'll fall for it every time?"
"It's worked so far," he says. He's tired of waiting and takes a step towards you. You back up instinctually, and if he had any sense that you weren't completely into this he would walk away right now. But he knows that this is part of it, part of the dance the two of you do.
"You think you know me, but you--"
"Enough about what I think," Anakin says, moving so he's now directly in front of you. "What are you thinking right now?"
"I think you're incredibly cocky," you say, and he can see the hate flash over your face because it comes out in a breath. Anakin smiles, smiles because he knows, smiles in the way that makes you weak in the knees.
"I think for good reason," he says, his voice low. He takes a step and suddenly he's in front of you, towering over you. He looks down at you as your back hits the wall, and he can see the moment you no longer care about what's right and what's wrong. With a soft whine, you tilt your head and lock your lips with his.
Anakin devours you. His lips, tongue, teeth, all fight for dominance of your mouth as you squirm against him. The moans you make are fuel to him, fuel to keep going, to keep utterly destroying you.
There is a glass in your hand, and his Jedi instincts catch it before it shatters to the ground, your hands already pawing at his drenched shirt. He sets the glass on the bar cart and yanks open his shirt with a fist.
You pull away for air and look at his slick chest. There is hot desire in your eyes, and Anakin is of no mind to keep you waiting.
"If I take this all off, can we get on the bed?" he asks in a pant.
"Yes, fine," you say, kissing whatever part of him you can reach as he strips.
In a moment, he has you lifted in the air, your legs wrapped around him as he guides you towards the bedroom. He throws you down on the bed, and looks down at you in a surveying glance.
Your hair is spread out around you, your skin flushed. The pink pajamas you wear are wrinkled and half undone already, your warm skin peaking through the buttons.
"Isn't this so much better than arguing?" he asks lowly. You rise up on your elbows and look at him, disinterested.
"Are we doing this or not?" you ask.
"Oh, absolutely, I just needed to take you in first. Now that you've given in to what you want."
"Please shut up," you say. He laughs to himself as he crawls onto the bed, settling just above you, eye to eye.
"You seem angrier than usual," he says, his voice low. "I don't usually have to work this hard to convince you." As he speaks, his hand travels down your stomach, and slips into the waist of your pants. You breathe heavily when a finger of his slips beneath your underwear.
"It's nothing," you say, your voice heavy as his fingers works against you.
"Nothing?"
"That's what I said."
"I can stop, you know?" he teases, slowing his movements, but not removing his hand from you.
"You wouldn't."
"Tell me what's got you all worked up."
"You," you gasp.
"What about me?"
"Fuck, Anakin," you whine, writhing against him, "I don't want to talk."
"But it's so cute when you do, watching you struggle to keep your breathing even."
"You are an asshole, you know that?"
"I do. Tell me what's bothering you."
"I heard," you say, nearly crying as his forefinger circles the bud at the apex of your thighs. "That you've been seeing other girls."
"Seeing other girls?" he asks, a breath of a laugh. "I didn't peg you as the jealous type."
"More like I felt sorry for them."
"That's not what you felt."
"You don't know what I feel."
"I know what you're feeling right now," he says. His lips find the sensitive skin beneath your ear and your hips buck as he places a searing kiss. "Admit it."
"Admit what?" you pant. He has picked up his rhythm, and he knows you are close.
"That you're jealous."
"I'm not."
"Tell me or I won't let you come."
"I hate you," you groan, lifting your hips to try and increase pressure.
"Tell me." His voice is a whisper against your skin. He sees the gooseflesh appear and knows he'll get his way. He always does when he has you like this.
"Fine! I was jealous! Happy?"
"Very," he says, removing his hand and in the same motion, dropping down to replace it with his mouth. You cry out as his lips close around you and within moments, you are coming around him.
He watches you come down. The heave of your breaths, the muscles finally loosening. How could you ever stop doing this? There are so few joys in the Jedi order, and absolutely none of them come as close to this. To watching you come undone.
When you sit up, the frustration in your eyes has dimmed. Anakin thinks it will take at least two more orgasms to diminish it completely.
"There aren't any other girls," he says, scooting closer to you.
"I don't really care if there are," you say, looking up at him. He takes your chin in his hand and smiles gently.
"You do care."
"It doesn't matter if I do," you say, "Because this is the last time."
"How often do we say that, and how often do we come back every time?"
"This time will be different," you say, running your hand through his soaked hair, slicking it back.
"I don't believe that for a moment."
"And why's that?" you ask, your voice softening.
"Because this is too good. And because, I know, like you do, that we'll just keep going round and round in this dance, rather than leave each other forever." Your eyes search him for a long moment.
"I don't know that."
"You do. It's our style,” he says. You groan in annoyance.
"I don't want to talk any more."
"What do you want to do?" he asks, his hand trailing down to your hip.
"I want you to fuck me."
"I'll need more specifics," he says, his voice a tease. You roll your eyes again.
"I want you to fuck me from behind," you say, looking at him with that disinterested look again.
"Anything else?"
"As hard as you can."
He flips you over before you can even finish the sentence. Your pajama pants had been hiked around your knees, but he tears them off and onto the floor in a quick motion.
“This what you had in mind?” he asks as he aligns himself to your entrance. He waits until you are saying “yes” before he thrusts inside you. Your answer transforms into a moan as you take him in.
“Ready for me?” he asks. You grind against him, sighing contentedly.
“Yes.”
His thrusts into you are rough, just like you requested. His hands grip your hips, almost certainly leaving bruises. With every push into you, the only sound filling the room is the slap of your bodies and the moans you both make.
"Is this how you imagined it?" Anakin asks, his own breathing heavy.
"Yes, just like this," you pant.
“Do you think about it often?”
"I can't stop thinking about it. I can’t stop thinking about you," you admit. Anakin smiles. It is only in these moments, when he has taken you so fully, filled your body and your mind with only thoughts of him, that you finally let your true feelings show.
"Me too," he says. He again picks up his rhythm. His mechanical hand reaches around your waist and finds the sensitive flesh between your legs. He knows his touch is cold by the way your back arches.
In a few well placed strokes, you are coming around him again. Your walls tighten around him, and it is his turn to come, too. He moans your name and together you both collapse onto the bed.
He spares a glance over at you after he has calmed down some, and your eyes meet. You both let out breathless laughs.
"Why do we do this?" you ask.
"Because it feels good."
"No, why do we have to do the dance beforehand? And don't say it's our style," you deadpan.
"Maybe because if we admit that we like this, it would change completely," he says. You nod and look up at the ceiling. You are silent for a long time.
"Change it for the worse?"
"Maybe. Or maybe it'd be paradise."
"Paradise," you muse. "Sounds a little overrated." He laughs. “I guess I don’t mind our routine,” you say slowly.
“I don’t either,” he says, wrapping a strong arm around your waist and tucking you into his chest.
“But this is absolutely the last time,” you say, a devilish glint in your eyes.
“Oh absolutely,” he says, bringing your lips to his in a claiming kiss. “The very last.”
