#one was for an art show and the other one i’m keeping but i might make more to sell

[toto-the-cactus]

Primarch + Daughters (2)

Finally finished the damn part two. Been kinda busy here and there with my new job but lo and behold, the one yall asked for. Soon enough, yall find out why it took me a while writing this one for the two main guys I had to add here.

Part 1 - Part 2

Konrad Curze

A’right, I’ll open this one with the fact we all know that this man shouldn’t even be legally allowed to have children. I’m gonna be real for a hot second and admit that I stared at the screen for HOURS not knowing what to write because any poor little girl that is born from this guy will have the dubious privilege of being the most sheltered and hidden secret the Primarch ever kept close. With all those visions of death and inevitable doom mixed with the sudden power rush that fatherhood gave him, it left in its wake a perfect storm for this lunatic to develop a paranoid and obsessive need (NEED) to keep his daughter safe; something hard to achieve when he already knows the essence of his Legion. His fatalistic nature regarding his own future would suddenly clash violently with the Primarch’s new found protective stance concerning his child. It's almost sad to consider that this poor man GENUINELY wished to avoid becoming the monster his visions showed, but knowing that he’ll be balancing in the thin line of one day hurting his precious girl (or worse than that) it'll put him in the hard decision of having to let go of her eventually. He is no Perturabo, for that matter. In the rare and far away moments of lucidity, I can see Konrad choosing to protect the innocence and life of his child by trusting in the last person ANYONE might expect the Night Hunter would seek help: Vulkan. Honestly this is just plain sad, man.

Sanguinius

This is it! The golden boy, yall! We all know the kind of person Sanguinius is, but add a precious little daughter in the equation and all you get is the perfect example of textbook girl dad. No matter how busy this man is, somehow he’ll squish some playtime with his baby and enjoy every bit of it. Seriously, this guy acting like a dedicated father is worth being in a stockphoto image. His baby girl asks him to play tea party? Some astartes will find their Primarch hunched over, awkwardly holding a comically small cup between his thumb and index while his precious princess pretends to pour more tea for herself. The daughter of Sanguinius doesn't go a single day without knowing that her papa loves her a lot and when the man isn’t around, the Blood Angels Legion are close to keep her company to the point that even she calls them ‘big brothers’. No one is safe when she wants to play dress-up. The single problem I see with Sanguinius when raising his little girl is that he sins of being completely oblivious to the more mortal side of his daughter’s needs. He easily gets so wrapped up in his role of The Perfect Angel that he doesn’t realize his tiny princess has boundaries that are being constantly crossed, but since she feels the need to prove that she can be like her father, endures all those problems and refuses to seek help about anything. It becomes a kind of toxic mix considering how much Sanguinius is loved and adored by others, to the point that his daughter becomes like a coveted gem too by relation, making her need to prove her own ‘perfection’ an unconscious action the older she grows. I’m not even gonna touch with a ten feet pole the “fun fact” called the Red Thirst on this one because, let's be fair, that would require for me to write more than 3 pages with ONLY Sanguinius and his daughter in the spotlight and that’s only assuming his baby girl didn’t inherit it. I specialized in visual arts and marketing, not psychology jfc.

Ferrus Manus

It took me a while but after some investigating and more reading I can safely put this man in between the Papa-tier and ‘tough love’ guys. His practical mentality and belief of the strongest are (oddly enough) healthily separated from his parenting skills. This is one of the few Primarch that can see their daughter as an individual of their own and makes sure to be as present as possible in her life but the loyalty of this man to the Emperor is his own flaw. Not in the case that he’ll choose the Imperium before his little girl, but because it’ll put him in the dreading and guilty notion that he’ll always prioritize his daughter despite his oath to serve for the Great Crusade. Most of his brothers (except maybe Jaghatai and Konrad) just assume or don’t even think about the long term future of their daughters or simply presume that they will become a great part of the Imperium’s well oiled structure. Not exactly their fault since they never grew up with anything resembling normal. On the brighter and wholesome side (whiplash change!), this is a man who finds handmade gifts more meaningful and always makes sure to explain the reason behind them mostly out of the enjoyment of watching his little princess look so amazed at her papa’s skills. More often than not, Ferrus’ belief of the strongest would falter a little as he perceives the true fragile nature of his daughter and, even if she share the resilient blood of a Primarch, that isn’t enough to convince him that she isn’t vulnerable but instead of letting the worry fester, he’ll try to teach the girl the art of fighting. That’s where the ‘tough love’ kind of guy I mentioned comes out to light. He will not spare kind words during those moments of teaching, as he wishes for his princess to prevail any difficulty but he’ll make sure to always end any sort of training with “I love you so much that the idea of one day not being there to protect you, pains me beyond any form” to make sure that his harsh actions have a reason behind. Honestly, it's the kind of father-daughter relationship that possesses so many shades that makes its own drama novel. Good thing that uncle Fulgrim is always there to smooth the hard edges that may come in the future and makes up for the lack of spoiling the little girl deserves. Ferrus is not amused by it. Forgot to mention that the Primarch will be even more motivated to take off the metal of his hands, for he has yet to truly feel the warm and soft flesh of his baby’s hand. It's the one feeling he keeps missing and craves so much.

