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howyouloveyourdragon · 9 months ago

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𝕬𝖑𝖑'𝖘 𝕱𝖆𝖎𝖗 𝕴𝖓 𝕷𝖔𝖛𝖊 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝕰𝖓𝖈𝖍𝖆𝖓𝖙𝖒𝖊𝖓𝖙𝖘 (part i)

🇨🇭🇦🇵🇹🇪🇷 🇴🇳🇪⦂ 🇹🇭🇪 🇼🇦🇹🇪🇷🇸 🇴🇫 🇹🇭🇪 🇼🇪🇸🇹

summary: After Jacaerys is sent crashing into the icy ocean that he had thought to have escaped once before and slowly feels himself drift away from this realm...he awakens to a charming woman ensuring his health. A witch. Inviting her home is easy but it begins to sour when he discovers this witch is not unknown to his mother and neither is her heart. pairing: slowburn jacaerys velaryon x witch!reader x (later) rhaenyra targaryen pronouns: she/her part: 1/8 dividers by: hitobaby wordcount: 4,108

A powerful wave passes over his head and forces a rough gasp to rip from Prince Jacaerys Velaryon’s throat. At two and twenty, he had not imagined that he would be escaping death a second time beneath the sea’s ferocious call…but the ache of his arms are growing and his eyelids are slackening. Even his heart shivers as the cold water washes over him. Jacaerys can feel his useless hands claw at the relentless waves to no avail but still, hope latches on as tight as a stiff padlock. As tight as a man still believing of the Gods and all to which they had promised him. Whispers hiss through his ears from the wind, false promises of safety and comfort if he would just…let…go. And yet he does not. Not at first. Not at second…and then…He cannot ignore the tempting exhaustion any longer…He cannot…He cannot…He takes one last breath and then his fluttering lashes tire as his heart begins to feel more like a brush than a beat. All’s fair in love and war, they had said, whispering it into the shell of his ear until gooseflesh had stained his shivers. The exhaustion of war was long-lasting, turning thick skin fragile and in this cursed, wretched case–a prince into a man as weak as a drained newt.

Salt rubs roughly against his scalp as his body wraps around a broken plank of dark wood. Somehow, he cannot find the strength to stay afloat however as his body begins to slowly sink away from it. The weight of his soaked fabrics clings tightly to him, suffocating. Jacaerys feels his eyes flicker but no longer with desperation to escape but instead desperation to release himself from the thoughts of his mother, of his brothers…of gentle Lucerys awaiting him in the realm he cannot yet reach. To finally escape the nobles that haunt him about the keep. The question bellows in his mind; why are you still fighting? The war has passed and yet still death entangles its cold fingers around you. Your betrothed has already wedded another, your trueborn brothers support your mother’s legacy, your mother has been named Queen–why are you still fighting thine own destiny? Thine own fate? Truly if he were fated to die, Jacaerys would consider such thoughts but surely the Gods would not punish him for mere errors of his heritage and if not for that then why else? To what does he owe his life? It is torturous that he still cannot grasp onto the wood as he slowly slips. It is infuriating how the clutches of Gods do not reach for him. Perhaps being devout is not quite enough to save him this time…Perhaps it never was. His lids turn limp, furiously pushing upward despite the pressure like a dismantled current. As the sea turns, the prince imagines his mother’s face at the news. Who would tell her? If anyone. He had not told anybody that he had planned to visit the Westerlands, he had not told anybody to expect him home at all and after so many trips north unnoticed…

He contemplates in the haze of disconnected presence whether it be best that she be informed or not. To which rumour would Mushroom continue to concoct should he pass? A faint smile twitches at his mouth. Perhaps he would continue to spout tales of the fictitious Stark girl, that he had run away with her in the throes of passion and heart-ache. He should like that tale, he thinks to himself. Jacaerys imagines it, of bards not singing of victory and accomplishment but love instead as he rots below the water. Never to be seen by the court’s scrutinising stare again. Perhaps Mushroom would envision him in a little cottage surrounded by greenery and lush forest. Making his way with pots, pans and crops of his own. It had been a long time since Vermax passed and yet Jacaerys feels his mind drift to him. To the sight of him resting curled beside that little cottage. Of this supposed ‘Sara’ outstretching her soft hand toward him and feeling the nuzzle of his rough snout. Would she want himself? Would she caress him and entangle her fingers in his hair and brush each strand away as if they were precious. As if he might be? He fools himself of the faraway dream as wind sweeps it now. He can feel it, he swears he does…If Jacaerys Velaryon should die a fool, it would still content him, he decides. His lids droop themselves gently. Content…such a simple word and yet one he had been chasing for what felt like centuries. And so he thanks the Gods for this gift as he lets go. For Mushroom’s frivolous stories, for his mother’s crown, for his brother’s timid bravery. For home. Even if it is not his own. He thanks them. And he lets go.

Which is why a jolt drops through him when he awakens with an unexpected, wet cloth on his head and a scratchy blanket cocooning him. He blinks once, twice and then thrice as a soft golden light floats like a mist beside him. A gasp jumps past his lips, his eyes just as wide as those belonging to a fearful stag. The shock freezes him. There is no candle in sight. He shifts for only but a moment before he jumps again at the sound of a creak beneath him. The bed, of course, he sighs. He must recall that these are not the luxurious quarters he is used to. Jacaerys looks around him as his breath quickens, it is certain by the wooden planks that this is not his home and nor does he expect to find a loved one nursing but then…who has been? The door squeaks its presence like a vengeful kitten before a gentle face pokes through the gap. Jacaerys feels his sights rest on…a woman. A young woman. A young woman who is…He blinks. Beautiful. The prince stiffens his posture immediately and clears his throat. And then just as quick as the door opened, she was suddenly at his side and her oddly gentle hands were now taking away a wetted cloth from his forehead. He flushes pink as he realises. She caresses his face gently. “Oh you poor thing,” She says, her words soft and cooing. Her lullaby lips soften him with the speed of clicking her fingers as they press to his temples. Jacaerys can feel his lashes flutter as the soothing strokes of her fingers gentle his mind, circling the skin below his eye. And then the sweetest words fall from her lips, foreign and yet ever so welcome to his wanton ears. A sweet song from lands of old, lands he had never been and yet they flow through him as easily as his blood through his own veins. As if they are part of him.

The woman looks commonborn by her dress and the flicker of dirt across her face but still, the prince is not certain. She handles him with the softness of a bird and the care of a devotee. He turns pink at the thought alone. At the image that flashes across his mind…The image of touching those pretty cheeks of hers and cupping them gently–of being close enough to do so...but that might be his delirium guiding those thoughts. He cannot find it in himself to care however when her lashes flutter over her eyes which shine like the reflection of an opal. When she leans forward and kisses either temple before pulling back again. The heat that radiates her flesh presses into him with homely warmth and the lingering scent of amber. It cloaks his nose and Jacaerys finds himself chastising his sights closed to intake every wave that graces him. When his eyes open again, he is greeted with an even more longing sight. There before him, this beautiful woman with her soft eyes and gentle appearance looks to him with concern and care. “How are you feeling, milord?” The title catches him off-guard but he does not let it cloud him. “Hm?” Too much… He blinks again to shake off his nerves. A smile twitches at her lips to his mild confusion, it can’t help but make him prideful. “How are you, milord?” She repeated, a twinkle in her eye. “Are you feeling any better?”

“It is not their fault that they have created such beauty before me that I am struck by her.” His words flutter through the air like a butterfly’s wings and she is taken aback. She pauses and he watches, mesmerised by her. For a moment, he wonders whether she will answer, whether his words have scared her and he is instantly grateful that she cannot hear his beating thoughts. The rush that braces against his head. He swallows them down. An invisible thread of string pulls from his centre toward her and he cannot help the way he listens to it. His gentle hand rises to cup the side of his face. “That I find myself shivering at your touch–not the cold.” A shudder runs down the woman’s spine and she melts before him. She whispers to him in one mere word. “Oh.” And like that, Jacaerys feels his most sacred organ squeeze. He feels that invisible thread multiply and wrap around his heart and clench it. “If you are to pray to the Gods for my well-being…” Het rails, seduction thick on his tongue. “Then pray for the desire of my heart to quench itself.” Her hair rustles through his fingers in curls. Odd little waves that call for his attention. He follows them as though they crave it themselves. But the woman’s breath hitches and she stands abruptly, pretending as though she is not silently pleading for breath as it heavies. She clears her throat as she walks backward toward the door. His sights remain only on her. His hand stays still, holding nothing more than cold nothing. The barest of a linger. “Then, please, make yourself at home and rest, I shall return later with…with food.” She is gone without a trace.

Without her, he had rested, but surely once she returned, the heat of embarrassment conquered his face and his body begged not to cringe away from her. Never had the case of flirtation struck his mind and yet once he is incapacitated, he does so. With false conviction. A sigh ripples past his lips and he stares down to the wooden floor while the woman hurries herself around the room with baskets of berries, fruits, herbs. Jacaerys cleared his throat and squeezed shut his eyes. “I apologise for my behaviour last eve.” He blurts before he can stop himself. Before the shame can grow any more great. He hears a distant hum, curious enough to call forth his sights. The woman looks entirely unbothered as she unloads the baskets. Her head tilts toward him, eyes catching his unsure stare. “I had not…I had not intended to cause discomfort or concern you.” He presses further, desperate to amend himself. But then her lips twitch upward and a chuckle escapes her. “You need not. It was quite amusing.” Her sweet voice echoes. He would be lying in untruth if he attempted to suede one into thinking his shoulders did not drop in relief. “I do not?” He breathes. Her smile grows and she shakes her head. Slowly his embarrassment softens. His own lips begin to quirk. “You do not even know my name–” “And you do not even know mine.” She returns, the quip light on her tongue.

Slowly, her steps track closer to him rather than into the short kitchen. The bags are dropped onto the floor with an odd gentleness. “Then what should I call you?” He queries, leaning up on his hands. At this, she hesitates, but still she sits at his side and smiles at him. Her smile is warm, he notes. It is kind. It is welcoming him to her mere presence. “Perhaps I will tell you once you are well.” An inch apart, Jacaerys chuckles. His head dips down as a low rumbling sound was pulled from him as easily as a branch from a tree. Tough at first but surely. “Why must I wait?” He inquires, biting down on his lip. As the mysterious woman looks down at him, Jacaerys’ eyes glimmer. He looks…He looks sweet…Gentle…It had been a long while since she had seen such a face, she was sure. Not that she could possibly remember such a thing…Her face felt as though its lowering was entirely of the fates. As though the Gods themselves were pushing her forth. Were curling their fingers in her hair and pressing her closer. She clears her throat and longs to remember. She snaps her head backward and lets Jacaerys’ hope fall flat. Unhomed. A now-familiar pink flush washes up his neck. She smiles back at him sympathetically. “I am afraid that some things are better kept to oneself until they are certain.” And Jacaerys sighs. He supposed that that was right but it did not ease him.

The woman then lifts herself from the bed and starts back toward the basket-cradled foods. Again, Jacaerys sighs but now tosses back his head in frustration. The last day that he had spent, before yesterday, without forcing a purpose had been far too long ago to comfort him. He tried to recall it now…Perhaps the day after teaching his brother Joffrey of The Seven. It had been dark and dreary that morn–so much so that he had taken ill. A smile pulls his lips at the memory of Lucerys tugging at his arm and pleading to finish a story from the night before. The boy had fallen asleep too early. His smile faded just as quickly. A grunt ripped from his mouth and his teeth clenched shut. Lucerys…Lucerys…Lucerys… Jacaerys’ breath hitches and his head whipped to the other side of his pillow. A wince overran his face as he fought away his brother’s face. His brother’s voice. His brother’s mere name. He tries desperately to push it out, out, out. Just as he is about to rip away his hair (fingers tight in his curls despite no memory of reaching there)–The soft murmurings that he could remember as a voice are lulling him back.

The voice is muffled but it was as clear to him as a siren and just as tempting. It sounds like a song…As if a sweet-voiced bard were calling for him. Still, his breath shrieks for release, still it sunk through his lungs and weighed hard but his body had calmed from its tension. Reluctantly, it pries open his eyes too. He peeks cautiously until only the mysterious woman’s face greets him. She says nothing as he softens. As he returns to the flesh of his body rather than the panic of his mind. She only smiles. She only welcomes him. A hand holds one of his own. “Would you like something to eat?” The woman asks, holding out a plate filled with bread. Jacaerys’ eyes flicker over the slices and try not to irritate his stomach at the sight of vibrant red, blue and purple spreads coating them. He licks his lips at the puffed oranges. He swallows in his dry mouth and nods. “Yes.” Jacaerys chokes out. She settles beside him once more and reaches for one of the thick-pasted breads. If she did indeed question why such a happening occurred, she did not bring it to his attention.

Silence erupted between them with ease. It was almost startling how quickly he grew to miss the warmth of her touch in only a few spared moments. The curl of her finger in his hair, the gentle circle of his neck. He swallowed down the affectionately crafted food but let the sweet taste linger on his tongue. Beside the treacle flavoured bread, she had arranged a thick broth to join their taste buds. It was warm and satisfying as it slid down to his stomach. He found it odd how well common food could please him after so long in a life of luxury. It was nothing like the food in the South nor the North but it was not quite akin to the foods in which he would devour against the cold brush of war. The meals he spent only among his harrowed comrades. He winced but not at her food. At what he had missed, what he had lost, as he stared down at the honey coloured broth. It glimmered in the light of the sun. “Was he your friend?” The woman asked suddenly. Jacaerys’ eyes snapped up to her. “What?” Ripped out of his mouth. Her face was soft and gentle, almost beckoning the words out of his mouth. “...Luke. You say his name in your sleep.” Again, Jacaerys swallowed but this time not for the crave of her food. Her hand reaches for his but Jacaerys feels himself flinch. The woman stills. “You need not tell me,” She continued, quietly. Her lashes fluttered with a slowness that if he focussed on it, it would soothe his inability to breathe. “But I have heard that speech is a human’s most comforting solace.” This time when she reaches for him, his fingers nudge between hers. They interweave like thread.

Jacaerys gives himself a breath. A crisp, cold breath and then…”My brother, actually.” He whispered just short of air. An exhale. His chest is tight, it squeezes and whimpers and wrenches. “He was my brother.” She only nods, unwrapping him of his nerves with a mere circle of her fingers along his hand. The encouragement threatens the water in his eyes but one more time he swallows it down. “I killed him.” Pressure heavies the air. It pushes down on them with the weight of a boar. Yet, she retreats not. Not even when the dam breaks and his tight throat releases a choked gasp. Tears push themselves from his eyes and the crushing wave of his own guilt grasps his tender brain with a roughness he hadn’t known possible. “I was the one who told her we should be messengers! That it was our duty to protect her! I should have been protecting him.” Shock rocks through him when a soft hand pulls his face to her chest. As she clambers onto the bed and she clutches him close. The warmth of her draws his every instinct. It cries for him, begs for a skim of his flesh. “I should have been protecting him and instead I killed him.” The lump in his throat thickens and his tears refuse to stop. No matter how hard he begs them. His hair tousles in the woman’s soothing hands as he sobs. Jacaerys almost hopes that once her breath draws to his ear, she will sing her song again and the internal harrow will soothe just as the external had before but she did not. Instead, she presses a calming kiss to his temple. She lets him wail with her arms cocooning him.

An hour wastes away in the sour afternoon but she does not leave him. She lets him lay and calm and finally when the tears stop, she strokes back his hair. Droplets of sweat pearl at his forehead like a circlet. A crown of purity and anguish. “I think you are beautiful and kind and you should understand how proud your brother would be of you for looking after your mother in his absence.” The woman whispers then presses another kiss to his face. “I will not be a moment.” She assures but a quiet whine breaks past Jacaerys’ lips and his hand paws at her like a frightened man of youth rather than a war-torn soldier. She supposes he is both as she slips away and descends back to the kitchen. The bowls and plates are scooped into her hands and sent to the thick bucket of now cold water. She glances behind herself to catch sight of Jacaerys. To her surprise, he is staring back at her softly; his face sits blank when their eyes lock but there is something gentle in his eyes. Something waiting for her call. “Can I help?” He asks quietly, akin to that of a wounded dog. Hesitation tenses her but surely, she nods. “Of course.” She answers. Her fingers dip into the cold water and flows them back and forth an invisible creek of her mind. The ridges of water rock over her hand before it finally warms. In time for Jacaerys to kneel at her the bucket’s side and take a plate from her. Their flesh brushes against one another and they still. They pause. They feel their breath hitch as one…before he rolls the plate into the water.

The woman’s eyes track down to the smooth, white bowl in her hands and she grasps a wet cloth. Cleaning had not been something she enjoyed but now with the curious man beside her, there was an odd domesticity she enjoyed. “My name is Y/n.” She finally tells him in a wisp and it is as if the air has cooled. As if clarity has finally bitten through a frost and gentled their minds. Jacaerys, himself, halts. His eyes track to her and follow the curves of her face. “My name is Jacaerys.” He returns, holding his breath. There was only one who could wield such a name without insulting all that house the heritage of Old Valyria. One who could bear such a sacred name. But if she understands his secret, she speaks not of it. She smiles. Soft and sweetening the salt of his nerves. She nods. “It is honourable to make your acquaintance.”

As Jacaerys nods and stirs lukewarm water atop porcelain (to which he does not have the curiosity to question from whence it originally came) to rid of it the jams and honeys this generously sweet woman had crafted for them to share, he lets her name sing in his mind. To rivet through the caverns and corners of his thoughts. All is still and all is gentle. All is kind. And all is their own. Two flesh familiar and yet such strangers. He decides then that he will not allow her to go unnoticed by his heart. That he will better his judgement until he can be worthy of her friend perhaps. Oh what a bittersweet title he desired as his own.

Perhaps Jacaerys would not allow them to remain strangers for long at all. In fact he is certain of it as the distant sound of waves crashing echo in his ears and hope floats in the air.