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magicalbats · 1 year ago
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Sanctuary
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Rating: R-18+
Word Count: 10,874
Warnings: sacrilegious content, monster fucking, tentacle/tongue fucking, brief throat fucking, reader is a nun so take that as you will
A/N: this is my very first commission ever and I had a blast working on it so I asked if I could share it with everyone! I went through and removed the identifiers for their OC but otherwise its exactly the same. I'm going to make a comms page later on for anyone interested so keep an eye out for that, and please enjoy! ❤️
Snow flurries around your face and buffets the skin to leave your cheeks feeling raw as you peer out over the assembled crowd. There’s a restlessness that hangs over the multitude of heavily bundled bodies lined up in the town square but order had largely been maintained all morning. It was mostly a variety of women in differing sizes, shapes and ages, which tended to help in that regard, while the occasional man was either old, sick or otherwise unfit for the labor needed to support themselves. These people relied heavily, sometimes exclusively, on the church’s community efforts to keep themselves afloat. You could even make out a few small children among the masses where you were standing; antsy from waiting and fussy with hunger, and who were starting to get on their accompanying parents' last nerves by the looks of it. 
Cloak whipping in the frigid wind, you shift behind the table where two other Sisters were diligently working to ladle out the porridge and pass out thick slices of bread quickly enough to keep the line moving at a reasonable pace. You were technically supposed to be on break after standing in the same spot for hours, your dominant wrist giving a muted throb from overuse when you take up the spare baler spoon and dip it into the massive pot, but you were having a hard time walking away. You usually did, though. Some might accuse you of taking your responsibilities a little too seriously at times but you liked to think of it more as simply being pertinacious. It was better to toe the line of overzealous than to be apathetic or indifferent to the plights of others, after all, and you couldn’t think of anyone more in plight than hungry children. 
Speculatively, Sister Darya eyes the bowl you fill and set aside before starting to spoon out another serving into a second dish. She sends you a sidelong glance even while her hands continue to work through the monotonous motions. Dip, pour, pass across the table. Dip, pour, pass across the table. She doesn’t have to look to ensure every moving piece ends up exactly where it needs to be, and the line keeps moving without interruption even as she sets her prickly sights on you. 
“Back so soon, Sister? Perhaps we should have you chained to the nearest bench to ensure you take your breaks when you’re supposed to.” 
“That won’t be necessary.” You respond with a cool indifference, unperturbed by the pointed stare she gives you when you reach to fill a third bowl. “I’ll go take my rest once I give these to the children. Surely you won’t find any complaint in that?” 
Sister Darya draws a careful breath and lets it out with a sigh. When she speaks next, it’s very soft so that only you might hear her quiet response. “They are supposed to wait in line just like everyone else. Those are the rules. Do not give me that look, Sister. You know as well as I do what lows the starving and the sick will sink to.”
“Then I will take care to ensure nothing of the sort comes of it.” Stamping down the flare of annoyance that sparks in your chest, you stiffly drop the baler back to the table. The older woman narrows her sharp beady eyes at you in warning yet you pay it little mind. 
Quickly shoving a spoon into each of the four bowls you’ve prepared, you juggle the dishes into your hands and step out from behind the table. You can barely catch the sound of her grumbling something to the other nun stationed with her as you walk away but aren’t quite able to make out what’s being said. No matter though. She’d never been particularly fond of you and the feeling was decidedly mutual. Nothing that happened here today was going to change that. 
The first child you manage to track down in the crowd is on the verge of tears, fitfully tugging at his mothers skirts while he asks her how much longer it will be. She has her hands full with a mewling infant, swaddled and bundled in so many layers that it takes the use of both hands to properly hold onto the bulky mass, and she could not offer him much comfort aside from gentle reassurances that it would be soon. One look at the tired, heavy bags under her eyes vindicates your decision. These people needed help, and you wouldn’t sit idly by if there was something that could be done for them. 
Sweeping closer to the pair, you keep your voice gentle even as you project it enough to be heard over the general din. “Do not cry, little man. You must be strong for your mother and your new sibling, isn’t that right? Look at what I have for you.” 
Red faced from the snow and the wind, he turns to glance up at you from under the brim of his wide, fur lined cap. The green of his irises seems to swim with valiantly held back tears but they clear almost immediately when he sees the bowl you carefully offer out to him. They appear to you like crystalline lakes turned dazzling with the azure sheen of algae, and you give him your best smile when he eagerly reaches out to accept the porridge in his tiny gloved hands. 
Her expression morphing from one of surprise to immense gratitude, the mother ducks her head in quick thanks. “May the Cryo Archon bless you, Sister. Your kindness means much to me and my children.” 
“Speak not another word of it. You’re almost to the front of the line now, so you’ll be able to fill your stomach soon. Please take care.” 
With a brief nod of acknowledgment, you move on. There’s another child a few paces down, this one a young girl curled up in the arms of her father as if in search of warmth as much as comfort, and you tell them much the same. That they were almost to the front of the queue and he gives his words of thanks as his daughter shyly accepts the bowl you hand to her. Left with still two more to pass out, you work your way further back in the line while assuring the waiting adults that there was enough for everyone to be fed and to just be patient. 
Empty handed after finding a pair of brothers solemnly standing in line together, you start to retrace your path towards the table again. You’d spotted a few more kids and you wanted to make the burden of waiting a bit more bearable for them as much as for their parents, but a small scuffle up near the front pulls your gaze and demands your attention first. Your strides turn purposeful now as you make a beeline for the commotion. What you come upon gives you pause, though. 
The green eyed boy from before was picking himself up off the ground and trying very hard not to let the hiccuping sobs that shake his shoulders get the better of him. His bowl of porridge was spilled in the barren dirt and frozen mud. A gnarled looking man in a tattered coat was bending to retrieve the fallen dish, mumbling something unkind under his breath while the mother juggles the baby in her arms and frets over her fallen son. At first you think it an accident, the kind of misstep that could happen all too easily when there were so many people crammed together in a single place. But then, to your surprise, the surly man straightens up with the bowl, dips his fingers into what bit of porridge meal was still sticking to the interior and pops them into his mouth. 
You see an instant flash of red behind your eyes. 
“What is the meaning of this?” You demand, closing the distance at a rapid pace now. “Horrid scoundrel, do you truly intend to repay the Holy Mothers kindness and generosity by stealing from a child? Does that seem right to you?” 
The sallow faced man glances up at your approach, takes one look at the black veil covering your hair and scoffs before turning from you. It was clear he thought little of you and your opinions on the matter, and he disinterestedly begins to walk away with his spoils still in hand. Temper flaring just a pinch more, you lengthen the stride of your steps. You brush right past the mother and her children. Reach out with grasping fingers and snag the back of the man’s ratty coat. He aggressively spins around to snap at you, but you were ready with some choice words of your own. 
“How dare you! To think that anyone in our great motherland would behave like an uncivilized animal!” You practically spit up at him. “You should be ashamed of yourself for carrying on in this manner when there is plenty to go around for everyone. What have you got to say, huh?” 