Angron

Oh man, another of the hard ones. Okay, if I managed with Konrad, I can tackle this bitch too. You need to comprehend that we are talking about a guy that has been so intimate with the meaning of pain that it's amazing he’ll be capable of ranging through other emotions that don’t involve fury into that combo too. That being said, this whole shitshow of being the father of a young girl can only be described as sad AND tragic. First off, Angron’s daughter wouldn’t even be allowed to leave her chambers at The Conqueror for obvious safety reasons and having her stay on Terra can’t be an option too, as Angron would rather be death than leave in a silver plate this one single pittance of good he helped to create under the light of the Emperor. That being said, any little girl born from Angron would be terribly isolated and one can’t even blame the Primarch for that as he, despite his disposition, finds his daughter as a genuine reflection of what he could never ever dream to have or be. That sometimes results in him feeling short and spontaneous moments of anger from the impotence of not being able to be close to his daughter, let alone console her with anything resembling compassion. This is a man that is horribly aware that he’s away from one sharp stab of the Nails to his brain to end up killing his little girl in one single swat of his hand. The moments of anything resembling fatherly love are few and very tense, for Angron has to constantly be focused on not letting the pain control his actions and that always looks as if he’s dismissing his child’s love language or actions. What else can I say that most people don’t know already? This is just a sad story waiting to end in tragedy and had it not been for how Sanguinius ended during the heresy, I can see The Great Angel taking Angron’s daughter under his care as the only consolation and promise to his corrupted brother before his demise. After becoming a Daemon Prince, Angron’s only genuine and foggy memory of his little girl is her crying while calling him with heavy despair. Goddamn I almost tear up with this one.

Roboute Guilliman

Look at my big nerd! One of the few guys that actually is humble enough to feel more human than any of his brothers… sometimes. I gotta say it, Roboute has the vibe of what happens when someone incredibly autistic suddenly becomes a parent; expect lots of books to try and be prepared for what entails to take care of a mortal baby. He’ll have a wholeass strict routine of activities and diets that you AND the baby must follow to ensure both of your health along with “fun facts” regarding a toddler’s development that half of the time lack the keyword ‘fun’ in there. Honestly, Euten will be a BLESSING sent, for she’ll be the one railing back the most extreme attempts of her adoptive son to try and raise his little princess like she was just another task of paperwork. Over all his quirks, the Primarch of the Ultramarines is absolutely trying his hardest to be a good father just as the one that raised him, but this is a man that half of the time ends up clumsily trying to spend time with his little girl only for it to backfire as he simply doesn’t understand how to entertain his daughter. Good thing the child will simply be happy to spend time with her papa despite his weird personality. More often than not, some of the astartes will see the young lady at her father’s chambers in a little booster chair beside him, doodling on some papers to pretend that she’s a big girl helping her papa with his very important job. It's probably the most adorable sight anyone can ever get the chance to see. Just like most of his brothers, Roboute isn’t that good at expressing his love towards his daughter with words, so he simply let his little princess be on his lap and hug her as if it will be the last time.