A/N: first of all, wtf my beloved @jacevelaryonswife??? this is a beautiful gif i adore it ♥♥♥ second of all thank you to all the lovely people that took the time to have a read through this and coached me through my concerning moodboard procrastination process ilysmm, @worms-on-a-single-string @pendragora @hopelesswritergall @officerbrowneyes thank you all for feeding my delusions. also, while reader's abilities are only hinted at for now, i swear they will become more relevant

General Taglist - @hopelesswritergall - @succnfuccubus - @madame-fear

HOTD Taglist; - @wrendermedone - @its-actually-minicika - @gettheetoanunneryimmediatly - @adelusionalwriter - @cookielovesbook-akie - @maximofftwinsbitch - @ughhthisbitch - @daenerysapologist - @savagemickey03

Jacaerys Taglist - @fairysluna - @jacevelaryonswife - @maximofftwinsbitch

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theredofoctober · 9 months ago

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MANNA- CHAPTER TWELVE: FRUIT

Dark!Hannibal Lecter x Reader x Dark!Will Graham AU fic

TW for eating disorders, noncon, abuse, drugging, Daddy kink, implied child abuse

This is chronologically the twelve chapter

READ AFTER THE CUT...

You ascend to your room alone, glancing back over your shoulder in the paranoia that one or the other man pursues you like night after the sun.

Neither have taken you by way of carnality since Will rutted you against the wall. It seems an unnatural strike of fortune, and one unlikely to last.

There is too much lust between these beings, hunger of such echoing depths that the sensual urge is but one chained within. Their eyes all evening have picked you to the bone like carrion set at by desert birds. Your cunt parts, empty, about the memory of Will’s fingertips; there is a sense of art unfinished, a crescendo in the crashing of keys only the hands of men can bring into violent birth.

In dread of missing the sound of their approach across the landing you lie quiet in your bed, no music nor comforting hum of the television as your night-time companions. Yet footsteps only halve the house when your captors go to bed, each in their own room, an anti-climax.

You think of Hannibal, tossed amidst the curse of unsung ardour, then of Will, crushed under the density of an unsated sleep. Such lonely men, in their way, divided by what lies unchartered between them, and with you.

Though by now settled, the skin which Will has touched—struck—still seems to burn with him. Five fingers, the rounded oblong of a palm, a hand that feeds dogs, has fired a gun, has rocked you, fucked you. A hand that Hannibal Lecter reaches for across dead miles of darkness to know as you have, and to love what you have loathed.

Unsettled, you roll on your stomach, but the pulse you hear when overwrought seems to peal through your very bones in its jeering song.

Filth, sin, soil: you taste your shame in its salt, as you have each night since long ago. Yet before your taking for the purpose of this ritual science there had never been pleasure in it, only the experience of staring always at the edges of things. The corners of ceilings, the light at the top of a door, a wall torn to grain by the night, liminality your legacy of innocence.

With Will, with Hannibal, you cannot look away, are made to witness and to partake in every aggression and gentleness with the same focus of attention. For that is what they want, your immersion in the devil’s playhouse. For you to be a doll, a daughter, embraced after the most inclement incident into a state almost soothed.

You cry yourself to sleep, wanting such a practice of love from someone who’s never once hurt you.

Hunger wakes you in the night, a restless drumroll that compels you upright in its rallying beat. As you stretch, thinking morosely of the marvel it is to have gorged and still not be full, you hear someone stumble in the nearby hallway, thudding against the adjoining wall.

A fight? Some drunken struggle? An intimacy overheard? No—

There is but a sole pair of scuffing footfalls on the floorboards beyond, too unbalanced to be Dr Lecter’s.

In consternation you go to your door and try the handle. It gives way easily under your hand, allowing you to peer out into the black mystery beyond.

Will lists against the right-hand wall, his eyes glazed and rolling under twitching lids. As you stare, abashed, his limbs fall under him, and he sprawls thrashing in unconscious spasms of animation.

There is blood on his face where he’s bitten his tongue, ebony in the negation of light. An oil spill on a seabird, drowning. A splash of mud on a bog's sunken dead.

You should let him suffer, step over his convulsing form and dart for nearest open window or outer door, but horror shakes you senseless of the thought before it takes full form.

Will’s fit continues, throwing the young man’s slim frame about like a machine caught in the throes of grim malfunction.

God help you: you pity him. He is human, and you are, as well.

“Will?” you say, stepping gingerly towards him. “Daddy? Can you hear me?”

It occurs to you that Will’s death is also yours, your lifelines enmeshed, a symbiosis in which only he would survive your parting. You kneel with your palms hovering over him, recalling very little that you know of First Aid, and entirely terrified of making him worse.

Hannibal’s voice comes from your left, uttering your name with a softness that somehow bears all the authority of a bellowed command.

He steps up quickly behind you, his hair disrupted from its usual tidy arrangement.

“Will’s having a seizure,” you say, in despair. “I don’t know what to do.”

“I’ll help him,” says Hannibal. “Go back to your room.”

You stare at him, dumbfounded by his apparent calm.

“But—”

Again Dr Lecter says your name, without raising his voice, or with any particular emotion. Yet you scuttle back the way you came, jarred by the suggestion of temper in that subtle repetition.

You hear Hannibal calling to Will, the sound of him lifting the other man and carrying his dead weight back to the spare room. The door closing, the subtle murmur behind it of Will rousing, his friend's soft, reassuring reply.

Silence, as of an exhibition ended.

Half an hour edges by, and not once do you stop shaking despite the heat of the autumn night.

Presently a knock comes at your door, and the doctor enters, his eyes lowered in remorse.

“I apologise if I spoke harshly to you. I know that you weren’t being deliberately disobedient. It wasn’t my intention to imbue your evening with additional distress.”

“It’s not your fault,” you say, quite disarmed by the apology. “It’s nobody’s fault. I mean, I shouldn’t have left my room, but I couldn’t just not go out there and see what was going on.”

Hannibal’s expression is opaque, a mask of ivory.

“I detect a concern for Will that isn’t entirely manufactured for my benefit,” he says. “Could it be that such a little cynic loves something other than her hunger?”

“What choice do I have but to care about Will?” you ask, shrilly. “What’s wrong with him?”

Adrenaline runs so high within you that you see the room on a tilt like some demented circus mirror reflection.

“What’s wrong with him?” you ask, again.

This time Dr Lecter answers, his tone low and even so as not to incite further upset.

“I suspect that Will is suffering from a combination of stress and fatigue, although I can’t deny the possibility of a neurological disorder.”

“Jack said he was sick,” you mumble. “And the other night, when I— you know. He looked awful.”

Will's face is punched into your retina like a flash of light, all blinding awfulness.

“And he’s been getting so angry with me,” you say, in a panicked rush. “Even though sometimes he’s almost nice. Is that why? Because he’s not well?”

“Will’s health has certainly contributed to his recent outbursts,” says Hannibal, smoothing your rumpled coverlet with fastidious hands. “The absence of control he feels amidst his fever leads to acts of impulse, particularly when in an environment he’s uncertain of, or feels threatened in.”

“I’m not threatening him,” you insist, hotly. “How could I?”

“I don’t mean in the literal sense. Will has very few close confidants, and those he possesses he guards dearly— that, or it is he himself that Will defends against his competition.”

You look up sharply, and Hannibal smiles, all benign conspiracy.

“Yes, little one. Having considered your thoughts on Will's dislike of you, I suspect that he also fears you may supersede him, or else share intimacies with me that he alone would otherwise possess. Yet Will’s envy is more complex than mere romantic ire, for unlike other rivals he has contended with, Will finds himself in the position of dizzying power over you.”

Dr Lecter pauses, his head at a rueful incline.

“For my part, I admit that it was rash to elect Will as the disciplinarian between us without taking all factors into account. It seems that I underestimated how antagonistic your relationship would become as his immersion in your treatment progressed.”

This you do believe, at least in that the doctor’s dissuasion of Will’s most outrageous verbal lashings is clearly genuine. Your bickering, in its familial likeness, he enjoys: an outright skirmish, repellent it its indecency, he does not.

“As you’ve indicated,” says Dr Lecter, going about your room to address its customary disorder, “Will’s becoming aware that his resentment is not entirely warranted as he finds himself increasingly sympathetic to your case. Such feelings are at odds with his desire to be alone in my company— an intricate conflict for any mind, let alone one so fiercely ablaze.”

“Ablaze?” you repeat. “What do you mean?”

“If my suspicions are correct, then Will’s condition may have been agitated by the ingredients in various dishes served in my home these past few weeks. The symptoms are closely matched to Will’s behaviour— disorientation, loss of consciousness, personality changes, mood swings. It’s unfortunate that I didn’t notice this much sooner.”

There is something performative in Hannibal’s guilt, his unshed tears like the glass eyes of a taxidermy animal. He’s known of Will’s ailment far longer than he suggests, and as he turns his back to close your chest of drawers you feel relieved, no longer forced to entertain this show of lies.

“You mustn’t mention any of this to Will until he’s received a formal diagnosis,” says Dr Lecter. “It may be that he’s simply mentally unwell, which would be a far more complicated outcome to navigate. But what you’ve seen of him lately is merely a conjunction of symptoms and heightened territorial emotions. Will’s true self you’ve yet to meet.”

The assurance is of little comfort to you, being that the nearest you’ve come to perceiving Will at his most natural and honest is in his private conversations with Dr Lecter. Through these you’ve glimpsed a complex creature, one that approaches evil with a newborn’s chary exploration.

You want to believe, for your own sake, that the sensitivity you’ve received from him sporadically evidences the continued persistence of his soul. Yet you cannot decide if he began a good man, changed through Dr Lecter’s influence, or if he’s always been a hunter, each kindness a flash of marsh fire luring you to drown.

The image of Will—twitching, defenceless—ultimately overrides this dilemma of thought.

“So what do we do now?” you ask. “We have to help him.”

Pleased by your concern, Hannibal leans across the bed to kiss the downturned corner of your mouth.

“I’ll reschedule tomorrow’s appointments so that I can tend to him. Will needs rest, first and foremost. As for his role here, it would be safest for him to delegate the majority of his more strenuous duties until he's recovered. I’ll continue them, in his stead.”

Choosing not to linger on the implications of this, you ask, “What about me? What can I do?”

“Healing Will is not your responsibility, little one.”

“But I’m making things worse,” you say, fretfully. “I know it. How can I make him like me?”

Not without humour, Hannibal says, “You can begin by tempering that sharp tongue a bit. Like Will, you rarely attempt to sweeten your words. I’ll never encourage you not to bite, but it is important that you roll on your back when we bid it. You must be our good girl, above all else, or if not good then charming, at the very least.”

You roll onto your side, crushing your face into a valley of pillows.

“I guess I really haven’t been playing along enough,” you mutter.

Hannibal chuckles.

“Not nearly enough, for all your promises. But it’s early days yet, sweet girl. We’ll see how you are once we're used to one another.”

Morning comes rudely, stalling the excitement like an opera’s intermission.

You take breakfast with Hannibal, only distracted from the usual struggle of eating by the presence of Will’s vacant seat. Having thought of him without respite for hours you’re in state of nervous delirium, your flinching knee a seismic force under the table.

“I want to see Will,” you blurt out, at last. “I want to see if he’s alright.”

“I’ll be taking a tray up to him in a few minutes,” says Dr Lecter, scarcely bothering to hide his delight in this new interest. “Don’t ask him too many questions. No doubt he’s feeling somewhat delicate this morning.”

You watch as Hannibal prepares a separate meal for the other man, cutting fruit and stewing tea leaves with loving ceremony. When he puts a strawberry to your lips you take it, your tongue rasping the juice gamely from his fingertips.

The shock of the previous night has amputated your mulish declination to humour him; even the disgust that meets your every concession is hushed, made redundant by a renewed vow to leave this house on soft feet rather than screams.

Other women have befriended their keepers and lived, as will you, if you can bear to pander to Dr Lecter as long as they.

Accompanying Hannibal to Will’s room you find that you’re oddly excited, even gleeful in anticipation of the visit. You’re taken with the notion that his seizure will incur some unknowable change, though whether in Will himself or the dynamics of the households you cannot predict.

Never have you seen him so utterly fragile, the dilapidation of a man. You think of a child, foisted on a detached father by a mother Will had never seen fit to name.

Will he be ashamed that you’ve seen that self so clearly? Will he be angry, indifferent, or else fear the power his weakness allows you as though your thumbs press deep in the fluttering dell of his very throat?

There is another possibility, however, the one your morning-fresh hopes hang onto by their nails: that he’ll remember how you’d crouched at his side and called to him as he shook in the darkness.

“Wait here for a moment,” says Hannibal, as you crowd up behind him at Will’s bedroom door. “I’d like to speak to him alone first.”

You hang back as Dr Lecter goes in, pressing your ear to the door the moment it shuts at his back.

“You’re awake,” says Hannibal, simply. “How are you this morning?”

There is a pause as he sets down the beautifully arranged tray somewhere in the room.

“I feel like I could sleep for another forty-eight hours,” says Will, his voice thick and slightly nasal, a sickbed tenor. “I should probably get up and head home. I need to check on the dogs.”

“I called Alana and asked her to look in on them,” Dr Lecter replies. “It’s inadvisable to drive in this condition. Try to eat. You’ll revive much quicker if you line your stomach with something.”

“Yeah, well. I can’t make any guarantees of keeping it down.”

You hear the metallic scraping of a fork about Will’s plate and writhe in envy. Even unwell he eats without thought of the fat that disallows your enjoyment of any meal. You live vicariously through him, in that moment, imagining the liquor of fruit across his tongue, the forbidden pearls of white sugar.

What you’d give not to be a slave to thinness, the goal whose end will never form.

Hannibal says, "Present issues aside, I can't help observing that you've been conflicted, as of late, Will. One might even say confused."

"Have been since the start of all this,” says Will. “The clouds still haven’t cleared. A bilious forecast.”

"Yet you've no wish to abandon this project for brighter climes."

Will gives a little snort of derision.

"I'm too enmeshed in this household to extract myself now. The night I first touched her was my signature at the end of the page. Indelible ink. No taking it back."

You flatten your face to the door so as to better interpret Hannibal’s silence.

"You feel a genuine duty to our little one, for all your misgivings,” he says, at last. “I was beginning to question if I’d made a mistake."

"She's abrasive,” says Will. “Not exactly malleable. I believe you know what you’re doing, but on paper it seems like an ill-fitting adoption."

"Children are reflections of their parents, and so far she’s shown herself to be a mirror of you. Towards me she is cool, distant, and distrustful. With you, there is an attraction of sorts. Not sensual, nor even familial, but it’s enough that, in spite of your every rebuttal and harsh word, she’s beginning to develop something of a rapport with you."

Laughing tersely, Will says, "Not sure I see it."

"You don't allow yourself to,” says Hannibal. “But you’re aware of that truth, all the same. Each time you relent into even momentary tenderness you turn against her in savagery that is vastly unearned.”

“You asked me to punish her,” Will says, sharply. “Encouraged me to— relish it.”

The admission does not move you; these men have knifed ecstasies of you like oyster flesh enough times to have indicated their tastes.

It is the why you listen for, the object they skirt about with the same flirting avoidance of a tryst that cannot be.

“I’m not referring to punishment,” says Dr Lecter. “This I have openly supported. It’s how you address our charge that’s beginning to make her feel displaced.”

“Are you criticising me, Dr Lecter?” asks Will, with a smile in his voice.

“Certainly not. I’m merely observing a pattern of behaviour, and its impact upon my patient.”

To this Will says nothing, but the tension between the two men is as visible as the door that stands between you.

"If you yearn for the hours that you and I once spent alone, I'm able to accommodate by replenishing that time together,” Hannibal says, at last. “But the blame for that neglect is solely mine. I've foisted our little one upon you without consideration of what response such an abrupt change would elicit."

"You don't have to apologise,” says Will, as surly as ever. “It’s an adjustment. I’m getting used to it.”

Your ears catch the delicate action of him lifting the tea cup on his tray, then of setting it down again.

“I spoke to her alone last night,” he says, abruptly. “Told her of my intentions to stay part of this. For a moment it felt like we connected. Like that was the promise she was looking for. But when I refused her something she wanted, she accused me of being ‘like him’. I figured you'd know who she was referring to.”

“Yes,” says Hannibal. “I can make what I imagine is an accurate guess.”

“Whatever parts we try out here, I don’t want to become the unnamed shadow that stands at her shoulder. It made her the way she is. There’s a tastelessness to that kind of evil.”

"I know. It’s more than apparent that you repel her less through genuine hatred, and more through the necessity to protect yourself from what it would mean to know her, and for her to know you in return.”

As Will replies you hear the huskiness of genuine emotion forced out between gritted teeth.

“All this would be a wasted effort if she were ever taken from me.”

“That won’t happen again,” says Hannibal, at once. “The pillar of salt left when you looked back at Abigail will never form with our new charge. When our second daughter turns to me with the same thirst for intimacy she’s developed for you she’ll be, at last, our Chloris, the nymph turned mistress of flowers."

He speaks with such tender compassion that it starts an ache somewhere in the underwing of your ribcage. What necromancy he conducts here to wake your dead and mangled innards into a living heart you cannot guess, only fear the compassion you’re capable of towards such creatures as would destroy you.

"Our little one would like to speak to you, it seems,” says Dr Lecter, closing the previous subject with a seamless finality. “Should I let her in?”

Will shifts uneasily on the bed, creaking its springs.

“She asked to see me?” he asks.

“She did.”

You imagine the younger man scraping a tangle of hair back from his temples as he gathers his thoughts.

“Where is she?”

Thus your cue to enter announces itself: you open the door, peeping at its edge, oddly shy.

"Hey,” you say, in a semi-whisper.

Will is as grey and moist with feverish sweat as deep-sea stone. His vast eyes nest in violet shadow, the whites a thread work of capillaries.

You pity him, this shambling experiment of Dr Lecter's creation, one of many, no doubt.

"Hello,” says Will, dully. “Sorry about last night."

Edging into the room, you allow Hannibal to slip discreetly away behind you with a light pat on your shoulder.

"Are you okay?" you ask. “How are you feeling?”

"Tired, mostly,” says Will. “I'll get over it. Need to. I’ve got a case to work on."

He scrutinises the half-empty tray before him from under lowered lashes.