“I don’t have nothing to say to you, crazy bitch. Let go! Before I get mad!” 
A chorus of horrified gasps erupts around you, but you only tighten your hold on him even when his coat is so grimy and unkempt it makes your skin itch. You’re distantly aware of the crowd shuffling behind you, no doubt considering the possible ramifications of stepping in or not, but there was a hesitation when so many of them were women with little to no able bodied men to help. It was only natural, and you didn’t blame them for it. You blamed this no good lout for causing such an unpleasant scene in the first place and you weren’t about to let him get off that easily for being such an inconvenient nuisance to everyone. 
“I will not let you go. You owe that boy and his mother an apology, sir. Come, I will even stand with you to lessen the embarrassment you have to face.” 
Becoming more aggressive by the second, he violently tries to yank out of your grip. You hold fast though, and only stumble a step before pulling back on his coat with everything you’ve got. He seemed annoyed more than anything else though, and he rounds on you again to loom over your much slighter frame in an obvious display of intimidation as he bellows, “I’m warning you, let me go! Now!” 
“And I am warning you, come apologize to them or you will not like how this is going to end.” 
His face growing red in anger, he tries once again to forcefully shrug you off. But when that doesn’t work he brings his hand up in a quick arc, clenching it into a tight fist. You barely have enough time to process it’s even happening and then it — harmlessly sails right over your head. 
Eyes widening to the approximate size of dinner plates, you watch in mute disbelief as he’s roughly dragged back a handful of steps by an arm wrapped around his neck. The destitute man flails and kicks, grunting when he drops the bowl so he can reach up to claw at the limb cutting off his air supply. It’s useless though. Whoever was holding onto him had a grip as good as iron, evidently, and you catch a burst of coppery-brown hair behind him as he slowly starts to drain of energy and sag. One moment he’s wildly thrashing to get loose and the next he’s … going limp with a wet little gurgle. 
You catch your first glimpse of the young man — your heroic savior, as it were — when he bends to deposit the vagrant onto the cold ground without much concern for where or how he might land. His burden hitting the dirt with a bodily thump, he lifts his attention to you. You’re instantly struck by the intense blue of his eyes, and your breath catches in shock. 
Was he really human? 
“Are you alright, miss? Sorry I didn’t make it here sooner.” Straightening again, he wipes his gloved hands together as if ridding them of dirt after a messy job. Then he steps over the prone man on long, somewhat gangly legs so he can come closer. “When someone said there was a disturbance going on at the church’s food drive I came as fast as I could. I hope you’re not hurt?” 
Rousing from your initial disquiet, you take in the whole of him rather than just the strange eyes staring at you in question. You recognize the military uniform immediately, and bob a quick curtsy as was customary when dealing with someone of his station. “Worry not, good sir. I am unharmed and I have you to thank for that. I’d say you were just in time, in fact.” 
The young soldier gives you an abrupt, dazzling smile that is so filled to the brim with boyish charm it almost gives you pause. He was handsome, yes, but he also looked like a troublemaker of the highest order. Certainly not someone you would need or want to find yourself mixed up with no matter how good looking he was or how pleasantly symmetrical his features were. 
“It was my pleasure, of course, Sister …?” 
You lift your chin and tell him your name.
He slowly repeats your name, as if savoring the feel of it on his tongue and the way the syllables curl inside his mouth. “Well, Sister, although I was all too happy to offer my assistance, you still played an admirable part too. Thanks to you I didn’t have to go chasing this guy down. I owe you my thanks as well.” 
“Save it.” You sigh, giving your head a brief shake. “I was only doing what’s right. Now if you’ll excuse me, I must tend to the boy he stole from and get him another bowl of food.”
Decisively turning on your heel, expecting that to be the end of it, you start to walk away. To your great surprise, though, he quickly falls into step beside you. 
“I’m Ajax, by the way.” 
“A lovely name.” You don’t miss a beat but, rather than discouraging him with your indifferent tone, it just makes his grin grow even wider.
“I can help you.” He says it so point blank and matter of fact that for a split second you’re not quite sure what he even wants to lend you a hand with. And that was to say nothing of the why. 
“Although I certainly appreciate the offer, I think you’ve helped plenty for one day.” Turning your head, you steal a quick glance back at the unconscious man still lying out on the ground. The boy with the green eyes was spitefully kicking dirt at him and, much like his mother, you willfully chose to ignore it. While it wasn’t exactly good or proper behavior, you figured he was entitled to a tiny bit of payback for what he’d endured. “Shouldn’t you be escorting that gentleman to the jailhouse right about now? Surely that is a much more pressing matter for you than feeding the sick and hungry.” 
“Don’t worry, he won’t be waking up anytime soon and I’m sure another officer will happen by any minute now to take care of it.” 
You send him a slow, curious look, but he doesn’t seem the slightest bit put out. “That’s an odd thing to say, isn’t it? As a young man in her majesty the Tsaritsa’s army I would have thought you’d jump at the chance for recognition of such a good deed.” 
He casually waves that off with a chuckle. “Ah, who really cares about recognition anyway? I’m much more interested in doing what I enjoy than making decisions based on what will earn me merit.”
Something told you that was only a very small fraction of the bigger picture. He was still young and clearly impulsive, so you didn’t doubt that he truly was far more inclined to do only what he found worthy of his efforts to pursue. It wasn’t your place to comment on that though, nor did you want to humor how that applied to you in the here and now by giving it any deeper thought than that. 
Ignoring Sister Darya’s incensed glare, you pause at the corner of the church’s food drive table and turn to face your dogged shadow. This man, this soldier named Ajax, obediently halts just within arms reach and looks at you with an expectant, almost puppy-like eagerness as if waiting for the next command to fall from your lips. You may have found it cute otherwise, but you weren’t about to encourage him in any way. It wasn’t in your nature to knowingly lead people on and unlike some of the other Sister’s in the order you didn’t derive any such pleasure from doing so. You’d have to be blunt then. 
“I thank you again for your assistance,” You pointedly intone. “But I cannot allow you to waste your time taking on the church’s work. Her majesty has greater expectations of you than handing out bowls of porridge. You have your responsibilities and I have mine. We would both do well to remember that.” 
He doesn’t look half as dejected by that as you’d hoped he would, his boyish grin only taking on a frustratingly sly edge now. “Aww, don’t tell me this is your way of sending me off into the cold again.” 
“I’m afraid so. I don’t have time to entertain anyone, you understand.” 
Those odd eyes of his dance before you as he gives you a quick, appraising glance up and down to take in your shuddering cloak and the fluttering veil atop your head. But it strikes you once again as being strange, how his irises don’t seem to reflect the light at all. Rather they almost seem to swallow it up like a void. You’d initially thought it a mere trick of the senses brought about by the heavy charcoal clouds hanging overhead but … even now, even standing near the cackling flame over which the pot of porridge was simmering, there still was no reflection to be found in his eyes. It was a little unsettling, if you were being honest. 
Just what was he? 