Mortarion

I’ve written enough of this man being a father that you all can get a wild idea of how he will be when confronted with parenthood. Even if he believes himself to be undeserving of anything resembling happiness thanks to his perception of being nothing but a tool of the Emperor, this guy will only need to see his precious little flower and feel like everything in the world can be forgotten, including his ever festering negative emotions. His daughter is the single light of love that he selfilish believes is his right after such torturous upbringing although that mentality rarely affects his princess, as he simply shows nothing but care and tenderness towards her. He may be a nervous trainwreck, fully aware that his Legion and himself aren’t exactly safe-hazardous, but that never has stopped him from doing his utmost best to protect the little girl from anything that may hurt her. Like most of his traitorous brothers, Mortarion would not hesitate to bring entire worlds into devastation if it meant that his family can be safe, even if that’ll end up making a terrible gap to grow between him and those he loves. It's quite terrible and sad to know that, unlike Fulgrim or Angron, Mortarion was the closest to his daughter and showered her with as much genuine love as he could in an attempt to avoid being anything like his supposed father (adopted or creator equally), so when he turned into a Daemon Prince, the festering and rotting resentment that consumes him sometimes simmers down when he remembers the laugh of joy his little princess often released when he would carry her up in his arms. Oh yes, some good ol’ gut-wrenching emotional damage, teehee.

I will not apologize for being a mean bitch by writing sad shit. XOXO

[hokage]

microbe paintings :)

[4dbeingguide]

there is only one sentence you need to know as a manifestor:

the 3D/physical world isn’t real. only the mind is.

disclaimers:

this is slightly rant-y though i don’t attack you, i uplift you

excuse any grammar errors!

credit to all the artists whose art was used!

let’s get into it.

you do not exist/live in the 3D, you simply perceive your own mind and assumptions in three dimensions. the 3D is an illusion. it isn’t real. the phone you’re reading this on, your surroundings, me writing this post, “other” people, they’re not real.

this will literally answer all the questions you have about LOA. examples include:

“what if what i’m doing won’t make anything manifest in the 3D?” then boo-fucking-hoo? it wouldn’t even matter because that’s not where you live. you’re 4-dimensional. if it’s happened in the 4D, it’s fucking happened! put it in your success story list. rejoice now that it’s happened. because it has! the 3D is NOT real, the 4D is so you should be checking the 4D! think about this question: “what if it doesn’t manifest in the 2D (a world of only length and width)?” i bet you’re like “womp womp? the fuck would that have to do with me? it’s not real and i don’t live there!” give that SAME energy to the 3D. you live in the 4D.

“where is it in the 3D?” why do you care? it’s not where you live. CONSCIOUSNESS is the only reality. you heard me. you shouldn’t give a fuck about whether it will manifest in the 3D or not because the 3D doesn’t determine reality, YOU do. why do you want confirmation from an illusion when you can have confirmation from what’s actually real (the mind)?

“but if i stop caring about whether it’ll manifest in the 3D or not, it might not manifest in the 3D!” first of all, womp womp then? you don’t live in the 3D. second of all, that’s literally impossible unless you directly/intentionally assume that it’s the case. the 3D literally EXISTS as a reflection/limited perception of the mind. it’s LAW that it will come. and the last time i checked, “i don’t care whether it comes or not” and “it won’t come” are different statements. but what i just find so hilarious about this one specific doubt is that you’ve literally just PROVEN your THOUGHTS create the 3D.

“i can’t manifest abc! it goes against the laws of physics/circumstances etc” lemme just get this straight. the MIND is the only reality yet you are lying and saying it has limits based off of 3D “law”? and the 3D is not real meaning the “laws” of the 3D aren’t either? the 3D doesn’t and will never be able to tell the mind what to do. that being said, you can manifest pissing a million bucks, teleporting into a villa in italy or becoming wanda fucking maximoff and developing superpowers. you can manifest hulk hogan flying across the pacific to your door and proposing to you, hell, you can even manifest BECOMING hulk hogan. you can manifest your SPs buying you three million bentleys then making out with you in each of them. you can manifest going back in time. you. can. manifest. ANYTHING. you. can. manifest. anything. you. can. imagine. you’re OMNIPOTENT.

this one is very interesting cause it’s a response to doubts! “if i keep doubting, it won’t show up in the 3D!” the reason your doubts persist is because your mind thinks they actually mean shit and are an issue worth addressing. so what if it doesn’t show up in the 3D? it’s already happened.