"I'm surprised you helped me. You could have run off. Hit me over the head with one of Dr Lecter's vases."

"I wouldn't do that,” you retort. “You even said so. That I— can't."

"No, but you could have gotten away. So why didn’t you?"

There is no surprise in his voice, nor even suspicion, which you’d expected. He merely sounds ill, and trying to be interested, in spite of it.

“I don't know,” you admit. “I felt bad for you, seeing you like that. I didn’t want to leave you."

A weary cynicism twists Will’s features into momentary ugliness.

"You were afraid of being alone with someone you could never hope to understand without me."

"Not just that,” you insist, alarmed by the truth of the insight. “I was scared for you. Really. You should go to a hospital. You need tests. Meds. Scans and stuff, maybe.”

Will searches your face with eyes like dull rain, and some of the guardedness falls away from them.

"If it gets any worse, I will,” he says. “Just not today.”

You see how much he detests his own weakness, the potential to be devoured like an animal fallen in a savannah. If you strike, he will struggle, and sick as he is, you will lose.

So you offer him the gift of submission instead, the cunning exertion of a child's mite power.

"Okay, Daddy.”

You feel rather than see Will straighten in response to the word.

"Don't think I'll ever get used to that,” he says. "It’s alright to use my name. There aren't any rules against it."

"No, but he wouldn’t want me to.”

“When have you ever cared what Dr Lecter thinks?”

Shrugging, you mumble, “I guess I’m just sick of fighting all the time.”

The sick man scrutinises at you for so long that you hop from foot to foot in discomfort, itching your sole against your calf.

“It’s going to be hard for me to trust you,” says Will. “You’re probably just going to pretend until you see an avenue to get out of here.”

“Everything’s pretend, here,” you say, smartly. “Nearly all the conversations in this house are about myths and dreams. Dr Lecter talks about them like they’re real, or something.”

Amusement lights the sunken dark of Will’s gaze.

“He finds their philosophies more valuable than the moral structures most people follow.”

“And me?” you ask. “Am I valuable to him?”

Being that you’re still convinced that your worth to Dr Lecter is entirely reliant on Will’s continued interest, you only ask to discern if he himself understands this, or if he believes Hannibal would love you of his own accord.

With a tired caution, Will says, “Right now, I think you entertain him. What else he feels about you I don’t know.”

“And what do you feel?” you persist. “Still don’t like me?”

At this the young man laughs and shakes his head.

“Ask me again once I’ve gotten to know you. If you can agree to a truce, that is.”

“Fine,” you say, and you put out your hand for him to shake. “Truce. Let’s try that.”

With a wry grin Will accepts, letting go almost at once with a sharp inward breath.

“You’re freezing!”

“Haven't you noticed?” you say, hastily stuffing the offending hand under one arm. “I always am.”

It’s an unfavourable symptom of your hunger, this blood and touch of ice. Under even the sweltering gasp of summer’s heat you’ll shiver, knock-kneed, and suffer at the slightest feather of a draught.

Still, that cold affirms you. Were you to be warm again you’d hate yourself, having regained enough of the weight your system craves to regulate its heat.

Glancing up, you notice Will examining his own hand as though he shares your temperature, his fist a twin to frost.

"Come along, little one," says Hannibal, materialising in the doorway again. "Will needs more rest. Perhaps you’ll see him later on.”

But by late afternoon Will has dragged himself home without saying goodbye, and as before his absence eats a crescent into the house.

Some days later you pass an evening with Hannibal like so many others, yet unlike for the new state induced in you through his medicinal enterprise.

You're accustomed to the concoction of drugs that regresses you to a needy youth, the sleepers, the stimulants, the tea that lowers you from the electric heights of righteous hysteria into something slowly numb.

Yet whatever element comprises the pill flushed down by water from today’s gently tipped glass elevates you to orbit a heaven above you, so removed from your imprisonment that you observe all below with an objective eye.

Dr Lecter has bestowed upon you the rare trust that you may eat without prompting or assistance, and you have done so, temporarily rescinding your disordered agitation to a mycelium half-dream.

Thus entranced, you watch yourself drape the tines of your fork back and forth across your half-eaten plate, enthralled by patterns on the porcelain that are not there.

Your eyes drift repeatedly to a painting on Hannibal’s wall, mounted coyly for any dinner guest to comment on.

Naturally, you’ve seen the piece many times before, and have been, in turns, startled and disturbed by its subject.

Now you find yourself dully intrigued, as you were by the Japanese prints. This attention does not go unnoticed by Dr Lecter.

“What is it, little one?” he asks, intently. “Do you have an interest in art?”

“I don’t know,” you say, confused by the banality of the question. “It’s just this picture. Isn’t it... rude?”

Hannibal smirks, eyeing the image with a fond appreciation.

Its focus is a supine young woman, draped, half-naked, on a rumpled bed towards which a curious swan approaches with its curved neck bowed.

Likely it is the original painting, procured at auction, its price unimaginable; all things in this house are ripe with expense, even you, its demanding charge.

“Artistic nudity is only considered rude by children,” says Hannibal, blithely, “or else by shallow and ignorant adults. Does the depiction of genitalia offend you, my darling?”

You gaze up at the cowrie of a cunt under its shadow cap of hair, pinkly presented on spread silk, and think how often your own has been arranged likewise for Will or Hannibal to admire.

“Why is it in this room, specifically?” you ask.

You struggle with the syllables of the words, spitting the sibilants in a manner unbecoming of so distinguished an event as dinner with Dr Lecter.

“Doesn’t it put people off their food?”

“I find it makes for an amusing conversation piece,” says Hannibal, pouring himself another generous glass of wine like the blood of some celestial giant.

You attempt to grimace, none of your muscles quite taking to the motion.

“I don’t think it’s funny at all. Just creepy. Sad.”

“Are familiar with the story of Leda and the Swan? Zeus, a virile and insatiable God, looked upon the queen of Sparta and desired her. So, in order to seduce her, he transformed himself into a swan so that she would be fooled by his beauty and appearance of vulnerability to take him to her bed.”

“He tricked her,” you say, quietly. “He didn’t seduce her, at all.”

Dr Lecter’s face scarcely moves, but there is something of laughter in the lines of his strange beauty.

“So it’s the deception that unnerves you,” he says. “The pretence that he was an innocent creature rather than the all-powerful and lustful deity he truly was.”

You nod, not wanting to admit that you see your own face mirrored in the brushstrokes of the damned queen.

Prophet-like, Hannibal interprets the gesture with flawless vision.

“You empathise with Leda. Recognise the parallels between her story and your own.”

“Is that why you put it there?” you retort, emboldened by the miles between you and the girl slumped in the dining chair. “Because you think you’re the swan?”

“The bird is a shield for the truth, remember,” says Hannibal. “So what would the swan be, in me?”

Dropping the fork with a discordant clatter, you consider.

“The polite, handsome doctor,” you say, at last. “You fool everyone: Jack, Alana Bloom. My parents. They would never have left me here if they knew what you really were.”

Hannibal turns his head at a slight angle, as though by doing so he might uncover some mystery in your face.

“And what am I, little one?”

“I... don’t know,” you admit; a killer, certainly, though there is more to him even than that. “There are a lot of things you’re hiding from me.”

“Tell me your perceptions, then. There’s no need to spare my feelings; after all, you so rarely do.”

Amidst your mushroom-made divinity, you are fearless in your answer.

“You’re a bad person. You’ve done things that would get you into a lot of trouble. Hurt people. Not just me. Not just Tobias. And you don’t feel bad about it. You think that everything you do is right, somehow. Like you should be allowed to do it. Like you’re the gods in all these stories.”

Hannibal absorbs this with the silence of having been sated by your answer.

“And what about Will?” he prompts, some moments later. “Is he, too, a starving monster under the cunning guise of a tender animal?”

“No,” you say, with less certainty. “He’s... sick. You're using him, making him think that this is what he wants.”

Your captor laughs over the rim of his wine glass.

“That’s where you’re wrong, little one. The Will you think you see is only one wing of a swan. Soon, you will glimpse beyond that fragile veil, and feel the mythic need of all immortals to plunder from the weak, merely for the pleasure of knowing that they can.”

A sudden sadness tugs you back to earth like a choke chain, iron-like the lump in your throat.

“So you don’t want to help me, after all,” you mumble. “It really was all a lie.”

Taking your hand across the table, Hannibal presses a thumb to the pulse at your wrist, a soothing motion.

“Not at all,” he says, firmly. “I’m quite fond of you. I wish you to be strong. Each time you find yourself resenting Will and I you must remember that Leda did not die after Zeus bedded her: she became a mother. In you, I seek another outcome. More than one, and not all of them so horrible as you imagine. There will be beauty in this conversion, as well.”

You gaze at him with disbelieving eyes, close to rejecting the hope he grooms in you.

“What other outcomes are you looking for, Dr Lecter? How can I become all the things you want if I don’t understand them? What’s really going on?”

Hannibal kisses your knuckles and places your fork back into your hand.

“Nothing you need to think about at the moment,” he says. “Now, finish what’s on your plate. I’d like you to move on to dessert.”

Just like that, you are his little girl again, the moon having passed across the sun.

#tw eating disorders #tw noncon #tw rape #tw fatphobia #tw anorexia #hannibal fic #yandere will graham #yandere hannibal lecter #hannibal lecter x reader x will graham #hannibal lecter x reader #hannibal lecter x will graham #will graham x reader #manna fic

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magicalbats · 2 months ago

Text

Sanctuary Part 2 (Childe/Foul Legacy x reader)

Rating: R-18+

Word Count: 22,687

Warnings: afab!reader, nun!reader, monster fucking, vaginal fingering, cunnilingus, piv sex, sex outdoors (in a graveyard), creampie, breeding, sacrilegious content, demonic possession, ritual magic, mentioned age gap, mentioned wlw

A/N: Phew! This ones a doozy. I had SO much fun not only revisiting this narrative but also getting to work with the same commissioner again, and I hope ya'll end up enjoying it too! I really channeled my inner Mary Shelley for this one (iykyk) haha. They wanted to remain anonymous again so without further ado ... enjoy! ❤️

⭐

I call upon you who are in the empty air,

You who are terrible,

Invisible, almighty, a god of gods

You who cause destruction and desolation,

You who were driven out of Teyvat and have roamed foreign lands,

You who shatter everything and are not defeated,

I call upon you …

*~*

It is a rare day when the permanent Snezhnayan chill is not so great that you can take solace out in the courtyard amongst the barren limbed trees and the hardy snow ferns that dot the ground. You are not entirely alone though as people mill about between the gated entrance at the front of the compound and the looming stoic facade of the ancient church but it’s the nearest thing to privacy you can find. And they leave you alone, thankfully, as most unsuspecting passersby would not think to assume interrupting a nun and her reading was in good taste or appropriate given the hallowed surroundings.

Of course that might change if they so much as even suspected what you were reading was hardly of a pious nature, but you try not to linger on that thought for very long.

Consideringly, you glance over the passage at the bottom of the page again. It almost sounded like an incantation to summon rather than to cast out demonic forces and their ilk despite the text clearly indicating that it was supposed to be an exorcism manual. You had some understandable doubts about it.

What you held in your hands was not the sanctified and holy instruction of the church though, but rather the sort of trite pulp the common man peddled in the streets. It was not your first or even second choice to seek guidance from such unreliable sources and yet you’d been left with very little choice in the matter. They wouldn’t let you into the restricted section of the church’s library, for starters. Father Sluhovsky also wouldn’t divulge any pertinent information no matter how much you pestered him about the topics of bedevilment and spiritual possession, for another. Finding yourself essentially backed into a corner, you were left with no other option than to search for your own answers.

Unfortunately those much sought after answers still evaded you and time was quickly running out. That horrid beast, that Foul Legacy as it liked to call itself, had been clear that you retained your freedom only until the next new moon which steadily approached ever closer even now. There were but a handful of days left until the fated hour struck yet you were no closer to ridding yourself of its presence than when you’d started. Nothing you’ve tried as of yet has worked, and all the while that horned fiend has only continued to throw salt in the wound with its clockwork nightly appearances in your dreams, mocking you with its mere existence.

Your singular point of consolation over the last month has been that it no longer tears the clothes from your body as it first did and instead undresses you with an exceeding amount of slow care, and yet …

Distracted by the buzzing memory, you don’t notice someone is reaching for your book until they’ve already plucked it right out of your lax fingers. You startle and snap your attention up at the thief, only to feel your stomach immediately plummet into the bowels of the earth. Yes, there would certainly be no forgetting your daytime burden either.

“Lieutenant Ajax.”

“Sister.” He shoots right back, grinning in his usual boyish way.

The glare of the afternoon sun makes his coppery brown hair look aflame as he moves to sit beside you on the iron wrought bench seat with an accompanying crunch of his boots in the snow. Drawing yourself up to full height, you pin the rascal with an unamused look of warning that would have sent lesser men running for safety but of course that doesn’t work on him. It never does, you’ve quickly come to find.

“Your manners are as lacking as ever, I see.” You snipe at him, your temper flaring while he settles in next to you. Perfectly sedate and casual about it, like he had all the time in the world to bother you. “I haven’t asked you to join me, if you’ll notice. It’s usually customary to wait for an invitation to be extended before you sit down.”

“Would you have if I’d asked?”

“No.” You hiss. “And for good reason. What do you think anyone who sees us will say about us sitting together like this? There are already more rumors than you can count floating around the church, and I don’t even want to think about what’s being said in town. And all because you don’t know how to quit. It’s shameful!”

Looking really quite amused, Ajax reclines back against the bench and slips into a comfortable slouch with your stolen book resting across his thigh. “Aw, let them talk. What does it truly matter, after all?”

“What does it matter?” You echo him, incredulous.

“Sure. My feelings for you are sincere enough and I’m confident that in due time you’ll even come to like me too, so what’s the problem? It’s not so unheard of for a sister of the faith to be courted by an overly ambitious man, is it? Besides … I wouldn’t be sitting here with you right now if I was in the habit of quitting. It’s not really my style.”

“So I’ve noticed.” You cross your arms with a deeply bothered huff. Oh, how he grated on your very last nerve. Your initial impression of him had proven to be spot on, and in record time at that. He was trouble through and through. “Although it’s not unheard of, that doesn’t change the fact that these are unwanted advances, Lieutenant. I do not wish to be courted by the likes of you or anyone else for that matter. I’ve told you this before.”

“Perhaps,” He draws that single word out like an oath, putting far too much sly emphasis on it for your liking. “But that doesn’t mean you won’t change your mind. I’m not intimidated by a little challenge, you know. I can keep trying.”

Your numb cheeks start to warm, and the sensation is instantly mirrored low in your gut. This hot pulse within your womb whenever you find yourself standing in his presence has become a dreadfully common occurrence ever since that demon left its tattooed mark on you weeks ago. It feels like an eternity has gone by in that time, an entire lifespan gone over such a short interval, but you’ve found no answer for this either. You were trapped with nowhere to go, no one to turn to, and the undeniable fact that Ajax had no clue about any of it doesn’t do much to lessen the sting to your soul. Knowingly or unknowingly, he was still responsible for this torment in some way.

And you knew not how he could be so completely unaware of the evil lurking within him, but you’d tested it again and again to no avail. Not only did he not realize he was housing some one-eyed abomination on the spiritual level, he also didn’t even seem to believe that such things were real or that they posed any tangible threat to those in the physical realm.

That probably explained why he’d donned a soldier's accoutrement rather than a priest's robes, and that is ever more apparent when he lifts your book from his lap to look at the cover. Brow drawing inward, he gives it a perplexed grimace.

“Protection against demons and witches? What are you reading this for? Seems a little out there if you ask me.”

“I didn’t ask.” You remind him, reaching over to primly pluck it from his hand but he’s quick to move it away. His arms are much longer than yours and, having no interest in wrestling it back from him, you give up and merely fold your hands in your lap with another sigh. “If it does not interest you then please be so kind as to give it back. Taking someone else’s belongings is a sin, Ajax.”

“Much like lust is, no?” He shoots you a cheeky grin, one that stops you in your tracks and drains the blood from your face. You take a moment to nervously turn your head this way and then that way to check if anyone was standing close enough to have overheard that pointed barb while he busies himself with impatiently flipping through the pages. “Lifting curses? Tests to find out if someone is a witch? Look, I know it’s not really my place to pry but what are you doing with something like this?”

“Keep your voice down! And if you must know, it’s because of you.”

His head comes up immediately at that. “Me? You must be joking. I am neither witch nor curse.”

Ajax’s boyish laughter only serves to further irritate you. Quickly deciding you don’t care what any potential onlookers might say about it, you climb to your feet before turning on him with an aggressive flutter of your skirts. “Perhaps not, Lieutenant, but you are most certainly a demon of the highest order. Ever since we met that fateful day you have been nothing but a thorn in my side. You haunt me at all hours like some kind of ghoulish wraith and I can’t seem to escape your presence no matter how often I remind you that I am not interested. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have other matters to attend to.”

Decisively snatching your book from him, you spin on your heel and make a purposeful beeline towards the nearest corridor entrance. That you hear his boots quickly trailing after you through the snow doesn’t come as a great surprise but it does make you gnash your teeth in annoyance.

“Come on. There’s no reason to be like that.”

“To be like what? Tired of your nonsense?” You breeze through the open doorway into the ground level of the monastery’s outbuilding with him hot on your heels, his long gangly limbs once again proving themselves a troublesome advantage he held over you. A few people glance up at your entrance but quickly turn away when they spot the scowl on your face. They would be of no help to you but they also wouldn’t dare to question you about it later when it was so plainly obvious that you weren’t happy with the attention you were receiving.

Clutching the book to your breast, you march past the workbenches and the raging hearth so you can slip down the long stone lined pathway that would take you to the bell tower if you managed to make it that far. With him doggedly nipping at your heels every step of the way, the odds weren’t exactly looking good.

“All I’m asking for is a chance. Surely that’s not so unreasonable?”

“It is when it’s coming from you. Forgive me for saying so, Lieutenant, but I don’t think you know what the meaning of the word ‘no’ is.” You call back over your shoulder, the smart click of your boots on carefully laid and polished stones echoing down the hall.