“You break my heart, Sister. Is it not also the responsibility of a soldier to see that the needs of the people he serves are met? Lending the church a hand would be nothing short of a great honor for me.” 
You set your mouth in a firm, unamused line. “I’m afraid I’m not fool enough to believe that when you just told me you’re not interested in doing things simply for merit. You’ve got an ulterior motive in volunteering your services and I’m not interested in such games.” 
A quick laugh huffs out of him as he lifts a hand to place it emphatically over his heart. “You wound me, Sister! What do you take me for, huh?” 
“Someone who’s time would be much better spent escorting that vagabond away from the food drive before he wakes up and starts causing more trouble for us, that’s what.” 
“Fair enough.” Shoulders shaking with laughter, he pauses to give you another glance over from the top of your head down to the toes of your smart leather boots. You’re acutely aware of the other Sister’s watching on in rapt fascination and morbid curiosity, as well as the townsfolk standing close enough to the front of the line to eavesdrop, but you firmly stand your ground. There would be time to feel embarrassed by this scene later, in the privacy of your own dorm. 
At length, Ajax finally gives his head a shake. “I didn’t know they made Sisters like you.” 
“They don’t. I’m all of my own making.” 
“I’ll keep that in mind.” He finally falls back a step with a brief nod of acknowledgment. Allowing himself one final look at you, Ajax turns away with one last word of parting. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Sister. I hope to have the pleasure of seeing you again soon.” 
Standing there in the cold and the chaffing wind, and the flurry of snow, you watch him walk away. You think you could go your whole life without having another run in with him and it would still be too soon. It wasn’t that he was just a bit strange even for a young, headstrong soldier. There was something genuinely peculiar about him. Even putting aside the way he’d kept looking at you, there was still a sense of undesirability about the whole situation. From a nuns perspective he presented a multitude of problems, the least of which being temptation that did not fall in line with your vows. 
Turning your head to look at the others when he bends to retrieve the culprit from the ground and save him from the agitated rumblings of the antsy crowd, you spare Sister Darya a withering scowl. “I don’t want to hear a word about it.”
The way her eyes flash at you in mute disapproval seems to say ‘I told you so’ but you adamantly ignore it in favor of reaching for another bowl to fill. At the rate you were going it was starting to look like you’d never get that break. 
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Everything seems so normal that at first you almost don’t even realize it’s a dream. 
Some distant part of you knows you’d been so tired from the food drive that you’d fallen asleep almost as soon as your head hit the pillow after taking a nice, long bath to rid yourself of the permanent Snezhnayan chill. But you were glad for the normalcy of it, content to meander your way through whatever your resting subconscious decided to conjure up. The first scene is a field of wildflowers that does not exist in the ice and snow of your motherland. It’s peaceful there and quiet. A welcome haven of tranquility which you dreamed of with some frequency. 
You’re more than a little disappointed when it suddenly changes to the town square. One moment you’d been picking dandelions to weave into a wreath for your hair, and the next you were standing in the middle of a cold barren wasteland. The streets were empty around you, the houses dark and silent. The flowers wilt in your hands. Dropping them, you turn in a circle to survey your surroundings. Nothing looked out of place aside from the total lack of people, or even any dogs or cats roaming the area. No birds, either. 
Without a particular destination in mind, you start to walk. A part of you hoped the scenery would change again and morph into a more pleasing visage around you, but that’s not what happens. It feels like you spend many minutes just walking up and down the empty streets like a lost ghost, each step its own eternity. Every breath its own death rattle. A niggling thought in the back of your mind whispers of danger, warns of something being not quite right, and yet you don’t retrace your path back to the starting point in the square. Like there was an invisible string tugging you along, you follow its suggestive pull straight through town to the church. 
Despite finding this rather strange, even for a dream, you open the door and go inside without pause. 
The sanctuary is just as desolate and deserted as everywhere else had been. You hadn’t seen so much as a suggestion of another living being, human or otherwise, and still the string tugs. Trance-like and spellbound, you follow the exigent summons through the grounds; past altars and holy relics, and pews and the baptistery, out into the courtyard. You cross over bare frozen ground to the monastery. Up the long flight of stairs and down the empty hall until you reach the door to your own room. 
This is the first thing that gives you any real amount of hesitation but the string just pulls harder. Like a puppet under the guidance of a masterful biloquist, your hand comes up to grab the knob. You watch yourself turn it and then swing the door open. Your skin prickles with static electricity when you cross the threshold but this, too, is empty. Having half expected to walk in and find your own sleeping form huddled on top of the narrow bed, you’re strangely disappointed to find the sheets neatly made and smoothed out. They looked like they would never be disturbed again, as if the room itself had been plucked out of reality and then frozen in time and space. 
You feel the string slip away then, as you’re standing just inside the doorway looking over your bed, and a rattling breath puffs out of you at its loss. It leaves you trembling with newfound life, as if whatever force served to guide you here had sedated your mind and body alike to encourage compliance. Now, though, you were suddenly acutely aware of just how disconcerting the trek here had actually been. How heavy and oppressive the static charged air really is. 
Hands clenching and unclenching at your sides to restore feeling in them, you cautiously step around the room. It was not a large space and you were able to complete a full circuit in only ten steps. The bed took up a vast majority of the capacity. Your writing desk took up most of the rest. Suspiciously, you even bend to peer under the metal frame that holds the mattress, but there’s nothing there. It was just as void of life as everywhere else. 
When you straighten up again something in the single small window in the room catches your attention. You squint at it a moment but your eyes can’t quite make out what it is, so you step closer. There’s a thin layer of condensation coating the glass and, thinking perhaps that was what was obstructing your view, you reach up to wipe it away. The very real sensation of cold, wet moisture under your fingers startles you more than you’d like to admit. Your foggy mind reels and stumbles over the visceral thought. 
And then your eyes adjust. 
A dull, muted burst of copper. Red horns. It wasn’t outside amongst the trees and the buildings, and the dark overcast sky. It was behind you. 
Holding yourself achingly stiff, you slowly turn around. You’re not really sure how you maintain your cool when every inch of your skin was crawling with a violent eruption of goosebumps but you’re exceedingly glad for it as you set your sights on the monster in the doorway. It’s not just large, it’s huge. You think it must be over seven feet tall, perhaps even pushing eight, and it takes up the whole frame with its massive stature. It seems implausible for something of that size to move around as silent as any soft footed cat, but you’re positive you hadn’t heard a single sound. If this was just a figment of your imagination, you sorely hoped it would dissolve away into nothing very soon. 
What you think must be its eye just stares at you though, unblinking and unmoving. This tense stand-off lasts so long, in fact, that your frightened adrenaline eventually starts to wear off bit by bit, leaving you feeling somewhat disoriented in the aftermath. Was it even alive? Had your taxed mind and body really summoned the likeness of a horrible monster just to terrorize you in your dreams? And, perhaps most perplexing of all, why did it spark a distant note of familiarity in the dregs of your memory? Almost like you’d seen it or something like it recently, but that couldn’t be true. Certainly you never would have been able to forget such a creature as this … 
You just start to toy with the notion of slipping around it to get back out into the hall when it sedately lifts its arm. Frozen in place by a fresh surge of uncertainty and fear, you watch it push the door so that it swings shut with an almost casual motion. The click of the latch catching sounds like the heavy swing of an executioner's blade. 
“You came.” 
Its deep, raspy voice seems to reverberate in the very air itself and, finally unable to keep your nerves in check any longer, you take a stumbling step back to press into the wall. Your heart threatens to jackhammer straight out of your chest as you frantically try to process the situation. Not only was it very much alive and capable of interacting with the environment, it could also talk. You’re not sure why that disturbs you as much as it does but there’s no denying how your stomach painfully cramps with sinking dread now. Every fiber of your being thrums with the desire to run and flee, to hide from this monster, and yet you knew you were trapped in here with it. Even if you’d wanted to make an attempt at the now closed door the room was much too small. You’d never get around it. 
All you can do is quake when it takes a deliberately slow step forward before stopping again. Just looking at you. Gauging your reaction, perhaps? You didn’t really care about any of that. 
“What are you?” It’s little more than a frightened whisper. 
“Think of me as a god come to collect on what is rightfully mine.” 
Your spine snaps straight even as a disconcerted shudder races through you. “You are no god, foul beast. You’re a demon.” 
The thing laughs, low and hoarse. “Close, but not quite. You may call me Foul Legacy. Or, if you would prefer, ‘master’ will suffice just as well for your role.” 
“I will call you no such thing!” You hiss in indignant affront. 
“You will.” It assures you, taking another controlled step closer. “If I command it of you, your only choice will be to obey. If I tell you to get on your knees and worship me then that is what you will do. I told you, didn’t I? I’ve come to claim what’s mine.” 
You start to open your mouth to protest but your words fail you, and you slowly close it again. Frantically now, your wide eyed gaze scans the room looking for any sliver of hope for escape. You were cornered against the wall though. You’d never make it past this thing, and the window was much too small for you to crawl through even if it stopped long enough to let you get it open. The window …
Stealing a split second glance at the rectangle of glass just next to your head, you confirm your suspicions. The streaks left behind in the wake of your hand were still there. The cool condensation had felt undeniably real under your skin which meant, at least to some extent, this dream was a tangible one. Or maybe it would’ve been more accurate to call it a hallucination? It didn’t matter. 
If this was real enough to touch then that must have meant the monster was too. It was a slim chance but maybe you could fight your way past it and get away …
“Are you so unimpressed with this form that you allow your mind to wander?” The creature remarks, but it doesn’t sound surprised or even offended at this fact. More than anything, it almost sounds amused and that is what ultimately steels your resolve. It’s mistake would be underestimating you. 
“I was merely thinking how best to convey my lack of interest in you, oh great demon lord.” You volley back rather primly. “You don’t exactly look like a man, but you are shaped like one … I wonder if a good kick between the legs might get the message across.” 
The fiery haired thing throws its head back and laughs. You almost lose your nerve, but you valiantly cling to that tiny spark of courage you still had left. Cautiously, you start to edge your way down the wall. 
“Splendid! I would expect nothing less from my future bride! I knew you wouldn’t disappoint me.” 
Stilling, you widen your eyes at it. “Your what?” 
You realize your mistake a moment too late. When you should have kept moving towards the desk for the most direct path to the door you’d instead allowed it to give you pause. Even though it lasts for but a single heartbeat that’s more than enough time for the monster to act. 
It’s on you in the blink of an eye. Grabbing under your arms, it hauls you straight up off your feet like you weighed nothing at all. The sudden rush of movement, the unexpected press of huge, clawed hands curling around your ribcage shocks a sharp gasp out of you. But before you have a chance to do anything else, it shoves you back into the wall with a bodily thud that makes the old rafters tremble. The impact doesn’t hurt, not really — not as much as it could have, given how strong the creature evidently is — and you just gape down at its horrid face in stunned disbelief. 
You'd barely even seen it move … 
“Oh, that look of surprise is quite charming on you.” It rasps, snickering low under its breath. “I knew I could rip that frigid mask away with enough time. I wonder how else you’re going to warm up for me …” 
“W - what are you —“ 
The words trail off into nothing when the lower half of its jaw hinges open, and a long, snake-like tongue slips out to waggle tauntingly in the thin space separating you from it. Bile rises in your throat as you bring your hands up to claw desperately at its forearms but it doesn’t even seem to notice. That dreadful appendage just keeps unfurling out of its mouth, dripping threads of saliva here or there that land on the floor with soft little plops that make your stomach roil. Trying very hard not to panic, you futilely turn your head away from it. 
“Do not fear what I offer you, little nun. I have every intention of making sure you enjoy this just as much as I do.” 
It licks you then, that slimy tongue swiping up the side of your face from chin to temple. The wet, quickly cooling stripe it leaves behind makes you choke in disgust. You think it’s reminiscent of a dog, almost, that was much too eager to show its affection to stop long enough and consider how the recipient might feel about it. In the same breath you have the niggling thought that this was not the first time you’ve been reminded of dogs today. Before you have a chance to connect the pieces, the monster speaks again. 
“You really will make the most lovely bride, you know. I’m eager to see you with my mark.”
“I rebuke it!” You snap, struggling anew against its hold. “I rebuke you, foul creature! My faith will protect me and - -“ 
“Hah! I’d like to see that, Sister.” 
You go stock still when it says your name, and your heart skips across your ribs like a rock skimming over the surface of a lake. It felt just as heavy too, in that moment. 
But the monster doesn’t give you a chance to recover and that heinous tongue flicks across your cheek to rudely slip inside your mouth. You shriek around the abrupt intrusion, eyes wide and unseeing, as the length of it just keeps coming. It squirms and wriggles its way towards the back of your throat almost too quickly for you to react. Running on instinct now, you viciously snap your teeth down but all the creature does is let out a shuddering groan of pleasure, as if it liked the pain. Your jaw loosens in surprise as much as confusion, and it takes quick advantage of that to shove its tongue straight down your gullet. 
You gag on it, heaving with a violent wrench as your throat is penetrated. Tears spring up in your eyes but you can’t even scream with it blocking your airway like this. Helpless to do anything else, you just hang there and try not to pass out while it reaches deeper and deeper into you, through your esophagus almost straight down to your guts. It pauses there, giving you a moment to fully process the sensation of your whole body writhing on its tongue, before gradually starting to withdraw back the way it had come. It’s a sick, claustrophobia inducing sensation that only seems to double down when you dry heave and choke around it but, at last, it slips free of your constricting throat, and you suck in a wretched mouthful of air. 
Ignoring the way you cough and spit up bubbling sheets of drool, the horned beast takes a moment to swirl its tongue around the interior of your mouth; feeling along the roof, over your tongue, tracing the outline of each individual tooth straight back to your molars. You shudder and heave, struggling to even comprehend exactly how violated you felt in the aftermath of that disgusting experience. You’d been right to call it a demon … 
“You taste good.” It says when it finally starts to retract its tongue a moment later, setting its sights on lapping up the drool that coats your chin instead. “Good enough to eat, in fact. I wonder how much you’ll squeal when I feast between your legs.” 