“Would that you’d actually said such to me, dear Sister, but I have yet to hear a proper rejection from you.”

Footsteps faltering in surprise, you fumble for a response to that very incorrect assertion. It felt like you’d done nothing but tell Ajax how uninterested you were in pursuing a relationship with him over the last few weeks and little else. “That is simply not true. You know I - -“

His gloved hand abruptly grabs onto your upper arm, pulling you to a complete halt so he can then spin you around to face him. Breath catching in your throat, you peer up at him with widened eyes. His expression reads of determination and grim intent as he steps into you, backing you up against the wall that looks out over the private cemetery reserved for congregants of the church. There’s an open window built into the slate gray facade right next to your head, letting in the warming rays of the sun as much as the icy breeze that never quite seemed to lessen in Snezhnaya. You knew if you turned your head and glanced through it, you’d see the unmistakable silhouettes of grave markers in the near distance watching you in their silent condemnation.

All at once you’re suddenly keenly aware of just how alone the two of you are in this largely isolated wing of the compound. There weren’t many who would have any need to visit the bell tower at midday, and although there were a handful of your fellow Sisters just down the hall back the way you came you hesitate to call out to them. This would look bad, wouldn’t it? They’d misunderstand the situation and assume you were toying with the young man’s heart on purpose, that you were some kind of cock tease. What if your vows were called into question because of this? You couldn’t bear the thought.

“What do you think you’re doing?” You finally dare to ask in a small, uncertain voice.

“I’m trying to talk to you. Don’t tell me you can’t stand my presence enough to even do that much.”

Working to reorient yourself, you pin Ajax with a sharp look of warning. “And what makes you think I owe you that when I - -“

“You accepted my flowers that day, didn’t you?”

That stops you in your tracks. “I … I did, yes, but - -“

“Why?” He presses you, the fathomless blue of his eyes searching your face for an answer. It’s like he just couldn’t conceive any reason why you wouldn’t find him charming and agreeable, or why none of his gentlemanly attempts to court you have worked. By all accounts they should have. You know that as well as he does.

Because Ajax was young and handsome in the way most men could only dream of being, and he was exceptionally talented too. He may have come from a base born family with only a small plot of land to their name and no real standing in the courts, but he was quickly making a reputation for himself in the military. Even you who usually ignored such gossip had caught the whisperings of people talking about the soldier with the burnished hair, both the good and the bad. He was known for being reckless but still getting things done as her Majesty decreed it and much to the chagrin of his senior officers. It wasn’t hard to imagine someone like that moving up in the ranks straight to the top. He might even one day be granted a title of nobility if he kept on the track he was currently on.

Frankly the young man standing before you in all the folly of his youth was by every account a prize to be won and a very promising prospect for marriage. Any girl would have been lucky to find themselves betrothed to him.

But you were not just any girl and you already knew the evil that lurks within him far too well to pretend otherwise. If he was similarly aware of the demon he never would have pushed you the way he does, nor would he look so much like a lost and confused pup that doesn’t understand why it was being denied the reciprocal affection it craved so much. It would have been a difficult thing to maintain your stance of disinterest had the situation been at all different, but the existence of that one-eyed monster ensured you would never be able to accept him as he was. Not now and, in all likelihood, not ever. No matter how much the mark tried to compel you otherwise there would be no reconciliation here.

At last breathing out a terse sigh through your nose, you brace for what you were about to say next. “Do you truly wish to know why I accepted your flowers, Ajax?”

“I do.” He insists. “Please tell me so that I can put whatever concerns you to rest. You don’t need to fear what I offer you. I swear it.”

Oh, if he only knew the half of it.

“Listen to me carefully. It’s not so much that I fear you, Lieutenant, but rather a part of you … I accepted your gift that day because I didn’t really have much choice, did I? When you make such a spectacle in front of the whole church, even the archbishop himself, what else was I to do? You forced my hand back then but I’ve told you many times since that I have no intention of lying with you. Flowers aren’t a marriage proposal, to be clear.”

Ajax scoffs a mirthless laugh at that, flipping his messy bangs with a nudge of his head. It was a habit you’d noticed he usually only did when he was feeling particularly antsy about something. That often meant he was itching for action, his seemingly endless surplus of energy having reached its maximum capacity and thus urging him to go expend some of it in the boxing ring against his fellow soldiers. You could understand his frustration with you, of course, but you sorely hoped he didn’t think you were going to exchange blows with him to let off some steam!

“And what’s with that reaction?” You demand, expectantly lifting your brows in clear challenge.

“I just think it’s funny, that’s all. You insist up and down that you’re a good, devoted, pious little nun but I see the way you look at me when you think I’m not paying attention. Sure, you may not like it but that doesn’t change the fact that you find me attractive. Or at least some part of you does? Either way, it may not be love you feel for me right now but lust I’m just as happy to accept from you. We don’t have to keep pretending like we’re at odds with each other. Despite what your books tell you, wanting someone isn’t a sin.”

Embarrassed heat quickly marches across your face. So that’s what he’d meant with that earlier jab at you out in the courtyard. “You presume too much, Ajax.”

“And you’re not a very good liar.”

Your mouth flies open to spit venom at him, what little patience you had left for his antics thoroughly used up. But those slicing words catch in your throat when he reaches between you to place his gloved hand over your lower stomach. The gesture itself is possessive, demanding, and your knees instantly threaten to buckle right out from under you. Foul Legacy’s mark gives a warm pulse under Ajax’s palm to send simmering static electricity shooting through your extremities, lighting up every nerve along the way. It seems to pool deep inside your womb where it triggers some sort of primal reflex in your body that makes your cunt positively flood with slick.

Seething at the throb, you look up at him in question. His face registers surprise for all of a single heartbeat and then shifts towards smug victory, sharpening to something mean in just the time it takes you to blink.

“I knew it.” He whispers, squeezing your belly tighter. “You do want me. Want to feel me moving right here in your guts, don’t you?”

“N - no.” You wheeze even as myriad flashes of your nightly dreams that aren’t really dreams assault you in a dizzying rush. Foul Legacy had tasted you more times than you could count over the last handful of weeks, always taking that monstrous tongue to your cunt until you couldn’t conceivably take any more. Even when your menses came it hadn’t been enough to deter it from its goal of turning your body against you.

Worst of all, it was working. Even before Ajax had put his hands on you you’d felt the distant stirrings of hunger curling between your legs. That’s why you’d tried to flee from his presence, to seek refuge in the silent bell tower where the general public was prohibited from entry. It wouldn’t have stopped any of the other church staff but it should have stopped him.

He was apparently willing to follow you anywhere you might tread though, your constant shadow that took advantage of every chance he got to slip away from his duties in Her Majesty’s army just to track you down.

And now that he was touching you, his broad palm resting unknowingly over the demonic tattoo etched into the skin just below your navel, you were flooded with phantom sensations and remembered pleasure. The flick of a wet, drooling tongue lapping over the seam of your cunt, the slow stretch of it entering you one mind numbing inch at a time and the roiling friction that soon followed while it fucked you senseless with it. But most of all you recalled that blinding rush of release, the soaring buzz of dopamine that shook you straight down to the core with each and every shuddering orgasm it managed to pull from you. It was exquisite. You might have even called it heavenly, were you not so loath to associate Foul Legacy and what it did to you as anything even remotely positive or good.

Blessed Mother, your pussy suddenly felt so terribly empty.

Panting softly under your breath, you drop your book and carefully reach up to twist your fingers into the front of his stately jacket. He releases a slow, audibly tense exhale as he bows his head close, giving your veil a brief nudge with his nose before breathing in deep the scent of you. A low groan rattles out of him and the masculine sound of it nearly makes you go cross eyed from how violently your body seizes up in response. You were beyond mortified to realize that you actually did want him. What he could give you. How he could make you feel.

Knowing these thoughts are not your own but rather the suggestion of the demon mark isn’t enough to deter you, and you hesitantly turn your face into the bent line of his throat. “Please.” You whisper so quietly it barely registers in the chilly air. “Can you help me, Ajax? I - I don’t know what’s happening to me - -“

“Shh. It’s okay, sweetheart. I promise.” Nudging somehow even closer, pinning you fully against the wall now, he presses his lips to the crown of your head in an unexpectedly gentle and chaste kiss. At the same time his hand drags further down your belly to slip between your thighs, and you outright gasp when he cups you through the layers of your clothes.

Just that is enough to make your cunt pulse, trembling wildly when he grinds the heel of his palm into you. The intensity of it makes you sway unsteadily on your feet but he keeps you upright where he’s got you pinned, sinuously curling his larger frame around yours even as he works to nuzzle his mouth across your cheek one coaxing peck at a time.

You hesitate to do it but the compulsion is much too strong for you to fight it anymore, and you cautiously angle your face up to meet him. You’d been struggling against this tooth and nail for nearly a whole month now and the immediate burst of white hot static when he kisses you almost makes you regret your reticence. It was like the whole world had suddenly opened up to you in a rush of pure, unfiltered ecstasy, so sharp and overwhelmingly potent that you were feeling sensations you didn’t even know existed.

And the way he groans into your mouth, hot and indescribably heavy, would seem to suggest that he was experiencing a similar awakening of the carnal persuasion. What was initially a tentative, guarded exchange, a first kiss borne from less than ideal circumstances, instantly morphs into something wild and voracious.

Now Ajax kisses you like he’s trying to devour you whole, his breath coming out in quick, stuttering gasps while he fumbles to get your skirt hiked up. Your hands fly into his hair to tug and pull him in closer, and you go onto the tips of your toes to better accommodate the height difference. He doesn’t seem to particularly mind it either way though, and he just lets you eagerly writhe against him as he shoves your cloak out of the way. The hand not currently trying to worm its way into your bloomers gropes at your breast with a tight, pinching squeeze that makes you arch against him in mindless, hungry search for more.

You’d known it was a dangerous game to humor his advances in any way but the reality of it is much worse than you could have ever imagined it to be. Your body is so fine tuned to his very existence, the smell of him, his touch, that by the time he finally manages to get his hand in your stockings you’re already soaking wet. Drenched, by all accounts, and he gasps in almost perfect unison with you when his finger takes a first swipe through your pussy lips. The copious slick is obvious even through his glove and you shudder at the press of chilled leather against your throbbing clit. You felt like you were going to implode in the most literal sense.

“Nnghn, Ah - Ajax …!”

Coming up from your mouth where he’d been mindlessly kissing at the corner of your lips, he now looks into your face with no shortage of awe and reverence. “Oh, lovely girl. You really wanted this that badly? You should have said something sooner.”

You petulantly turn your head away, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of seeing the fluster that creeps across your expression. “I didn’t say you could call me that.”

“Must we really fight right now? Hm?” Letting out a slow breath, Ajax once again bends close to press another kiss to your temple. He stays like that, content to be still against you save his hand which starts to work careful circles into your slit. It instantly steals the oxygen from your lungs and you issue a faltering mewl into the otherwise silent corridor, rocking desperately against the wall.

How you wanted to curse him and the demon you knew he was harboring. Even if you’d had doubts prior to this, unsure if it was really him who was responsible for the nightmare you were being forced to live, this would have dispelled any such uncertainty. All he need but do was touch you and it instantly had you dissolving into sensitive shudders while your cunt continues to excessively drool all over his hand. It didn’t make sense otherwise. You were much too proud, far too sensible and level headed to give yourself over to someone like this just because. No one else made you feel this way, the mark didn’t respond to any other men you interacted with. It was only him. Him, him, him!

“Oh!” You toss your head back, hardly even registering the scrape of your skull against the cut stone behind you as starbursts erupt across your vision. The intense throb within your cunt mirrored that of your heartbeat, wild and erratic, and incomprehensibly thunderous. Blindly, you reach up to fist one of your hands in the shoulder of his military jacket, fitfully yanking on the material when the cresting waves of pleasure climb that little bit higher.

Your release was already fast approaching, an inevitability you wouldn’t have been able to stop even if you’d wanted to. But Ajax must on some level recognize the stricken look on your face, or the wheezing gasps that make your breasts heave under your frock, because he abruptly abandons your clit in favor of working his fingers further back. He follows the messy line of your cunt, slipping and sliding straight to your entrance where he unceremoniously dips two long digits up into your body, curling them inward as he goes.

The sudden stretch accompanied with the internal increase of pressure sends you careening right over the edge almost immediately. You manage to let out one single, half stifled squeal of pleasure seconds before his mouth descends upon yours again, swallowing the sound and muffling your wordless cries while you shake and judder through your orgasm. The weighty presence of his fingers inside you seems to milk your squeezing cunt for all its worth, dragging out the spasms far beyond what it should have, and you issue a plaintive, dire tinged whimper against his lips as your eyes roll up to stare unseeing at the ceiling. Distantly, you can even feel the numbed sensation of tears tracking hot streaks down your face. Oh, what a shameless mess you must look right now.

One piece at a time, you slowly start to come down from it some indeterminable amount of time later and he finally pulls away from your mouth when the shuddering waves gradually start to subside. Struggling to fill your lungs with enough oxygen, you weakly push at his arm. You’re quite relieved when he takes the hint and gently withdraws his fingers from your body before disengaging completely, slipping out of your bloomers and allowing your skirt to fall back into place. Bonelessly sagging there against the wall, you frantically try to make sense of what just happened.

How had you allowed yourself to fall so fully under the mark's compulsion that you’d let him do that to you right here, out in the open where anyone could have happened upon such an unseemly sight? It was inconceivable and absurd. It was —

You stare in fast mounting horror as Ajax lifts his hand and pops the gloved digits into his mouth, sucking the leather clean of sticky slick. A part of you almost doesn’t believe it, that he would be so crass and unapologetic about such a thing but it’s clear he has no propriety to speak of. More disconcerting, however, is the fact that it doesn’t repulse you half as much as you think it should. If anything watching him savor the taste of you actually has the opposite effect and your cunt gives a sharp, muted throb of interest.

It wasn’t enough. You still wanted more.

No, it’s not as simple as that. You needed it.

“Ajax …” You practically wheeze, mechanically reaching for him with both hands now. “Take off your pants.”

He goes stock still for a long moment, just standing there with his fingers half in his mouth. It makes him look even more boyish than usual, like a precocious child enjoying a treat of sweet batter he pilfered from his mothers mixing bowl when she wasn’t looking. But when he lowers his hand and peers into your face, it’s all man you see staring back at you. There’s a hunger, primal and timeless, reflected in the depthless blue of his eyes, and it just makes your pussy ache all the more for something of greater substance than a few fingers or a tongue stretching you open. You felt like you were going mad.

“Please.” Seething at the intense pulse inside your guts, you grab at the front of his uniform. Shove the long drape of the jacket out of the way and set your sights on his belt buckle. Your hands shake uncontrollably while you fumble with the suddenly complicated latch but he quickly brings his own down to help you with it.

“Are you sure? Right here?”

The note of uncertainty in his voice doesn’t seem to align with the eager way he gets his trousers unfastened, in too much of a hurry to do anything else except yank at the placket to get it open, so you don’t bother with a response. You were far too frenzied to think straight anymore, regardless. All you knew with any certainty was that you were close, so close to absolution you could practically taste it on the back of your tongue. If you didn’t fulfill your purpose and take him into your body as soon as possible you’d —

Voices at the end of the hall suddenly alert you and you yank yourself from him as though you’d been burnt. Someone was coming. That knowledge chills you down to the bone and sobriety crashes you into with all the destructive force of a battle ax, leaving you standing there breathlessly gaping up at him in disbelief. Surely you weren’t … you wouldn’t have actually gone through with it just now, would you?

“Sister?” He asks, worry flashing across his face.

Drawing a deep breath to ground your shaken nerves, you let it out on a faltering, deeply unnerved exhale. “Make yourself proper, Ajax. Quickly. Before someone sees you.”

Hesitating, he surreptitiously glances down the hall where the voices and the sound of shuffling footsteps was coming from but his attention immediately swivels back around to you. Brows knitting, he distractedly starts to get his pants fastened up again. “We can go somewhere else. I could take you into town and rent us a room at the inn. No one would disturb us there and - -“

“No.” You hold up a hand to stop him from going on even as you struggle against the insidious tug of the mark on your stomach. Your womb felt like it was on fire, pulsing so hotly inside your body you almost worried that something was wrong. But you knew better than that. It just wanted you to give in and accept his offer without a second thought. You couldn’t afford to do that though. Even if it killed you in the process, you had to fight it. “I’m sorry, Lieutenant. Really, I am. I don’t know what came over me, just … please leave me at once. I can’t bear this another moment longer.”

“But - -“

“I said no!”

His mouth settling into a grumpy line, Ajax stands there and just stares at you another moment longer. You look away, refusing to meet his eyes now when you were overcome with some confusing amalgamation of guilt and shame, but that doesn’t seem to be enough to deter him either. He quickly finishes sorting out his clothes before stiffly bending to retrieve your fallen book from the floor which he holds out to you when he straightens up again.

“Here. Take it.”

Hesitating, you cautiously accept the offering and he breathes out a terse sigh when you still refuse to look up at him.

“I hope you find what you’re looking for, Sister. If you ever decide you want my help, you know how to find me.”

Clutching the cheap manual to your chest, you listen to him turn to greet whoever was approaching the two of you, pausing only long enough to give a respectful bow before taking his leave. The sound of his footsteps on the stone walkway seem to echo in the space between your ears as you glance up to find Sister Darya and one of the parish priests sending you quizzical, if not vaguely disapproving looks.

Oh, how could this day possibly get any worse than it already was?

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The now familiar sense of dreamy weightlessness clues you in on what’s happening long before you actually open your eyes to peer around. And when you do you’re greeted by a world flipped topsy turvy, with the far distant floor in place of where the ceiling should have been high over your head, and when you glance just to your left …

A gasp rattles in your chest when you find yourself standing next to the giant brass bell in the tower. The mere sight of it standing straight up in the air in defiance of all logic and reason fills you with an immediate, sickening sense of vertigo inducing dread. Nervously, you turn your head in search of a way to get down — or up, as it were, but you don’t see anything at all that might be of help to you. Even knowing that this is beyond any shadow of doubt a dream doesn’t do much to dispel your fear of falling and you just stand there for a long time, too scared to move.