“Unhand me this instant,” You wheeze as more of your strength and will to fight slowly comes back to you with the oxygen you pull in. “You are vile and repulsive … I want nothing to do with it!” 
“Oh, now that sounds familiar.” 
Noising a tiny sound of confusion, you clutch its thick forearms in a death grip while it moves to set you down on your feet. You don’t trust it, not by a long shot, and your greatest fears are soon realized when its fingers curl into the fabric of your smock. The sound of straining thread reaches your ears long before it actually rips and you cry out when the first ragged strip is torn from you with a deafening tear. Piece by piece, it shreds your clothes to tatters no matter how wildly you try to twist away or cling to the quickly dwindling panels of black cotton. All too soon you find yourself naked save your stockings and the bloomers pulled over them, and your brassiere which it promptly shreds too. 
Evidently saving your bottoms for last, it reaches for your veil next. 
“No!” You shriek, hating the terror you can hear in your own voice as you make a useless, frantic attempt to shove the monster away. 
It actually pauses even though you didn’t so much as budge it one little bit though, and it tips its head to the side inquisitively almost like … almost like a dog. There was that association again but where was it coming from? You couldn’t quite seem to remember, either due to your suffocating fear making the memory slip away or because your sleeping subconscious couldn’t quite remember enough to supply it on demand. Either way, you were sure it held the answer to your current predicament and you just couldn’t seem to grasp it. 
Why did this thing seem so damn familiar to you? 
“You do not want me to see your hair.” It’s a statement, not a question, and it takes everything you have not to outright scoff. 
“Of course I don’t, you fiend! It is improper for a — a man, even one such as you, to look at the uncovered head of a nun who has sworn herself to the faith. You should be ashamed of yourself!” 
It seems to consider that for a moment, humming softly as if in thought. “It is my understanding that, should one of the Sister’s ever take on a husband, then he alone is permitted to look upon her uncovered hair. Fine. Then I will allow you to keep your modesty until we consummate our union.” 
You prickle defensively at the way it almost spits the word, as if with contempt and spite. “I will not be wed to you! I swore an oath to the church!”
“And now you will swear an oath to me.” 
Hissing, it reaches out to grab at your bloomers even when you desperately try to slap its hand away. It tears them off just like everything else with neither forethought or effort, and you seethe at your own helplessness as you make one last ditch effort to wrench yourself free. But it’s too strong, too big. Just one of its hands seems to dwarf your hip when it possessively curls around your waist to hold you still. Your chest heaves with quick, panicked breaths as you tip your face down to watch it bring a claw close to your cunt, expecting it to rip off your pantyhose the same way it had all the rest. But all it does is caress over you with a thick knuckle and your face grows even hotter with indignation at the nudge. You couldn’t stand the thought of this thing touching you like this and yet you couldn’t seem to look away from it either. 
“I don’t want this,” You whisper, barely even hearing your own voice over the blood that pounds in your ears. 
“You will.” It assures you. Unexpectedly gentle, tentative almost, it curls its thick forefinger further back to prod at your crease and you fitfully shudder at the implication.
Was it really going to take you to wife? You’d never heard of anything more ridiculous; a nun and a one eyed demon, horns and all. It was completely useless to try and keep your cool any longer, and you outright whimper when it carefully pokes its claw up to pierce the thin layer of nylon. Hyper aware of how much it would hurt to get nicked by that sharp talon in such a sensitive spot, you force your body to stay as still as you can manage while it rips your stockings open at the crotch. Cool air wafts against your exposed cunt, making you tremble, and it breathes out a sigh of great pleasure as it teases the patch of curls there with those monstrous fingertips. 
“Am I the first one to ever see you like this?” 
“O - of course you are, foolish beast … I take my vows seriously. This isn’t — it’s not right, do you hear me? I was saving myself …” 
Issuing a low, rasping laugh, it reaches up to palm your other hip with a muted squeeze, holding your waist in both hands now. “You were saving yourself for me. This whole time you were always fated to become my bride and you did so well maintaining the sanctity of your body but that’s all over now. You’re free to embrace your most depraved thoughts and urges. Free to languish in the licentious and erotic desires you’ve been suppressing for so long. I offer you no judgment for your human needs. Only pleasure.” 
Squirming against its hold when your pussy flutters in unmistakable interest, you bring your hands up to weakly clutch its huge wrists again. You couldn’t believe this was happening. How could your body betray you over a creature like this? “No. I won’t fall for it. I refuse!” 
“We shall see.” 
Its tongue slips out again, curling through the air like a pink, wet serpent. Down to your chest where it takes a moment to flick over your nipple until it's coated in a fine sheen of spit and achingly stiff. You didn’t want it touching you like that but you also didn’t want to touch it, so you stop yourself from smacking at it. Just keep reminding yourself that this is only a dream — a very realistic, disturbingly tangible one, but a dream nonetheless. Whatever happened here held no weight in the real world. 
And maybe … just maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to indulge in the carnal just once? 
The prodding tip of its tongue gives your teat one last wet nudge before tracing a path down your front. Past your ribs and its huge thumbs bracketing your waist, over your bellybutton and straight down to brush against your curls. You shudder at the sensation, at the very suggestion of what was to come, but you don’t fight it now. Rather, you hesitantly shift your weight from one foot to the other and then cant your hips forward with a shy little push. The monster hums a rumbling sound of approval before dipping its tongue between your thighs. 
Eyes widening at the feel of it on your cunt, you just stand there like a frozen statue while it traces along the seam of your body. You’d never experienced anything like it before, and you were horrified at how eagerly your loins curl in anticipation. You almost let your courage waver, almost second guess your impulsive decision to humor this at all, but until you woke up you were effectively trapped and fighting it clearly wasn’t going to do any good. 
Oh, why couldn’t you just wake up from this nightmare already? 
“Relax.” It breathes out, unconcerned by the glistening threads of drool that drip from its mouth. “I will not hurt you, little nun.” 
You wanted to believe that very badly. Almost as much as you wanted to believe that indulging like this wouldn’t have any impact on your waking conscience. 
That slimy tongue starts to push up then, pressing into your lips, and you suck in a harsh breath. It teases around your entrance for a brief moment before it starts to wriggle its way in deeper. The penetration is not unlike that of your throat — all fleshy and smooth, and damp with spit — but it still stretches you enough to toe the line of discomfort. Swaying in its hold, you let out a dizzy groan. 
“Oh … that’s - -“ 
“Only the tip.” The thing laughs. 
You try to calm your breathing as it moves around inside you to work your body open, but it’s a losing battle. The stretch of until now untested muscle makes you wince while the slimy sensation of its tongue eagerly moving along your inner sleeve just leaves you wanting to throw up. You don’t think it’s supposed to feel like this, surely. Even without any experience of your own to go off of you’d expected sexual encounters to be more intimate and less … invasive. Less like you were being probed far beyond what any human hands should have been able to reach. 