Thankfully you were alone for the moment while you tried to sort through your available options, limited though they were, but you knew it wouldn’t last long. It never did, unfortunately.

At first you’d tried to avoid sleeping at all in an attempt to escape the demonic presence that always seemed to lurk just at the edges of your consciousness, waiting patiently for you to drift off so it could make its move. It had worked for all of two days until you’d found yourself too tired to keep your eyes open any longer and you’d dozed off in the middle of morning service. That had earned you more than a few odd looks from the other nuns after they’d managed to rouse you again and, feeling deeply embarrassed at having been caught lacking in such a public way, you’d promptly given up on the idea altogether. At least like this you could meet Foul Legacy on your own terms, when you were good and ready to see its horrid face, and not a moment before. Or so you'd tried to tell yourself.

But sometimes it liked to play these kinds of games with you. Much like that first fateful dream encounter some weeks ago, it appeared to be partial to hide and seek. You were always ‘it’ though, and you never got the chance to hide from it when its presence was all around you and it seemed to implicitly know exactly where you were within the dreamscape of its creation. This was, presumably, no different, but there wasn’t any conceivable place here where it could have been lurking around. What should have been the ceiling was decidedly void of anything at all save the bell and you certainly weren’t going to stick your head in there to check for any signs of a demon.

Trying valiantly to calm your nerves, you suck in a deep breath and tilt your head back to peer up at the floor. There was a small hearth crackling in the corner, a steaming cup of tea set out on the low modest wood table as if the young bell ringer had only just stepped out for a moment. It was incredibly disconcerting to say the very least, the total lack of the foul entity further picking away at your already frayed nerves.

You decide to pray about it and bring your hands together in front of your chest. This never did you any good either but the repetitive mantra does wonders to ground you, steeling your resolve for the nightmare you were about to endure.

Just as you start in on the third reprisal, you hear it. A low chuckling laughter that sounds like it’s coming from all around you and nowhere at the same time. Your heartbeat picks up when it gradually rises in volume, like it was getting closer, before abruptly materializing into something tangible and real. Giving a small jolt of surprise, you bring your head up to look over at the bell.

Foul Legacy steps out from the other side of it at an unhurried gait, monstrous head tipped back with the laughter that shakes through its unnatural form in rolling waves. Coming to a stop, it slowly glances over at you when the peels start to die down, fixing that unblinking eye upon you. The predator once again face to face with its favorite prey.

“How quaint. I thought you would’ve given up on that by now.”

“I don’t give up so easily.” You snip back, lowering your folded hands to rest against your stomach. The brief nudge over the tattooed mark makes you twitch, reminded of your earlier impropriety with its host, and it offers up another low chuckle as if it were privy to your thoughts.

Pivoting on its heel, Foul Legacy starts to step around the bell to approach you. “Lovely girl, huh? I didn’t expect you to respond to such a cute nickname. My little bride-to-be is just full of surprises, isn’t she?”

“I didn’t respond to anything of the sort.” You hiss, narrowing your eyes at it dangerously.

Giving its head a brief shake, the demon comes to a stop in front of you where it bends at the waist to put its face right in yours. You hold its stare even when you internally quake at its close proximity, its hulking frame so much larger than yours even when it was folding itself in half to meet you on an even level.

“You’re welcome to keep trying if it pleases you, little nun, but you should realize by now that you can’t hide anything from me. You have my mark. I can feel all that you feel, and know all that you know. There isn’t anything you can keep from me.”

Its clawed hand comes up to sedately reach for you and, your uncertainty growing by the second, you slowly let your hands fall to your sides. With a truly surprising amount of gentleness, it presses one blocky knuckle into your lower belly where it nudges just so to make your breath hitch. A low simmering heat immediately starts up, making your loins curl tight in anticipation, and you shoot it a deeply frazzled look.

“You wanted that boy.” It goes on, the sinister rumble in its voice making goosebumps erupt all over your skin to accompany your spiking body temperature. “You wanted him a great deal, didn’t you? So why do you still deny yourself the pleasures of the flesh even now, after all that I’ve taught you about what it means to feel good? Don’t tell me you doubted his virility and prowess.”

Your face warms at its snickering laugh, and you proudly jut your chin up in defiance. “Mock me all you like, wretched beast. I won’t give you what you want.”

“Oh? And what is it you think I want from you, sweet girl?” Straightening up, it starts to pace a slow, predatory circle around you. “If it’s your body, I believe I already have that. You wear my mark and in three days time the ritual will be complete. We’ll get to spend an eternity together. Just you and I, and that boy you like so much.”

You draw a quick breath to insist that you don’t like him, an instinctive reflex when you were so unaccustomed to liking anyone at all, but the words catch in your throat. Was it saying that Ajax was actually included in this little love triangle and not a necessary interloper as you’d once assumed?

“Ah, did that pique your interest? You’re so easy to read, love, even if I didn’t have a front row seat to every thought that crosses your mind.”

Rounding your shoulders, you flick your gaze up to look at the horned fiend when it reappears on your opposite side. “You can read my thoughts?”

“In a sense. But it would probably be more accurate to say that your feelings are transmitted to me through our bond and I get to interpret them from there.” Pausing in front of you, it once again reaches out to nudge at the spot just under your navel with a massive hand. “It’s not hard to guess though. You’re surprisingly sincere for someone who tries so hard to protect their heart with barbed wire and fortified walls. Subterfuge is not one of your strong suits, I’m afraid.”

This time when it laughs at your expense you can’t quite stop the urge to lash out and smack its hand off of you, and you do so with an exceeding amount of satisfaction. Foul Legacy doesn’t seem at all bothered by it though, and merely lets its arm drop back to its side before resuming its earlier pacing.

“I don’t understand why you and Ajax both are so preoccupied with my stomach.” You hiss, turning your head to track its movement and watch it step behind you again.

“Oh, you’ll understand soon enough, my dear bride. You could have found out earlier today but you decided to deny the poor boy even when he was willing to do anything at all you asked of him. Not to worry though. I’ll personally show you just how much power you wield in that fragile little body of yours on the night of the new moon. Don’t forget. Time is ticking even now.”

Something suddenly clicks into place in your mind, a missing puzzle piece you hadn’t seen before but which you now had no choice but to acknowledge. Idly, your hand slips around to protectively curve over your belly. “The ritual you keep talking about … it has something to do with my womb, doesn’t it?”

Standing directly behind you now, Foul Legacy hunches close to practically fold itself over your much smaller frame and your eyes grow big at the abrupt nearness. You can feel the displacement in the air, the hot breath it sends racing down the side of your neck. It’s stiflingly warm, too. Unbelievably so for something that shouldn’t exist at all, a wraith without physical form. But where was that heat coming from if it had no flesh and blood body, no heartbeat in its broad barrel chest? Unless …

“Mmm, are you finally starting to realize? That bittersweet tinge of terror you just felt was delicious. Go on, girl. Say it.”

You swallow hard, practically choking on your frazzled nerves. “You … y - you share a bond with Ajax too. You’re sustaining yourself through his life force, not just using him as a vessel. Isn’t that right?”

Another low, gravelly chuckle escapes it, except this time it’s right up against the side of your face. The sound of it seems to vibrate through you on an endless, looping echo and you violently shudder when you feel its tongue slip out to curl over your shoulder. Snaking through the static charged air, it tauntingly comes up under your chin and flicks a wet stripe over your pulse to leave you bristling in disgust.

“Smart girl. I chose you to be my bride for a reason, you know. I was sure you’d start to piece everything together once you got over your initial … panic at the situation. Now I wonder what you’ll do about it?”

“What is there to do?” You ask, hands clenching into tight, helpless fists. “It sounds like the ritual is already a bygone conclusion and I’m sure it’s much too late for Ajax too. What would you have of me, o great demon lord?”

Humming a thoughtful, vibrating sound, Foul Legacy retracts its tongue and straightens up to its full towering height once again. Coming up alongside you, it rather ceremoniously holds out its open hand to you in offering. Like a stately gentleman extending invitation at a ball.

“Come. I wish to show you something.”

You hesitate, understandably wary of the monster and anything it said to you but there was no denying a certain curiosity pinging in the back of your mind. If you were truly already bound to it and had no way out then, you tried to reason, it probably wouldn’t hurt to at least have a better understanding of what was happening before the marriage rite commenced. Even putting that aside, it had never hurt you before. Not really, anyway. You’d feared for your life and your soul alike many times at the start of this ordeal, yes, but it never took those sharp talons to vulnerable flesh. Had never forced your body to accept anything beyond what it could comfortably accommodate. It wasn’t always easy but, if nothing else, you consistently came out on the other side in one piece, relatively speaking.

If this was a trap of some kind, you were at least certain that your folly wouldn’t see you dead for it.

So you reach out to slip your hand into its waiting palm, and its massive fingers slowly curl into place over yours. It’s almost comical, how greatly it dwarves you. But then the scenery around you starts to shift, blurring into an unrecognizable rush of movement that makes your stomach lurch up into your throat. You quickly squeeze your eyes shut to block it out, fighting down the bile that threatens to choke you up at the nauseating lurch.

It’s over in an instant though, and you cautiously crack your eyes back open to look around. You’re more than just a little surprised to find yourself standing on the raised dais in the chapel, everything so still and dark without any of the candelabra lit that for a prolonged moment you think the two of you are alone. As if in some endless, sprawling cave with the high vaulted ceiling overhead and the rows upon rows of polished wood pews stretching endlessly off into the dark void before you, it had never been quite so apparent how vastly empty this space actually was.

But then you hear a soft shuffle just behind you and you turn, half expecting to find a scrawny rat scuttling around in search of food or somewhere to burrow into for shelter. But what actually greets you is so alarming that it startles a surprised cry out of your mouth, and you quickly bring your free hand up to slap it over the lower half of your face to quiet the reaction even when you knew it was much too late for that. You were already as good as caught.

“Do not fret, Sister.” Foul Legacy coos another soft laugh, giving your trapped fingers a brief squeeze. “We are invisible to the human eye like this so we can freely spectate to our hearts content. They can’t hear us either. Go ahead and see for yourself.”

At its encouraging nudge, you cautiously step forward to get a better look at the sight playing out in front of you. It’s almost inconceivable and you have to struggle to wrap your head around what your eyes are telling you — but no matter how much you hesitate to believe it, the truth of the matter is staring you right in the face.

It’s Father Sluhovsky greeting a female parishioner with heated, impatient kisses and the kind of intimate petting that makes you flush red hot in secondhand shame. Even more alarming, the woman in question was young enough to be his daughter! Maybe even his granddaughter. Try as you might, you just couldn’t make any sense of what you were seeing and you immediately reel back from the pair in abject disgust.

“What in the world …”

The demon steps up beside you, not quite touching but still close enough that you can feel the heat coming off it again. “You’re surprised?”

“I’m shocked! This is … it’s reprehensible, isn’t it? Father Sluhovsky swore an oath, the same as any priest or nun. The same one I did! And that girl — I know her!” Feeling frantic and jittery, you spin around to look up at the monster looming over you. You couldn’t rationalize this, couldn’t conceive of any logical reason behind what you’ve been made to witness, and that leaves you with no choice but to look towards the bane of your very existence for answers. “Her name is Marnie. She’s around the same age as me. Why would she do something like this with the archbishop when he’s so … old?”

Foul Legacy cocks its head to one side as if in thought. “Hmm. I’m afraid I don’t have the answer to that specific question, but I might be able to answer another one if you’d like to try again.”

Eyes narrowing, you shoot daggers at that horrible beast. “I have no interest in your games, fiend. Tell me what’s going on here! Now!”

“It’s obvious enough, isn’t it? These two seem to be in some sort of relationship by the looks of it. I can’t say I understand it any more than you do, but who am I to judge? After all, I’m just a fiend, isn’t that right?”

You sputter indignantly, floundering for the right words when you wanted to say so very much in that moment. Finally you settle on, “I don’t believe you. This is a trick, a - a hallucination of some kind. You’ve got me under your thrall and - -“

“Ah, ah. Don’t be so hasty to jump to conclusions. It’s not very becoming of such a righteous Sister, is it?” Foul Legacy purrs, meaningfully gesturing towards the pair with a nudge of its chin. “Tell me, what do you see when you look at them? Are you appalled because of the inherent imbalance of power between these two humans or … does it unsettle you so much because he presents himself as someone good and holy? Someone who should be above such base acts?”

Hesitating, you turn that over in your head with no shortage of skepticism. The two were part and parcel, weren’t they? One couldn’t exist without the other. The archbishop only wielded the kind of power he did in the community because he was a devout follower of the belief and had been deemed someone of authority on matters of morality. He wouldn’t be wearing his exalted robes right now if he wasn’t a good person … would he?

You can feel the blood draining from your face now as you turn to glance at the pair again. Father Sluhovsky had Marnie backed up and pinned against the side of the great, hulking frame of the organ that occupied the back of the dais in almost its full entirety. One hand was busy between her legs, reminiscent of the way Ajax had pleasured you earlier in the bell tower corridor, while the other eagerly toyed with an exposed breast that was spilling from her open blouse. It was a lurid scene, not to mention a highly inappropriate one for the chapel, and yet neither of them seemed to show any amount of disinclination towards their surroundings.

Almost as if they’d done this before, and it was not their first time rendezvousing in the church late at night when no one was likely to stumble upon them. They were comfortable, not only with each other but also their shared secret. The familiarity in their body language and the ardent way he kisses her chills you straight down to the bone.

“Why are you showing this to me?” You ask on a hushed whisper, so faint even your ears strain to hear it.

Foul Legacy doesn’t seem to have any problem hearing you though, and it sidles up right next to you with a nearly imperceptible brush of its heavy frame against yours. “I merely wish to highlight some things you seem to be unaware of, that’s all. Tell me, girl. Why do you think I wanted to show you what your beloved priest is up to when nobody is looking?”

You can’t speak it. The reality of it was too dark, too disappointing for you to utter it aloud. Doing so would only cement the horrible thoughts into existence and make them real whereas if you kept your silence they would forever remain intangible ‘what ifs’.

Seeing you start to chew on your inner cheek, the demon issues another low rumble as it holds out its hand again. “Then come. There’s still more to see that should help you make up your mind.”

Your head slowly lifts at that. You were relatively certain you didn’t want to see anything else if it was half as devastating as this but a certain curiosity in the back of your mind urges you on. Was there truly something more damning than seeing Father Sluhovsky so unapologetically shirking his vows in favor of indulging in the young flesh of one of his congregants? It seemed unlikely, inconceivable even, and yet the beast looked so sure of itself. In as much as its stoic, uncanny mask with its singular unblinking eye could look like anything.

Feeling numb, you carefully reach out to slip your hand into its waiting palm again. The scenery immediately starts to shift and rush past you in a blur as soon as it closes its fingers around yours, but you force yourself to keep your eyes open this time. If there was some sort of trick or illusion it was pulling over your sleeping consciousness you wanted to catch it in the act if you could.

All you earn for your efforts is a nauseating rush of motion sickness though, and you sway unsteadily on your feet when the world around you reforms itself into one of the many identical dorm rooms that occupy the monastery. It’s an almost perfect mirror to your own, you quickly realize, and you warily bring your attention up at the sound of a shuddering, feminine exhale.

The sight of Sister Darya spread out naked on the bed while one of your fellow Sisters kneels between her parted legs, mouthing at her cunt, startles you so much you feel suddenly faint. Perhaps you’d just been more apt to accept that Father Sluhovsky was not as he seemed because he was a man, and the easily swayed faculties of men were no mystery to even someone such as you, but for Sister Darya of all people to neglect her vows …

Reeling with disbelief, you stumble back a step and half collapse against Foul Legacy’s side for support. It was the only thing keeping you upright and off the floor when it felt like everything you believed in and thought you understood was crashing down around you in quick succession. You couldn’t believe it.

“This doesn’t make any sense,” You rattle, the horror in your voice almost palpable. “It is one thing for the archbishop to sneak around behind everyone’s back but - but Sister Darya is such a stickler for the rules. She enforces them more than anyone else here. Her vow of celibacy isn’t some kind of joke or unimportant matter that she would just shrug off like this … or so I thought.”

Sedately, Foul Legacy reaches up to nudge a thick finger under your trembling chin. So confused and upset by the things you’ve witnessed, you don’t even think to fight it when the monster tips your head back to make you look into its horrible face.

“Are you starting to see it now? Those vows you put so much stock and weight in are nothing but lip service. Oh, don’t look at me like that, little love. I’ll admit that there are a few adherents of the faith who believe in what they preach almost as wholeheartedly as you do, but you’re in the minority I’m afraid. Poor thing. What must it feel like to realize that everyone around you doesn’t keep the same adamant pledge that you do?”

It takes a great deal of effort on your part but you manage to stir from your shell shocked stupor enough to pin the demon with a heated glare. “Is that what this is about? You’re trying to convince me into giving myself over to you willingly just because everyone else is indulging in mortal pleasures?”

“Not quite that, but I suppose it’s not far from the truth either. Just look at your Sister. Look at her and tell me what’s going on here.”

You blanch at that, scrunching up your face. “I think I’ve already played the role of voyeur enough for one night, don’t you?”

With a gentle hum, Foul Legacy slips from you to step around the cramped room made all the more claustrophobic with so many people taking up space within its four walls, least of all the hulking ghoul who’s fiery burst of red hair brushes against the ceiling when it moves. You watch it walk over to stand at the foot of the occupied bed and, anxiously fisting your hands in the front of your dress, you slowly trail after it to join in its vigil.

Luckily you find that looking down at the scene from this angle prevents you from catching a glimpse of anything too embarrassing when the other Sister was positioned between her legs, and you’re exceedingly grateful for that. Your eyes do linger briefly on her bare breasts though, heavy with weight and with age, and starting to migrate towards the pits of her arms. But she looks all the more voluptuous for it, like some erotic rendition of a matronly saint come to life.

You’re distantly aware of a brief pang of self consciousness, wondering how your own body looked by comparison. If you still seemed immature and undeveloped in contrast to her motherly curves. But then you drag your attention up to her face.