But if it sees any of the uncertainty flashing across your face it doesn’t show it. The demon only worms its tongue deeper and deeper as your passage reluctantly opens until the distant sensation of it bumping the end of you knocks a harried whimper loose. It’s an uncomfortable pressure but it doesn’t hurt. You’re exceedingly glad for that as you awkwardly shuffle your feet further apart to brace against the overload to your senses. It was like burning from the inside out, and the epicenter of it was concentrated squarely in your cunt. You felt certain you were going to combust any moment now. 
“Mmm, you taste even better than I imagined. And so tight, too. I can’t wait to feel you squeezing my cock the same way.”
Your stomach clenches at the thought of how big a creature of this size must be. Fresh fear turns your veins to ice, and you weakly push against its hands. It doesn’t even seem to notice though, let alone take heed, and instead it just leisurely swirls that unnaturally long tongue around your guts. Back and forth, up and down. You’re dizzy with it and a little nauseous, but it also starts to feel good. Slowly but surely that initial discomfort fades to leave behind a thrumming vibration that makes you wheeze where you’re standing. And with it comes slick. So much slick that what you’d once thought only to be saliva quickly makes itself obvious as your cunt practically floods around the intrusion. It was impossible to comprehend the sheer extent of your arousal and yet it clearly didn’t matter. You’d toed the line a bit too close. Now there was no stopping it. 
“P - please … it’s too much!”
Giving your waist a careful squeeze, the demon alters the motion of its tongue from swirling to thrusting. Sedate at first, it withdraws to drag against your interior walls when they squeeze and cling to the appendage and then it pushes back in. Right up to the end of your passage where it can’t go any further and the intense pressure makes you go cross eyed. You can’t even fully process how stuffed your cunt actually is, your legs turning weak and jelly-filled as it slowly increases the pace. The force. You’re beyond ashamed at the sticky wet clicks it pulls from between your thighs, but all you can do is helplessly writhe in its hold. 
“Oh — oooh, wait … I - I can’t do this! I can’t!”
“It’s too late for that, Sister. You’re already doing it.” 
You mewl at its response and throw your head back to wheeze up at the ceiling. It wasn’t wrong. You’d already crossed the line, yes, but this … this strange, unfamiliar feeling low in your gut was far beyond anything you would have ever expected from this. It was like you had to relieve yourself but also different somehow. A complete unknown you had no idea how to make sense of, and you let out a choked off squeal when the thrumming tension rapidly starts to double and then triple. No amount of thrashing was getting you out of its hold so you squeeze your thighs together in a vain attempt to dissuade it from moving inside you like that but it’s no use. Even trying to curl your legs up doesn’t work. 
It just keeps fucking it’s tongue into your shuddering body without pause, and you start to feel truly dizzy as you dangle there between it’s massive hands. How could this be happening to you? And, more pressing, what was happening to you? 
“You’re getting close, I suspect.” It sounds quite proud of that, but you’re a little too preoccupied with the jittery, firecracker nerves making you tremble and shake to question it. The pressure was getting almost unbearable now. You weren’t sure how much more you could take. 
“Ahh — ahhghnn, ooohh please Holy Mother, please help me!” 
“Aww, don’t start making me jealous. I’m the only god you should be praying to right now.” 
Screwing your eyes shut, you turn your face from its horrible unblinking eye but it just laughs in response. Even if you’d wanted to snap at it for being so presumptuous as to think you would worship it in any capacity, you were finding your lungs constricting far too much to draw a proper breath. Your chest heaves with the blinding tension that races through your body and then — so suddenly you don’t get a chance to realize it’s even happening, it abruptly tips over. Spills out to wrack the whole of your body and devolve you into a shuddering mess of spasms. 
You shriek and yelp as your pussy almost violently squeezes down on its tongue which just keeps moving insistently inside you. In and out, in and out like a continuous piston that even your tightly clenching guts couldn’t seem to keep at bay. That slippery appendage keeps spearing through you unimpeded, forcing your roiling muscles to keep contracting with each plunge, and you very nearly pass out from how intensely the sensation hits you. It was simultaneously like drowning deep in the bottomless ocean and soaring high overhead at the same time. You couldn’t even begin to make heads or tails of it. 
But it starts to fade much too fast. The sharp jolts of undeniable pleasure only last what seems to you like a few seconds and then those cresting waves are rapidly receding, like the tide pulling back from the shoreline. You still can’t quite draw a full breath and yet you soon go slack as the tension drains completely to leave you twitching in the aftermath. An odd sense of elation quickly rushes in to replace it though, and you’re ashamed at how you innately warm to the monster’s presence. You couldn’t believe how good that had felt … and bless the Cryo Archon, did that make you a terrible person? 
All of a sudden you weren’t so sure you cared about that anymore, and that terrified you perhaps more than anything else that had happened here in this room. 
“You look so good creaming all over my tongue.” It murmurs, drawing your muddled attention away from those fuzzy headed thoughts. “And the way you taste? Burn everything, I could help myself to this pretty cunt all day. I'm eagerly looking forward to consummating our marriage on the next new moon.” 
Stirring out of your post-climax stupor, you frown at it in genuine confusion. “You aren’t going to do it now?” You weren't disappointed. Surely not. Just surprised, and very confused. 
The demon sighs forlornly — rather dramatically, if you were being honest — and shakes its head. “I’m afraid not. I’d like to, of course, but the mating ritual has its own rules that I can’t supersede. Oh, don’t give me that grumpy look, Sister. I’m not leaving you empty handed tonight, rest assured.” 
You draw a quick breath to berate the damned thing but then it starts to pull its long tongue out of your body and you tense up, seething through your teeth instead. The sharp sensitivity still racing through your nerves made you feel raw and tender. Overwrought in the most literal sense, and it finally slips out with a wet little slurp that makes you whimper at the loss as much as at the sound. You hadn’t thought yourself capable of, well … any of that. Any of this. 
How were you possibly supposed to rationalize any of it in the light of day? 
You’re still trying to work that out when it carries you to the bed where it sets you down, pulls back the sheets and then tucks you in with a truly shocking amount of care. You definitely hadn’t expected that. Not that you’d expected much of anything that had happened over the course of this implausible dream, but you decide not to fight it as the monster takes a moment to brush your veil over the pillow the same as it may have done with your hair. It was all much too strange to think about right now. You could pick it apart and analyze it tomorrow, when you’d had some time to actually process these bizarre happenings. 
Or maybe never, if your subconscious was kind enough to let you forget any of this had ever happened in the first place. 
“Rest now.” It tells you softly in that low, raspy voice. “I will be back to claim what’s rightfully mine soon enough.” 
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
You remember everything, of course. 
And somehow that doesn’t surprise you in the least as you lay there in your bed, staring up at the ceiling while warm rays of morning sunlight bounce off the stark, unadorned walls. In retrospect you’re a bit disappointed to think that you could ever be so naive. To believe you’d forget something like that … it had certainly left an impression, at least. 
What does strike you as odd though is the warm, continuous cramp in your lower belly. You readily want to write it off as menses related but … that doesn’t seem right. It should have been too soon for that just yet in your menstrual cycle. 
Unable to stay your gnawing curiosity any longer, you finally rip the sheets off and look down at yourself. Your plain white nightgown is a bit rumpled but given the dream you’d had that didn’t seem so strange. That’s what you try to tell the niggling voice in the back of your mind anyway as you gather it up around your waist but what you find underneath stops you cold. 
Etched into the skin just over the center of your pelvis as though with ink was a four pronged, hexagonal sigil. It was faintly purple in the light, and as clear as day. But that didn’t make any sense. Or rather, you couldn’t make any sense of it at all. You’d been asleep the whole night, here in your room, and this most assuredly had not been there when you’d taken a bath the previous evening … 
You bolt upright with a strangled gasp. Turning your head to look at the window sends a debilitating chill racing through your body. Through the morning condensation beading on the glass you could see the evidence of a hand smudge, right where you’d touched it in your dream. 
“No.” You whisper at the glass pane and then, with more conviction, “No. That’s not possible!” 
It feels like your skin is trying to crawl right off your bones as you shoot out of bed and make a beeline for the tiny closet next to the desk. You rip the door open so forcefully it rattles and groans in protest but you can’t be bothered to worry about that right now. Not when you were staring at your habits, the one you’d worn yesterday, hanging in shreds from the hanger. You couldn’t believe it. Didn’t want to believe it, but the proof of it was staring you right in the face. Even your brassiere and bloomers were torn to pieces in the little basket you kept them in on the floor of the closet. The only thing untouched was your veil. Just like in your dream … except, it wasn’t actually a dream, was it? 
Too numb to even wail over this revelation, you slowly sink down to the floor and just stare at your ruined clothes for what feels like a lifetime. There had to be some way out of this mess. There had to be. 
Right? 
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* 
The archbishop gives you an exceedingly strange look when you inquire about exorcisms, and it only continues to grow more and more pronounced the more you push the matter while also skirting around the subject at the same time. Not that you could really blame him, of course. You’d had to wait until after the morning service to corner him next to the dais before he could slip out through the side door so you’d had plenty of time to stew over everything, which meant you were coming in perhaps a little hot on the topic. That didn’t matter though. You were determined to get this resolved regardless of the cost, and if that meant having to shake some sense into him before he’d take you seriously then that was exactly what you were going to do. 
Luckily it doesn’t come to that, and he eventually relents after you doggedly refused to give up your line of questioning. Giving his head a hopeless shake, he takes on the tone of someone leveling with a crazy person. “I understand your concerns, Sister, but exorcisms aren’t something that we implement unless absolutely necessary. It is very much a last resort, you see, and there is a rigorous process to even get approval for one. I’m afraid there’s not much else I can tell you.”
You remind yourself to take a deep breath and count to five before speaking next. It wouldn’t do to snap at the one person who might actually be able to help you get out of this mess. “With all due respect, Father, I don’t think that answer will suffice. Even if it’s not a full on exorcism, surely there must be smaller measures in place to help … discourage a demonic presence from returning?” Something a bit more effective than prayer and baptism evidently were. 
His eyes narrowing in clear suspicion, the archbishop speculatively regards you for a moment. “Is there something you aren’t telling me, Sister?” 
Of course it would finally get to this point. You’d expected as much, yes, but that doesn’t make the dread wrenching at your gut any less unbearable. How were you supposed to explain any of what had happened last night when you didn’t even understand it yourself? All you knew was that your clothes were in tatters up in your dorm, the window still showed evidence of your hand wiping across it and your lower stomach … 
“Ah, Sister! There you are! Just the lady I was hoping to see.” 
You spin around so fast your eyes feel like they’re going to pop right out of your skull. That feeling only increases when you find Ajax standing there at the end of the pew in his neatly pressed uniform and his smile blinding under the light that comes in through the stained glass murals. Your knees buckle and almost completely give out under you when your belly twists as if someone had shoved a red hot iron into it. Subconsciously you lift a hand to cradle the spot where the tattoo was but you couldn’t quite seem to tear your shocked gaze away from him. 
That was it, wasn’t it? The association. 
You think that has to be right. Had never been more sure of anything else in your life, and yet that doesn’t seem half as pressing as the thrumming arousal that grips you so suddenly and so tightly it actually pulls a quiet whimper out of you. Your cunt floods with it, so much slick producing at the drop of a coin that it makes you feel nauseous and disoriented in the same breath. But how could that be? And why was he just standing there inside the church as if it was the most normal thing in the world for him to be doing? 
This was hallowed ground … wasn’t it? 
“W - what are you doing here?” 
Grinning, Ajax tips his head to one side. Inquisitive. Eager. Puppy-like. Bless the Holy Mother, you really were going to be sick. 
“Aww, come on. Didn’t I tell you already?” He laughs softly, but those blue, blue eyes reflect none of that same humor. They reflect nothing at all, in fact. “I'd hoped we’d get to meet again after our little run in yesterday, so I just figured I’d take matters into my own hands and speed it up. I brought you flowers.” 
You just catch the sound of the archbishop scoffing beside you in obvious disapproval and you would have wholeheartedly agreed with him under better circumstances. But better circumstances would not have found you panting with the effort of keeping your wits about you. It was like you were suffocating under the weighty pressure of the mark branded into your skin, and it almost seems to throb as you numbly look down at the humble bouquet he holds out. You could tell it was handpicked at just a glance. Some frost growing ferns and puffy cats tails, and … purple ivy. 
Affection. 
Fidelity. 
Wedded love. 
He couldn’t be serious, could he? 
The sly edge that creeps into his otherwise boyish smile seems to suggest that he was, in fact, quite serious. You stumble back a step in your reeling disbelief and the archbishop hurries to grab you by the elbow so he can steady you, but you hardly even notice the presence of his hands. Your eyes, your mind, your entire being was for Ajax and Ajax alone. 
“I did not ask for flowers.”
“That’s true but I still wanted you to have them. You caught my eye yesterday, Sister. I hope you won’t turn me down.” 
Confusion and uncertainty grip you in equal measure, but it is the low pulse of the mark on your stomach that truly robs you of the ability to speak. It’s hot and uncomfortable, and the way it makes your pussy sympathetically flutter in time with your heartbeat very nearly overrides all of your higher functioning thoughts. Was he really the monster that had accosted you in your sleep or … could it have been a separate entity? One he wasn’t even aware of, if he thought you could really reject him when just the sight of him standing there made you desperate to be filled again. To be feasted upon by that beast. 
Slowly, you reach your hand out to accept the bouquet and the invisible string tightens its noose around you almost imperceptibly. Your fate was already sealed. You knew this to be true on an intrinsic, fundamental level. 
Foul Legacy had been right to say you’d been saving yourself for it. 
For him. 
For this. 
You would give him your sanctuary, may the Holy Mother save your soul.
Crossposted: here
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