So accustomed to Sister Darya scowling in varying degrees of disapproval whenever you chanced to look upon her, you’re more than a little surprised now to find her expression completely relaxed and at ease. Blissful, even. It’s as if in this one moment in time she’s allowed herself to simply exist and to feel that which she routinely denies herself in her day to day. Intimacy. Closeness with another. Was there perhaps even love between the two Sisters?

“That’s it.” Foul Legacy purrs, directly against the side of your face now. Startling with a jolt, you whip your head around to find it crouched down on your level again and staring right into your very soul from just a scant few inches away, misting hot breath across your face when it lets out a faintly shuddering exhale. “You recognize it for what it is don’t you? The human need for companionship. It’s an integral part of you even if you try to reject it at every turn. You’ve felt those pangs of longing too, haven’t you?”

“Not until you branded me with your mark, cursed beast.” You grumble back but it just snickers another soft, taunting laugh.

“You have no need for reticence with me. I did not implant those feelings in you, little nun. My presence can only amplify what is already there, not create something out of nothing.” Slowly, it reaches out for you and you think to pull away, to slap at its massive hand to dissuade it from touching you so casually. But you can’t quite find the wherewithal or energy to do so, simply sucking in a stifled breath when it palms over your stomach for the upteenth time with that same possessive gesture as before. “Sooner or later you wouldn’t have been able to fight it any longer and you would have sought out intimacy from somewhere. Your kind always does. No matter how pious or righteous, or pure of heart and mind you claim yourselves to be, there is no getting around these baser needs you harbor. I just sped up the process, that’s all.”

“But why?”

“Is it really some great mystery?” It asks, tilting its head to one side. The sound of cresting pleasure that promptly sounds from the bed only serves to further highlight the poignancy of the moment, what it’s saying to you and the way it looks at you.

“Tell me.” You whisper under the heaving sighs and groans of Sister Darya finding release on the other Sister’s mouth. “Tell me in your own words, demon.”

“I want you. Just as he wants you. And both of us shall have you, rest assured.”

Foul Legacy squeezes you then, not unlike the way Ajax has earlier that afternoon, except this time sharp talons dig into the vulnerable flesh of your belly through layers of clothes. You seethe between your teeth and tears spring up in your eyes as you jerk your hands down to grab at the foul thing and force it off you but it’s already too late. Whatever it had triggered was already in motion and there was nothing you could do to stop it.

All at once the world dissolves around you, fading into mere memory, and you’re suddenly falling through a pitch black eternity of nothingness. Everything is gone, even the demon. You try to scream but nothing comes out. It’s impossible to even draw breath here, like some kind of void completely bereft of oxygen. Your chest wrenches in panic and your heart slams wildly against the interior of your ribcage, but there’s nothing you can grab onto to stop your downward descent. You just keep falling, falling, falling —

Straight into your flesh and blood body.

Your lungs abruptly expand with the wild, frantic breath you suck in and you bolt upright in your bed so violently you almost lurch right over the edge of it. Wheezing uncontrollably and drenched in sweat, you force yourself to go still so you can try to take stock of your surroundings.

You were back in your dorm, you’re more than a bit relieved to find. Blissfully alone and, judging by the softening iridescence of the sky you can glimpse through your window, still a few hours from daybreak. But that didn’t make any sense though. Foul Legacy never let you return to the real world without first taking its monstrous tongue to you until you came shuddering and fitfully jerking in pleasure. Why would it send you back so suddenly? And with only three days left until the new moon you would have thought …

Feeling like you were going to be sick all over the rumpled sheets, you cautiously reach down to curl a protective hand over your lower stomach. The responding dull pulse of the mark makes you wince but nothing beyond that happens. You’re ashamed at the sense of disappointment that quickly rushes in to overshadow the mindless panic you’d felt when you first woke up, threatening to suffocate and choke you in its potency.

Surely you weren’t so weak, so irreparably addicted to the pleasure that monster gave you, that you could no longer return to your normal life without lamenting its absence, were you?

Oh, how far the righteous fall.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The next two nights pass by uneventful and the horned demon does not make another appearance in that time, leaving you to a fitful sleep free of its persistent harassment. You almost feel more tired for it, less rested than if it had taken you on another nocturnal goose chase through the dreamscape. Even so you knew you should have been glad for the reprieve. It’s what you’d been praying and hoping for throughout this entire ordeal, wasn’t it?

But somehow it feels like anything but a victory, especially when it just leaves you with your own thoughts for company and little else. You had a lot to think about, after all, and none of it was good.

And at last the final day arrives without ceremony or consequence, but you can’t quite decide if you should peacefully say your goodbyes to the world as you know it or if it was better to simply carry on as if nothing were out of the ordinary. It didn’t exactly feel any different from what you were accustomed to, save the vague sense of anxiety thrumming in the back of your mind like a livewire. There were no ominous thunderbolts flashing in the charcoal gray clouds overhead, no fire and brimstone raining down upon the earth. It wasn’t even snowing, the sky as clear as it ever seemed to get in Snezhnaya.

You’d think it rather anticlimactic had it not been for the resounding absence of the fiend’s host on top of everything else. Something about him disappearing filled you with unease and uncertainty for what the night held in store for you more than anything else did, and it didn’t exactly bode well.

But Ajax had not paid you a visit in over forty-eight hours now which was a new record for him and decidedly strange, so it was no wonder it would make you nervous. Since you’d first met some weeks ago, it felt like he popped in just to say hello at every opportunity he was afforded — either in the natural lulls of his daily workload or intentionally manufactured by his desire to see you — and his frequent daily appearances had become something of a routine at a certain point as a result. You’d thought you would have been glad to be rid of him too but in truth you feel anything but relief.

Instead a vague sense of guilt had slowly descended upon you, piling all the blame for his sudden disappearance on your actions when last you’d seen him, until you were left with no choice but to grudgingly admit to yourself that you missed the headstrong soldier on some level. Maybe you did like him. Maybe it was more than the mark compelling you so urgently closer to taking that final plunge with him. It was hard to say for sure when the situation was so messed up thanks to Foul Legacy and its schemes but it was starting to look like you’d soon find your answer one way or another. If the two of them really were as symbiotic as you’d started to suspect then the upcoming marriage rite would tie you to both, not just one of them.

And you really didn’t want to examine your thoughts on that any further than you absolutely needed to.

Eager for a distraction from what understandably seemed to be your impending doom, you bundle up in your heavy cloak and make the trip into town early in the afternoon. You alternatively considered running somewhere far away, and not for the first time, but quickly think better of it. Fleeing would clearly be an effort in futility given Foul Legacy’s unfettered access to your consciousness and you didn’t want to incur its wrath should you displease it by acting out.

So you try to keep yourself preoccupied with strolling down the cobbled streets and greeting the people who stop to talk to you, visiting the shops you usually neglected under the belief that they were material temptations that would only lead you astray and even an indulgent stop at the popular cafe in the village. It had been a very long time since you last treated yourself to coffee and pyshka, and you savor every minute of it, unsure if it would be the last chance you ever get.

Although Foul Legacy hadn’t said anything about the marriage rite ending with the loss of your life, a martyred sacrifice to its dark power, it also hadn’t explicitly said anything about what would happen afterward. You didn’t want to take any chances, just in case. Maybe you’d even pay a visit to your uncle's house and enjoy one last meal of home cooked bigos stew while you were at it. Surely his dutiful wife wouldn’t deny you this final request if you laid on the puppy eyed begging enough …

A handful of hours pass you by in this manner going from shop to shop until you’re eventually roused from your thoughts of stews and baked herring by an excited shout and a rush of movement just at your peripheral. No shortage of surprised confusion rushes over you when you glance down to find a child, a young boy, eagerly running up as if to greet you. The big, broad smile on his face gives you pause and you hesitate mid step, giving him ample opportunity to latch onto your fluttering skirts.

“Excuse me, excuse me!” He yelps, practically dancing on his toes in excitement. “Are you - you are, aren’t you? You're the Sister my big brother told me all about!”

It feels like someone has just ripped the rug right out from under you and your stomach plummets straight into the ground with immediate, inescapable understanding. If the striking blue of his eyes hadn’t given it away, the boy's burnished red-brown hair certainly would have. Ajax had told you extensively about his siblings but you hadn’t expected him to return the favor and tell them anything about you. It seemed a little naive of him, almost, when you’d made it so abundantly clear that you had no interest in being courted and had subsequently tried to reject him at every turn. Suddenly your guilt felt ten times more crushing than before.

“A - ah, yes. That’s me.” You school your features into a pleasant smile and bend at the waist to get closer to his level. “And let me guess. Such a handsome young man … you must be Tuecer then, if I had to guess?”

“Yep! Wow, my brother told you about me too?”

“He told me about all of his brothers and sisters, little Tuecer. He’s very proud of you, you know. In fact I think he takes more pride in calling you his family than in any achievements he’s earned in the military. You’re very lucky to have him as your older sibling.”

Looking incredibly happy to hear that, Tuecer rocks back on his heels to fidget. “Ajax said you were nice but you’re even kinder than I thought you’d be! And pretty too! Anton didn’t believe him but everything he told us was actually true!”

You hesitate to ask, but ultimately can’t stop yourself. “Did he really say all that about me?”

“Mhm!” Tuecer bobs his head in an enthusiastic nod, and you feel the knot in your stomach cinch that little bit tighter. Curse that scoundrel.

“I see. I’m flattered he thinks so highly of me. By the way, have you seen him recently?”

“Mmm, he just had dinner at home with us the night before last. Why? Are you looking for him, Sister?”

“I think I probably should be.” You murmur, earning a curious look from the boy. “Ah, it’s nothing to concern yourself with, Tuecer. I’m sure I’ll find him eventually. I could always check at the outpost, right? But before that, would you like to join me for a quick bite to eat?”

His eyes light up at the prospect, shimmering blue pools that are reminiscent of his brothers and yet simultaneously not. The color was the same but where Ajax’s were a depthless void that never seemed to reflect any light at all, Tuecer’s seemed to be lit from within. You wonder at that even as the two of you make your way down the street together towards the popular meat pie shop. Had their eyes matched at one time, as one would expect of siblings, and was it Foul Legacy who had caused the physical change in Ajax? You’d probably never know for certain, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that they were likely somehow intertwined.

More curious, however, is that Tuecer doesn’t seem to realize that anything is at all strange or out of the ordinary about his brother. The boy has nothing but praise and good things to say about Ajax while the two of you enjoy a late snack at the little restaurant, and he divulges a great many things about his sibling in exchange for the paszteciki. That hadn’t exactly been your intention in inviting him to lunch but you still find yourself hanging off his every word with a great deal of interest.

While some of it was clearly the exaggerated hero worship of a younger brother putting his elder on a pedestal and it quickly became apparent to you that Ajax could do no wrong in his eyes, you still learn much about him and the rest of his family. He especially adored Tonia, frequently gifting the little girl with nice dresses and shoes despite his soldiers salary, according to Tuecer. You almost resent how thoroughly that information manages to shift your opinion of the troublesome lout but there’s no denying the effect it has on you.

At one point you’d been half convinced that his apparent kindness was an act and he was not nearly as sympathetic as he often made himself out to be. This changed things though. To be so kind and thoughtful to the needs of a little sister when he had other brothers he could just as easily dote on instead … that said something about his character, didn’t it? And in retrospect, now that you were thinking about it, he’d only ever pushed you in the playful, mischievous way boys liked to do but had never turned mean or malicious no matter how many times you rejected his advances. In truth it was only Foul Legacy who’d completely ignored your wishes in all this. Ajax, to his credit, had been surprisingly chivalrous towards you this whole time.

How had you not seen that before now? Was it really possible that you’d unfairly conflated the two and let your experiences with the demon cloud your perception of the man? Had you ascribed Ajax with a selfish streak of entitlement that he quite simply did not have in all actuality? It was a conundrum, and a troubling one at that, but you were in no position to reconcile any of it at the current moment. Not without talking to him directly first.

So you decide to visit the soldiers outpost at the edge of town after you part ways with Tuecer, bidding him a fond farewell and a promise of another shared treat sometime in the near future. You don’t mention the fast approaching deadline on your soul's freedom, nor do you let your thoughts linger on it for very long. It was better to keep yourself preoccupied with other matters so the suffocating dread didn’t take hold of you and never let you go, and the matter of Ajax seemed sufficiently pressing.

But when you arrive at the cordoned off street and ask the stationed on duty guard about the singular object of your consternation, you’re promptly informed that civilians were not permitted beyond that point. And no, unfortunately, even church staff were not exempt from that rule.

“And what if someone were in need of our services, hm? What would you do then?” You ask archly of the bewildered guard who was likely unaccustomed to seeing a nun seeking entry into the outpost without first being requested to do so. Although it was a little odd, yes, you sorely wished you could tell him that there were far stranger things afoot that deserved his scrutiny.

“Erm, I am sorry, Sister …?”

You huff out your name, stamping down the urge to roll your eyes at the needless rigmarole.

“Yes, well. As much as it pains me to say it I’m afraid I just can’t let you past this point. There’s regulations to follow. You understand.”

“I do, of course. But can’t you at least send word to the person I want to speak to so that he might meet me here at the gate?”

“I’m afraid I can’t leave my post, Sister. It’s nothing personal, that much I can promise you, so please don’t take any offense. Even if I wanted to help you out, I’d have no way of getting a message to Lieutenant Ajax right now.”

Shoulders slumping in defeat, you nod your head once in solemn resignation. There was nothing for it then. And you certainly didn’t want to get the young man into any trouble. It was probably best to give up now and try again later — if ‘later’ even existed for you. “You have my thanks then, sir. I won’t take up anymore of your time in that case.”

“I appreciate your understanding, Sister. Thank you for your cooperation.”

You’re already halfway through the motion of turning away from him when a voice in the near distance abruptly squawks your name.

Startling, you glance back to find another young man poking his head out of a nearby building. A supplies shed, by the looks of it, and your suspicions are quickly confirmed when he steps out with an arm full of heavy woolen blankets clutched to his front.

Hurrying over to stand beside the first soldier, the newcomer gives you a quick but no less critical once over. “Yeah, you seem to fit the description alright. I think I’ve got something for you, Sister.”

“Me?” You lift your brows in surprise as you turn back around to face them head on. “I’m sorry, have we met somewhere before or …?”

“No, no. We haven’t met. If I’d known you were so lovely and fair, I never would have agreed to help the Lieutenant out so that I might try my luck instead.” The first soldier shoots the second a startled look in response, mirroring your own shock. But the newcomer just laughs it off as he shoves his armload into the other man’s chest so he can foist it off on him before digging into the deep pockets of his heavy coat. “Just a moment, I should have it on hand somewhere … ah, here we are. The Lieutenant said this was for you if you happened to stop by looking for him.”

Warily regarding the simple white envelope he holds out in offering, you hesitate to take it. You couldn’t be sure if you could trust it or not, either the contents of the letter or this unknown soldier’s sincerity, but considering that this looked to be your only lead on the scoundrels whereabouts …

“Thank you.” Taking the slightly wrinkled envelope from him, you flip it around to inspect the back but there was nothing written on it. Just a blot of dried creamy wax sealing it shut and nothing more.

So you quickly take your leave of the two, wishing them both a good day and thanking them for their hard work before ducking down the first street you come to. Pausing just inside the vacant lip of an alley, you carefully rip the seal open and take out the piece of parchment you find inside. Upon unfolding it, you’re greeted by a surprisingly legible masculine scrawl that is not nearly as messy as you would have expected from someone like him.

Brow furrowing, you settle in to read:

Should this letter somehow find its way to you then I can only assume you’ve decided to take me up on my offer to help. I’d be lying if I said that didn’t make me happy. My feelings for you are sincere. This I can swear to you.

Unfortunately I’ve just been informed that my presence is required out on patrol and I will be indisposed for the next two days at the time of writing this message. I hope it sees you well, and you’re not missing me too terribly. But I’ll be back soon so worry not. Let’s meet up under the new moon by the graveyard just outside the bell tower, where we were the last time. It's one of the few landmarks I recognize inside the church’s compound so it should be a good place to rendezvous. Even if I have to drag myself half dead through a raging blizzard to do it, I will be there waiting for you. I’ll wait an eternity if I have to.

Lieutenant Ajax, Eleventh Company

Reaching the bottom of the short missive, you slump back against the rough brick wall behind you and let out a heavy sigh of relief. He wasn’t purposely avoiding you then.

You aren’t sure why that should fill you with such a stark sense of comfort but it does and, perhaps more importantly, it manages to successfully assuage the overpowering guilt that had fallen over your head in his absence. It felt a little silly in hindsight but watching Tuecer’s eyes sparkle and dance while he regaled you with stories of his older brother had been akin to the final nail in the coffin. Ajax at least deserved a fair chance free of Foul Legacy’s influence, of this you were now certain. He was in all likelihood a victim just as much as you were and there was solidarity to be found in the mutual sharing of such an experience, wasn’t there?

But … rousing yourself, you peer down at the letter again. Rendezvousing under the new moon, what an implausible coincidence this was turning out to be. Was it truly happenstance, a mere stroke of serendipity, or had that demon somehow orchestrated this as well? Was it really powerful enough to influence the waking world as much as it does the sleeping?

There was only one way to find out for sure.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

You were not particularly well versed in the art of sneaking out of your dorm room in the middle of the night, unlike some others who shall go unnamed, and you’re understandably nervous about such a clandestine undertaking. Simply getting caught was a very real concern at the forefront of your mind but you also feared being barred from seeing Ajax should you be sent back and locked inside for the night. You’d heard that they implemented such measures on especially rebellious Sister’s who had been shipped off to the convent by families who no longer knew what to do with them.

But by some rare stroke of luck, you manage to pull it off without a hitch. Your presence out in the hall goes just as unnoticed as your boots creeping down the staircase, floor after floor until you at last reach ground level. The foyer is just as deserted and you’re able to freely slip out into the biting cold of night with nary so much as a questioning look thrown your way.

Standing on the front step, you take a moment to pull the hood of your cloak more securely around your head to protect you from the wind and snow flurries drifting through the air. Then you glance out over the still, quiet courtyard, taking note of the best route to slip through the largely open space undetected.

There wasn’t much light coming down from the moon in its waned state but the faint reflection off of the snowdrifts created just enough of a glow to illuminate the path directly in front of you. The rest was shrouded in a hazy veil of darkness that seemed all at once to hold nothing at all, just a limitless void staring back at you, and every possible demon and ghoul that might ever exist at the same time.

A frightened shudder works down your spine but you keep your chin held high as you step down to the pavers and begin to make your way across the frozen grass, taking care to avoid the brightest lit spots. You were determined to meet your fate with dignity and the sort of decorum expected of someone of the faith. Even knowing there were those living among you who did not adhere to the scriptures as strictly as you wasn't enough to completely break your resolve in their teachings. Whether it was your mortal death at the hands of clawed, monstrous intentions or the surrender of your cherished sanctity at the hands of a young soldier, you would face it unflinchingly.

Gratefully the trek across the compound is an uneventful one, save the impromptu flight of a great owl that swoops over your head on a near silent trajectory and sends your heart racing into overdrive. Its departing hoot urges you on, and you hurry the rest of the way to the outbuilding.

Following it around, you crunch through the snow and brittle ice until you at last come upon the small cemetery facing out over the sloping hillside, an endless stretch of pure white that disappears off into the distance. And immediately you catch the flicker of a lantern, a shift of the shadows to indicate that someone was moving about amongst the stout headstones and looming mausoleums. The realization that Ajax was really there waiting for you, just like he said he would be, makes your heartbeat quicken for an entirely different reason than the owl had.

You clutch your cloak tightly about you as you step closer, keeping your head low until you’re standing between the first rows of stone monuments where you finally call out, “Ajax? Are you here?”

The scoundrel appears immediately, popping out from behind a cracked granite sepulcher with a grin on his face. “Who else would be skulking about in a cemetery in the middle of the night? You weren’t expecting someone else were you, Sister?”

“Of course not. Don’t be a fool.” Huffing, you step closer to him and accept the hand he holds out to you in offering. That you don’t even seem to give it a second thought surprises both of you, as evidenced by the lift of his brows, but he has the sense not to question it as he leads you back behind the mausoleum where he’d been hiding.

His lantern sits atop a long frozen memorial bench, slowly melting the snow around it, and it gives a faint flicker as if in welcome when the two of you step fully into its protective circle. Your nerves almost get the better of you, standing there like that when the chance of being caught seemed so great, but you force your head up to look at him. There would be no backing out of this now.

“I’m glad you came.” He says at length, giving you an unexpectedly tender smile while he searches your face for … what, you do not know. You think he’s checking to make sure it’s really you and not some other, less scrupulous nun looking to have a bit of fun. The notion nearly makes you laugh.

“I must admit, I’m … I’m glad I came too. It was odd, not seeing you for so many days.”

His grin widens. “You missed me?”

“Only in as much as I was simply used to seeing you pop in unannounced like clockwork. You set an expectation, I’m afraid.”

Humming softly, Ajax takes a moment to simply look at you and you almost glance away from the burning spotlight of his pinpoint attention. But then he reaches up to carefully hook his thumbs under your hood, and you stare up at him in transfixed silence while he nudges it back to slip off your head.

The fogging condensation from your breath mixes with his when he bends close to just nuzzle the tip of his cold nose against yours as if in affectionate greeting. “Then get a good look, sweetheart. I’m right here in front of you. What would you have of me now?”

Your lungs slowly expand with the deep inhale you draw to steady yourself. You knew what you wanted from him, even if it only meant quickening your inevitable demise. Even if it meant condemning your soul to an eternity of punishment and retribution for the sins committed in this world. It was exactly as Foul Legacy claimed, exactly what it had shown you. There was a base part of the human psyche that craved intimacy no matter how much one tried to reject it and you were no better than all the rest. Just as weak and easily persuaded by the flesh as Father Sluhovsky and Sister Darya evidently were.

And if you were truly fated to know the demon as husband and wife know each other then you wanted to at least lie with a man once before it was too late. Before the only thing you were permitted to partake in was more monster than human. This just might be the last chance you’d ever have at something close to normal.

So you carefully tip your mouth up, rocking forward on the toes of your boots just enough to get the message across. Ajax doesn’t miss his cue, luckily, and he brings his hands up to delicately cradle your cheeks between the chilly palms of his gloves. Folding himself in half, he slots his lips into place over yours and he kisses you deeply, issuing a faint moan when that same static shock as the last time tears through both of you.

The sharp intensity of the mark throbbing to life almost makes you too weak in the knees to stand and it must be the same for Ajax because he sways with you there in the lamplight. Shuddering from top to bottom, you eagerly bring your hands up to twist your fingers into his thick jacket but he must mistake the involuntary gesture for something it’s not, because he pulls away to look at you with a searching glance.

“You’re cold.” He says so matter of factly it surprises a brief laugh out of you.

“Only a little, but it’s not anything I can’t - -“

Softly clucking his tongue, Ajax disengages from you completely so he can reach up and unwind the red scarf from around his own neck. Numb with surprise, you just stand there and watch as he transfers the knitted fabric over to your shoulders so he can wrap it into place over your throat. The immediate rush of his scent straight into your brain, so distinct and yet clean at the same time, almost makes you dizzier than the kiss had.

“There. That should help at least a bit.”

You aren’t entirely sure what to say so you settle on, “Thank you, Ajax. You’re very sweet … when you want to be.”

He snickers a quiet laugh. “Don’t tell me my charm has finally started to work.”

“It might have.”

“Good.” Looking really quite pleased to hear that, he slips his hands down to slide under your cloak and you startle at the cold brush of his gloves invading your warm cocoon. He doesn’t give you a chance to complain about it though, quickly finding your waist so he can back you up a step, and then another. “Don’t look so shocked. I’m just going to help you stay warm enough. Relax.”

That was easy for him to say but much more difficult for you, especially when your backside bumps into the flat, chilly surface of a headstone, dislodging a whimper from low in your throat. Blindly reaching behind you, you brace your hand on top of the stone monument and prepare to push away from it. You weren’t feeling particularly keen about disrespecting someone’s gravesite but you don’t quite get to follow through on it.

Without a word of warning or explanation Ajax abruptly drops to his knees in front of you, unconcerned about the snow that crunches under his weight and no doubt soaks up into his pants. Your breath catches, eyes widening to the size of dinner plates. He doesn’t so much as hesitate to do it though, and he quickly dives under your skirts with an eager flick of the heavy material to make you outright choke on anything you might have liked to say to him. All the more so when you feel the first brush of his mouth against your stockinged leg.

White knuckled gripping the headstone with both hands now, you furtively jerk your attention around at the rest of the otherwise empty cemetery. “Have you lost your mind?” You hiss, struggling to keep your thighs closed when he leans up to try and nuzzle them apart. “This is — we’re in a graveyard, you sacreligious idiot! We can’t do this here …!”

“Why not?” His voice drifts up through the layers of your frock, muffled and fainter than before but still damnably clear with pointed intention. “No ones going to stop us, not even the Holy Mother herself. I told you I was going to help you stay warm, didn’t I?”

Rising up a little higher, he presses his face into the cradling cushion between your legs and breathes deep the smell of you through your bloomers. The sound of him releasing a savory exhale just a short moment later rushes straight to your cunt and makes you gasp at the intense surge of slicking heat that promptly follows. Your limbs suddenly feel like overcooked pasta as you sag there against the tombstone, struggling to keep your head on straight while Ajax slides his hands up over your stockings. Leather and nylon clash in a sensuous drag that makes your muscles twitch at the strange sensation, and it seems to rob you of all your strength to fight.

By the time he finally reaches the top of your bloomers it’s already much too late and you can hardly even think straight anymore, the demon mark insidiously pulsing in time with your heartbeat when he starts to tug them down. This was what you wanted, yes, and you try desperately to remind yourself of that, but it was impossible to rationalize doing it here rather than anywhere else in your foggy mind. Even sneaking into the church to do it in front of the silent statue of the merciful Holy Mother would have been less disrespectful than this.

There’s no stopping it though, and all you can do is seethe through your teeth when he manages to get your bloomers pulled off and discarded before going back for your stockings. His hands are tense with eager anticipation as he rolls them down over your hips, barely stopping long enough to get them pulled out of the way before shoving his mouth into your cunt.

You toss your head back at the sensation of warm lips on you rather than the snake-like, crafty tongue you’d become so accustomed to. But Ajax is just as messy with it as his counterpart is, you quickly come to find, and he hungrily kisses at you with wet, smacking pecks that make your toes curl in their boots.

Pursing your lips to stop the excited sounds that threaten to come tumbling out, you tuck your chin back down to look at him kneeling before you. It’s no use with him underneath your dress though, and all you can make out is the lumpy outline of his head and his broad shoulders, a bit of his long legs poking out from behind him. All you have to focus on is the feel him mouthing at you, taking sticky swipes at your slit to encourage the meaty folds to part for him. And they readily do, you’re almost ashamed to realize, your need so great after only just two days of neglect that your pussy quickly softens for him with the rush of blood in your veins.

And as your body starts to open up to him, his tongue dips further in on the next flicking swipe to just get his first real taste of you. Ajax groans, hot and primal into your cunt, while you violently shudder at the brief contact to your clit. You’re immediately struck by how different it feels compared to Foul Legacy’s, how much fleshier and softer it is. Your need for him immediately ratchets up another notch and you futilely try to spread your legs further apart in invitation, impropriety and sacrilege be damned.

But you’re stopped by the stockings still rolled down around your thighs, the stretchy nylon only allowing you so much range of motion before they begin to groan in protest.

“Ajax -!” You mewl, writhing impotently between him and the headstone. “I — I want your mouth …!”

A low, rumbling sound rises from underneath your skirts and he restlessly shifts in place, fumbling to get the material yanked further down. “You’ll have it, sweetheart. Anything you want, anything at all. I’m going to take off one of your boots, okay?” He pauses just long enough to deliver a heated kiss to the curve of your freshly exposed knee before returning to the task at hand. “Don’t worry though. I’m not going to let you stand here in the snow and get frostbite. Just trust me.”

Whining softly when the mark gives a demanding, attention grabbing throb, you lean further back into the grave marker to help support your weight as he works his way down to your shoes. Lifting one of your feet to cradle it in his lap, Ajax makes quick work of unlacing and tugging the boot off before letting it fall to the ground without another thought. That side of the stockings quickly follows, left to curl like a fallen drape across the snow packed earth. Then, much to your gasping surprise, he guides your leg higher still to hook it over his shoulder and lock you into place with your foot hiked up in the air.

You almost protest, almost reconsider the wisdom in giving in to these baser urges if it meant exposing yourself like a shameless harlot to the entire world, but then he leans back into the space between your thighs and it’s like you’ve suddenly forgotten how to breathe. His mouth feels like heaven on your cunt when he presses himself flush to you and freely delves his tongue into the pudgy seam of your body. It's like he’s trying to figure out how best to devour you as he noisily sucks and licks at you from one angle and then another until he abruptly nudges into your clit with the full brunt of his tongue.

Yelping a haggard sound of alarm, you grip the polished stone behind you so hard it makes the joints hurt. But it was the only thing keeping you upright now when it felt like you’d been robbed of all ability to do anything except feel.

Mindlessly, you buck against his mouth and twitch through the sudden onslaught of pleasure that assaults you all at once when he zeroes in on the delicate pleasure button now that he’s found it again. He’s merciless in the way he flicks at it, incessantly nudging it back and forth even when you hiss in response. The sensation is sharp and overwhelming, and you think it’s too much for your punchdrunk senses to handle but your cunt just keeps eagerly slicking all over his face. Even when you feel close to fainting, your body can’t seem to get enough.

And Ajax sounds like he’s enjoying this almost as much as you are, heavily groaning into you between ministrations. Like he’s thought of this and little else in the past few weeks. It was absurd to think both the unwitting host and the demonic entity inhabiting him would be this obsessed with licking your pussy even to the extent that he’d do it here of all places …

That’s when it hits you. The sudden realization that the dreams were not only your dreams but Ajax’s too. He had been thinking about this the entire time because it was all Foul Legacy ever did to you when you were asleep. His subconscious was likely just as haunted by visions of you shamelessly spread out on your bed or helplessly held up in the air by huge, monstrous claws while it used its impossibly long tongue to fuck your cunt open as you were with thoughts of him.

Of them?

Were they closer to one and the same than you’d first thought?

The notion makes you wheeze, your chest feeling like it’s about to cave in under the pressure. It was too late though. You were already close, your orgasm bearing down on you with enough intensity to make your eyes cross as you shudder uncontrollably towards the finish line. It felt too good, the pleasure far too intense for you to stop it even if you’d wanted to. His soft human tongue, his lips, the heavy puffs of hot air he releases against your soaked cunt. Even the dull tickle of his messy hair brushing over your pelvis. It all came together and merged into one single, blinding sensation of unadulterated pleasure and you relish in it when you start to tip over.

All at once your pussy clamps down hard enough to bring tears to your eyes and you immediately devolve into a fit of spasms, rocking helplessly with the roiling tremors. You can hear yourself crying out for him, the sound of your own voice distant and muffled as if it was coming from the far end of some impossibly long tunnel, and just for a split second you see a starburst so bright it blinds you. You’d never cum this hard before, not even when Foul Legacy had tongue fucked you at such a sedate, leisurely pace it had seemed to last for a lifetime.

This was different. This was flesh and blood, and two human bodies feeding seamlessly off the arousal of the other. It wasn’t a dream nor was it a demon bringing you this pleasure, and you bask in the knowledge of Ajax’s mortality even as you slowly start to come down from the soaring high some moments later.

Still gasping for breath, you slowly manage to rouse yourself enough to stir against the headstone. “Ajax … please … take me somewhere with a bed … before it’s too late!” Time was ticking.

But he doesn’t immediately move to oblige or even acknowledge your request, and it takes a beat for you to realize that something was not quite right now.

Forcing your lungs to slow their rapid contractions, you carefully straighten up as much as you’re able to on one leg and reach down to tug your skirt out of the way. A startled gasp rattles through your chest when the thick fabric falls away to reveal his face slackened as if in some kind of trance. You’d been so lost in your own pleasure, so consumed by the all consuming fire burning within your loins, that you weren’t entirely sure when he’d gone so still. It frightens you though, far more than you’d ever likely admit, and you carefully try to disengage from him so you can retreat and possibly regroup.

But you only make it so far as sliding your leg down off his shoulder before he suddenly comes alive again, and you choke on your scream of terror when he surges up to his feet in a rush. It's clear that the Ajax you know is no longer present as he grabs you around the waist and hauls you against him before turning to carry you towards the mausoleum. You realize what’s happening, what he’s aiming for, and it takes everything you have not to shriek at the top of your lungs as you blindly yank on his jacket.

“Ajax, wait! What are you doing?”

He doesn’t respond, of course, and you valiantly twist in his arms but it’s no use. It’s not like you would have made it far anyway, even if you could escape his clutches, when you only had one boot on. The thought of him taking you inside that long sealed sepulcher amongst all the rotten and crawling things is enough to make you try though, and you do so with fast growing desperation.

It’s like he doesn’t even notice you struggling though, his strength so much greater than that of a normal man’s that you implicitly understand it’s Foul Legacy’s doing even as you shriek at him to stop. And at the last possible moment he does heed your frantic cries, silently angling away from the heavy stone doors to instead lay you down on top of the wide, decorative platform steps that lead up to the macabre monument.

You let him do it, too scared to fight when you couldn’t understand what was happening or why Ajax had suddenly slipped into a comatose state, and you hardly even notice the snow melting up into you from below as you warily watch him take half a step back. His hands come up to mechanically unfasten his coat and he shrugs out of it so he can then lay it out on the frozen top step just behind you. When he reaches for you again you try to scuttle away but he’s quick to grab hold, hefting you up to sit on his jacket. It might have been a charming gesture under better circumstances.

But the current situation is anything but that when he crawls up to hover over you, his eyes so completely void of any life in them that they almost resemble bottomless black pits. You’d thought they were uncanny and unnaturally dull before, and yet they now send terrified shudders racing up and down your spine.

Futilely, you make an attempt to edge away from him but he just follows you until he’s got you pinned against the sealed opening of the tomb. There he reaches out to relieve you of your second shoe, and then your stockings. He goes for the scarf and your cloak next, and you try to cling to it to no avail. You realize you’re crying when he starts in on your frock, insistently tugging to get it pulled up over your head but then a strange thought occurs to you, piercing through the fog.

You weren’t cold.

By all accounts you certainly should have been. Freezing, in fact. But even when he relieves you of your dress to leave you sitting there among the snow and the long frozen monuments in nothing but your brassiere and your veil, you don’t even tremble at the undeniable chill you know must exist.

Blinking through the tears now, you glance down at yourself to check if you were really naked or if you’d only imagine it but the glow of the purple mark on your stomach stops you short. You’d never seen it do that before. Like it was backlit with a fire raging so intensely, so brightly that it seemed to smolder before your very eyes. It almost makes you panic, almost makes you reach down to claw yourself open and pull out whatever was inside of you, but you suddenly find you don’t quite have the energy or the presence of mind to do any of that.

As if somebody had slipped you a powerful sedative when you weren’t looking, you find yourself actually relaxing into the cool brush of Ajax’s hands against your skin when he takes your last piece of clothing to leave sitting bare and vulnerable on that mausoleum step. You can feel your nipples puckering into tight, pointed peaks but you recognize it as in excitement rather than in response to the icy wind. It’s as if the cold doesn’t even exist for you anymore, and you cautiously bring your attention up to regard Ajax through the flickering glow of the lantern.

Only to jump in startelement when you find his face suddenly covered by a mask.

This one is not the same as Foul Legacy’s ghoulish facade in that it has no mouth or eye holes to speak of and you have to fight down a nauseous shudder when he starts to undress himself. You don’t know where it materialized from, what had conjured it up, but something about this mask is incredibly disconcerting to you. It almost made him seem more like a prop in this fiendish scene, a stage assistant rather than an active participant.

Swaying unsteadily, you try to force your mind back into the right headspace so that you might find some way out of this but it’s no use. You can scarcely lift your hand without focusing every ounce of willpower you still possess into such a simple action that should have been second nature to you. All you can do is sit there and watch as Ajax discards layer after layer, until he’s just as naked as you and his straining cock springs up into the space between you two.

Your eyes widen when you surreptitiously take it in, noting the length of it and the girth. He was big. Sizable enough to make you afraid of having it bullied into your body, but effectively paralyzed like this there’s nothing you can do to stop it when he moves to crawl over top of you again.

Numb with disbelief and thrumming anxiety, you passively let him guide you back to lay out on top of his jacket. Not that it really mattered when you couldn’t feel the biting cold or the melting ice anyway, but you supposed it was still a nice thought. You’re far more concerned about the cock bobbing between your legs when he hooks his hands into the bend of your knees and spreads them wide to bare your sticky cunt to him. You’d never been so acutely aware of your own nudity before; how your breasts come to lay atop your chest, the shape and size of your own nipples. The way your lower belly pudges just so when he folds your legs upward to pin them open and the meaty spread of your pussy lips that you can clearly see from this angle. It borders on obscene, debauched even, especially in comparison to Ajax’s body.

For he was all smooth, tight lines and flat planes stretched taut over hard musculature. His chest was only as defined as one would expect a young man in his prime to be and it was clear he hadn’t yet fully grown into his own muscle mass yet. The nipples dotting the skin were petite and pale pink, with only a few faint, wispy reddish hairs bracketing the areola. His stomach showed a slight outline along his abdominals which only becomes more pronounced when the tendons flex and shift as he moves into position, settling between your spread legs with an uncannily stiff motion.

In a distant, dreamy sort of way you realize he looked like the popular subject of the sort of paintings you’ve heard aristocrats sometimes commission from artisans to celebrate the beauty and power of the male figure. The kind that could hide their manhoods behind a tastefully placed tree leaf while the rest was all left on full display without any worry about obscenity accusations being lobbied against them.

The only part of him that was in any way outwardly lewd or licentious truly was his cock in all its stiff, rigid glory, and it was currently aimed straight at your cunt.

You snap out of it with a half stifled gasp, keeping your chin tucked down so you can watch Ajax nudge his narrow hips forward until you feel the brief prodding of his cockhead against your entrance. It was so hard and stiff that the foreskin had naturally drawn back enough to expose the dusty pink glans and the weeping slit in the center of it. You knew what this could mean for you, what the consequences might be, but you can’t even seem to find enough oxygen to remind him to be gentle, let alone to ask him to stop.

So you just watch, a mute spectator to your own downfall, while he pushes and the resulting fleshy slide of him through messy slick knocks a sensitive whimper loose from you. He quickly tries again, readjusting his angle, and this time when he leans his weight into you the head catches in your pussy. He starts to slowly sink inside, one excruciating millimeter at a time, and the immediate stretch you feel to the untested muscles has you frantically gasping for air. Even the copious arousal oozing out of you isn’t enough to completely lubricate the penetration when the girthy weight of his cock was so different from the slimy tongue you’d been violated with prior to this, and you quickly start to hyperventilate. You felt like you were suffocating, being crushed under his mass even for as slight as it was.

You couldn’t do this.

It was going to kill you.

“Relax, little nun. If you focus on your breathing it won’t seem so terrible.”

Jolting in shock, you disbelievingly tip your head back to look up at Ajax’s masked face. That hadn’t been his voice though. It lacked the boyish, playful notes you’d become so familiar with and instead had carried a low rumble, a rasp.

It was Foul Legacy speaking to you now through its host.

“Y - you — why are you doing this?” You manage to blubber with no shortage of effort, but the thing looming over you, penetrating you, just coos a sardonic, chuckling laugh.

“I already told you, didn’t I? You were chosen to be my bride. And now here we are. Just you, me, the human boy and …” Ajax’s cock sinks a bit deeper into you, forcing the passage to expand and accommodate his size, and you outright choke on the sharp pulse of discomfort that shoots through you. “The new moon watching on from high overhead. Do you know why the ritual could only be completed now, lovely girl? Care to take a guess?”

“N - no ….”

Inhaling a savory, shuddering breath, he — it leans further over you to get closer and put that horrid, featureless mask right in your face. Your chest hitches, frightened by the close proximity, but you’re helpless to do anything but stare up at it in your paralyzed state.

”Some call it the dream seed phase. It’s the perfect time to set new intentions, decide what manifest work you want to set in motion and to work with the shadows the dark moon brings with it. New beginnings, new seeds to plant.” Pausing, it tips its head to one side almost inquisitively. “Do you know what I’m about to do to you tonight? What seeds do you think I plan to sow here with you?”

Your stomach clenches in debilitating dread and fear, so potent you immediately start to feel sick. “No. You can’t!”

It cackles a sharp laugh, tossing its head back up at the sky. “I not only can and will, but look around you, little nun. I’m already doing it!”

It snaps its hips forward then, jabbing up into your guts with a quick thrust, and you gurgle on the pain that quickly follows. You felt like you were being torn apart from the inside out, grimacing when something warm and sticky runs down the seam of your body. It was no mystery what it was and you viciously seethe as you try to struggle against the invisible hands keeping you prone.

“You sick bastard … stop it! I don’t want your seed or anything else from you!”

“It’s too late, lovely girl. Just relax. I told you to focus on your breathing, didn’t I?”

Now that it's managed to break through the natural barrier of your body, the rest of its cock slides in with relative ease until you feel Ajax’s pelvis press flush against yours. It finally lets up its hold on your knees, keeping you pinned down with just the weight of its human host settling on top of you so it can lay out over your heaving frame instead. You try to fight it but your limbs still don’t want to cooperate even as it wraps those long, spindly arms around you and clutches you to its front. It presses that horrible mask into your neck then, murmuring a final tender word of advice to breathe through it.

And then it’s moving.

Gently at first, while your cunt adjusts to being stuffed full, it rocks into you at an almost leisurely pace that leaves you grimacing at the foreign sensation and the discomfort that comes with it. This was much different from Foul Legacy’s tongue which had almost moulded itself to the natural shape of you, fitting into a predefined slot without stretching it out into a completely new shape. The flesh and blood cock currently shoving deeper and deeper into you demanded space though, forcing your insides to make room for it and seemingly rearranged your guts in the process. There was pressure in places you didn’t even know existed, your lower extremity organs screaming out in distress while your thighs fiercely ache where they’re forced into a wide spread around Ajax’s flexing waist.

You think it excruciating and terrible, not at all what you’d expected from this ordeal, and you desperately pray for it to end.

But then, to your great surprise, something slowly starts to shift and the pain gradually fades before receding completely. Left in its wake is a dizzying rush of endorphins, pleasure fueled adrenaline so intoxicating you cling to it in your desperation for reprieve. And it doesn’t disappoint, you’re quite glad to find, for the more you give yourself over to that fleeting pinprick of distant euphoria the better it feels. Whether by virtue of the still pulsing mark on your belly or the simple, innate programming in your human brain, the once violent act of sex soon takes a turn for the better.

And Foul Legacy must feel the change in you on some level because it picks up its pace, thrusting in and out of you more vigorously now until the distinct plap plap plap plap of fleshy hips meeting your soft inner thighs rings out over the otherwise still and silent cemetery. It spears you on its cock, again and again, and again to carve out a space within you and claim you for itself. A low simmering heat quickly starts to build in your cunt, and it’s only further fueled by the bestial grunts and sighs it issues against your sweat dampened neck.

You were drowning in it, so many different sensations and sounds and smells assaulting you all at once that the only thing you can do is weakly cling to Ajax’s working sides for something to hold onto. He works tirelessly over you to keep his pace quick and snappy, while also maintaining the measured length of his strokes at the same time. It does wonders to feed into the flames licking just below the surface, making your cunt squeeze him and gush even more sticky slick despite your initial displeasure. You even start to think that maybe this isn’t so bad after all.

But then something happens — a flicker just at your peripheral, a waver in your swimming vision that briefly makes his burnished red-brown hair look wild and untamed. You have no idea what to make of it at first and then it happens again, this time turning his narrow frame big and bulky, the skin darker in color and much more thickened out with muscle mass.

You don’t even have the wherewithal to gasp, just staring in slack jawed disbelief as Ajax starts to slowly change right before your very eyes while he continues to pound you into the top step of the mausoleum. You can feel it too, you’re more than just a bit horrified to realize. The way his musculature seems to grow and reorient itself, bulging under your hands with an unnatural slithering.

The mask is the first thing that seems to fully cement itself into reality and you stare in horrified silence as that singular, unmoving eye forms out of nothing to blink open at you. The horns come next, sprouting up out of Ajax’s head at an alarming rate and the hair quickly follows suit. It’s like being pressed up against some unfathomable, writhing mass of serpents that coil and ball themselves together to form a new shape that is not nearly as alien to you as you’d like it to be.

You didn’t understand how it was possible but somehow, some way, Foul Legacy was forming itself into the real world using Ajax’s body as a conduit to do it.

And you … were you the energy supply it was using to fuel its transition with?

“Oooh,” It rumbles over top of you, shuddering like an intangible mirage while the rest of it takes shape in a roiling wave of skin and sinew. “That surge of fear you just felt … if you keep feeding me like this, I won’t be able to fuck you properly when we’re done. Surely you don’t want to go without, do you?”

“You … you’re consuming my fear? To give yourself power?”

“I can but I much prefer the taste of pleasure, don’t you?” Breathing out a terse, shaky exhale, it tips its monstrous head back to sigh up at the gloomy night sky. “Get ready, little love. Brace yourself. It’s coming.”

“Wha - -“

You cut off with a sharp, haggard gasp when you feel its hips start to widen and fill out against you. Whereas Ajax was lanky and narrow waisted, Foul Legacy was much more broad and thick, and the stark difference in their builds slowly starts to force your legs into an even wider spread until you cry out at the stretch. Jerking your attention down, you glance between your body and his to watch its stomach grow hard and chiseled, the center line of its massive, hulking frame leading straight to the spot where the two of you were connected.

And you can feel it as soon as its cock starts to grow inside you, almost immediately pushing your inner sleeve well past the point of human adaptability. You shriek and writhe, twisting in a blind attempt to escape the inevitable, but it’s got you so thoroughly impaled that there is no getting free. It just keeps swelling and swelling until you can feel the unnaturally large head pressing uncomfortably up into your cervix, and with it comes the distention of your stomach. It’s almost too terrible to watch but you can’t quite bring yourself to tear your eyes away when the distention forms just below the skin under your navel and presses up into an alarming bulge. The demon mark gets pushed up and out in the process, further highlighting the fact that it seemed to be glowing from within. You’d never seen anything like it in your life.

But somehow even more astounding is the fact that it doesn’t rip you clean in half. It doesn’t exactly feel good, being this stretched out on something so big, but you realize that you’re still in one piece. At least for the time being.

“Ooh, fuck.” Foul Legacy drops its head back down to seethe into the scant space separating you from its horrid face. You realize then, as you look up at it in shell shocked disbelief, that the transformation was complete. There was no sign at all of the young soldier now, just the one-eyed wraith looming over you in all its terrible glory. It was somehow even worse than your worst nightmare.

“Are you … are you satisfied now?” You rattle out, shuddering from the top of your head down to the tips of your toes.

Giving its head a vicious shake as if to clear its mind of some lingering fog, Foul Legacy peers into your face, your very soul, with its singular red eye. “Impatient for that proper fucking I promised you? I always knew you had it in you, little nun. Don’t worry though. I won’t disappoint.”

A fresh tendril of horror curls through you when it straightens up to kneel on the step of the mausoleum, taking your hips in between its massive hands to hold you in place. Bile rises in your throat and threatens to suffocate you as you snap your attention back down to watch it slowly ease its huge cock out only enough to make the bulge in your stomach recede. Then it pushes in again and you openly gape at the way it forces your stomach out to make enough room for it to fit. And that was to say nothing of the intense drag against your guts, the way your gummy inner sleeve weakly tries to cling to its shaft on the way out only to then yield under the intense pressure of the next upward plunge.

Foul Legacy still deigns to show you some kindness though, and it fucks you at a slow, even tempoed rhythm even while you mindlessly writhe and jerk on its huge cock. But you had nowhere to go, no options except to take it, and you do so with numb tears tracking down your face. Even if this didn’t kill you, even if you didn’t break, there wasn’t a doubt in your mind that you would be forever ruined after this. The demon had taken everything from you. Your freedom, the sanctity of your virginity, even your one and only consolation prize in all this mess when it used Ajax’s body to transition to reality. Would you ever see him again, whole and the same as he was before? You weren’t so sure about that and you didn’t want to think about it too hard just yet.

“You look so good like this … submitting to my cock like a good girl, taking it like a champ. I told you I chose you for a reason, didn’t I?”

Stirring out of your stupor enough to glare up at the foul beast, you give it a weak look of warning. “Do not … agghhn! Do not speak to me ever again you — you wretched fiend. I’ve had … my fill of you.”

“Ooh, don’t say that. We’re going to be together for a very long time to come. You’ll need to find some way to tolerate me for at least a little while.” Chuckling faintly, it starts to pick up the speed only enough to make your tits shift each time it thrusts into you and the soft sound of skin smacking against skin rises in the air again. “The marriage rite is almost complete. I’ve already spilled your virgin‘s blood and now all that’s left is to fill you with my seed. Once that’s done, you’ll be bound to me for an eternity, soul, body and mind. So tell me, my sweet bride. What weighs on your mind? Quickly, before it’s too late.”

You try to speak but nothing comes out except a series of wounded little animal noises that it punches out of you with its cock. It didn’t feel good, it didn’t but … the pressure pushing in on your guts was too much, and the increased pace wasn’t helping. You could feel your eyes starting to roll back and you desperately clench your teeth in a blithe attempt to hold back the wailing shrieks trying to claw up your throat. Your stomach felt like it was being shoved up into your chest cavity!

“Nnnngghhnnn ... Ahh, aaghhnn, A - Ajax …!”

“Oh? You’re worried about him? Hah. I can’t say I’m surprised. I knew you liked that boy far more than you were willing to admit, even to yourself. But worry not, little love. He’s just fine. I’ll give him his body back once I’m done with it.”

Head bonelessly lolling against the step, you dazedly blink up at the sky and slur out a nearly unintelligible,“R - really?”

“Yes. Now get ready. I’m close … gonna’ fill you up until it’s leaking out of you for days to come. Ahhh … I’ve been waiting this whole time, you know. There’s plenty stored up just for you.”

You grimace at the thought and try desperately to rouse yourself for one last attempt to wriggle free but it’s already too late. Foul Legacy starts to huff and grunt in earnest, it's hips driving into you a little bit quicker. A little harder. Your tits bounce vigorously with each thrust now and you whimper at how every inch of your body seems to ache in protest, especially your poor stomach.

But it quickly becomes apparent that its ordeal hasn’t quite reached its end yet when the demon finally judders with a low, seething hiss as it buries its cock as far into you as it will go. The sharp pressure right on your cervix makes your legs spasm and you cry out, struggling to breathe through it. The first searing hot pulse of thick, creamy semen shooting off right against the opening of your womb immediately robs you of all your oxygen though and you gasp like you’re drowning. The sound lodges in your throat, making you gurgle, and then the next spurt from its pumping cock floods the first. With nowhere else to go, you feel some of it seep deep into your loins, far beyond what a normal cock should reach, while the rest of it oozes out to bubble down your stretched open cunt.

And it just keeps coming, one unbearably warm spurt after another until enough of it has forced its way into your womb that you can feel your belly bloating up under the pressure. Mewling in wordless distress, you shakily lift your head to glance down at yourself and you immediately don’t like what you see. Your stomach round and heavy, and this time it stays that way even when the demon issues a deeply satisfied breath before slowly pulling out. The bulge remains, and you feel a tiny little part of your ego die and chip away with it.

This couldn’t be happening. It couldn’t be.

“Don’t mourn, my lovely bride. There is a chance my seed won’t take root right away, you know.”

Its massive cock finally slips free with an accompanying wet slurp and a fresh flood of unstoppered semen rushes out of you, thoroughly coating you in the mess. Warbling a horrified little sound, you try to push yourself up to sit but you’re so unaccustomed to your stomach being this round that you end up right back where you’d started, wetly gasping on the step of the sepulcher.

Watching you closely, Foul Legacy gives a thoughtful tip of its head. “That seems a bit unlikely though, doesn’t it? With so much of it in your womb, surely at least one will find its mark.”

“You … I hate you! I really do!”

“Oh, now don’t say that. There’s still plenty of time for that further down the road, isn’t there? By the way, don’t think I’ve forgotten our little deal.”

Sniffling sadly, you look up at it with as much vitriol as you can muster. “What deal? I never agreed to anything with you!”

“Lying is such an unbecoming habit, sweetheart. Even if it is only by omission.”

Hunching over you like it were some hideous gargoyle poised to take off into the night, Foul Legacy reaches out for your face with its clawed hand and you quickly screw your eyes shut so you don’t have to see what it does to you next. To your reeling surprise, however, all it does is slip one long finger under your veil, peeling it back and away.

Your eyes instantly pop back open in mute horror as your hair spills out over your shoulders. A million thoughts run through your mind at all at once, a million protests to dissuade it from looking. You couldn’t even recall the last time you’d had your hair uncovered in front of a man and it leaves you feeling strangely more naked and exposed than your actual nudity does.

But you don’t get the chance to give voice to any of it before Foul Legacy delves its hand into your hair, taking a big tight fistful of it so it can yank your head back. Hissing like an incensed cat, you shoot daggers at the foul beast as you're made to look up at it but it just passively stares at you with that unblinking, horrible eye. You felt like you were going to be sick all over.

“I look forward to enjoying the rest of our lives together.” It all but purrs at you, jaw hinging open to let its long, serpent-like tongue slip out to flick tauntingly at the corner of your mouth. “Together, forever. In holy, sacred matrimony … isn’t that right?”

⭐

Crossposted: here

#genshin impact #childe x reader #foul legacy x reader #childe tartaglia ajax #self insert bullshit

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