“but what if im one of the odd ones out? what if i can’t manifest?” despite the fact that it’s scientific law, the rebuttal for this doubt is very simple. you wouldn’t be alive lmao. being alive is a constant act of the 3D reflecting your mind, that’s literally its only purpose. it’s an inanimate, mindless, limited perception of your mind that instantly conforms to your beliefs. you are CONSTANTLY manifesting. what you’re doing is just learning how to control WHAT you manifest. (just to set the record straight. this doesn’t mean you are to blame for your problems since you didn’t consciously choose them).

“the 3D isn’t showing me what i want!” well it isn’t real lmao? why the fuck would that matter?

one of the WORST beliefs you can have as a manifestor is that the goal of manifesting is changing the 3D. i know you (probably) came in thinking that but i want you to shed that belief. the 3D is not real. the goal is to get it in the 4D, where you live. to fully experience something, all you have to do is change your mind as that’s the the only reality. when you accomplish that goal, rejoice and move on.

this is why i very, VERY heavily dislike the statement that “an assumption persisted in will harden into fact”. no, an assumption IS a fact. only regarding something as real when it manifests in the 3D (which isn’t real) is fallacious.

“thoughts create reality” i bet you’ve heard this before in this community but i don’t like this either for this simple reason: thoughts (that you accept) ARE reality.

my biggest piece of advice to you as a manifestor is this: realize that the 3D doesn’t mean shit.

when you DO get your manifestation in the 3D, it’s perfectly fine to be happy but don’t jump up and down saying “it’s finally happened (in reality)!”. NO. it happened in reality ages ago, the 3D just caught up.

i’m gonna link some really sexy posts that will help you understand this better. most of these are scientific.

https://www.reddit.com/r/NevilleGoddard/s/AmlHe5oipA (the post is up, i don’t understand why tumblr won’t embed it)

if you liked this post, leave a like, reblog, engage, follow, let me know if this helped 🫶😭

[sleep-0-deprived]

Gyomei Himejima x Male Reader who's a demon who was rehabilitated by Tamayo and one day met Gyomei and it was like love at first sight? And M/N has like a rope/belt like power similar to Daki's? And they wanna experiment with that?🤭

Experiments~ (Gyomei Himijima x demon male reader)~ ໒꒰ྀི˶˃ᆺ˂˶ ꒱ྀིა

WC:. 2.2k

Tags binding, praises riding, no protection, soft sex (firm believer in Gyomei being a gentle giant), anal sex, size differences, belly bulging, creampies ૮꒰ ྀི >⸝⸝⸝< ྀི꒱ა

A/N I’ve never written for a blind character so please excuse any errors! Sorry it took so long to write I hope you enjoy though <33

────────────୨ৎ─────────────

You were a demon. You favored Nezuko and Tamayo in the fact you didn’t follow nor submit to Muzan’s cruel plans and you still kept contact with your human side. That was what led you to meeting lady Tamayo and by default she managed to rehabilitate you over time. You eventually make yourself known to the core, wanting to help the greater cause by fighting against muzan and his demons with them.

The demon slayer corp didn’t trust you at all at first, I mean why would a demon of high status, no- one of Muzan’s most loyal switch sides and come to them and offer himself over?…well you did and master thought the only person fit to handle and keep tabs on you was none other than the stone Hashira Gyomei.

You were forced to stay in the stone estate with Gyomei, and occasionally Genya when he stopped by. Genya was more accepting of you than Gyomei at first being that Genya’s fighting style was him temporarily turning into a demon he was understanding

Genya was more open to the thought not all demons were bad. Gyomei on the other hand was still skeptical keeping his senses strong listening to you at night walking around the estate.

Gyomei would sense your blood demon art at night, he’d expect you to sneak off maybe hunt for food or run back to your master but you never did. You would use your blood demon art to grab things doing the most laziest things with them like opening doors grabbing a pillow that was too far out of reach,

he could tell what you were doing by the sounds of your belts and pillows ruffling. The large man might not have any sight but his other senses were heightened in every way.

Slowly over the months he’d ease his guard and stop holding his body ready like you were about to betray the core, he’d even swoon for you almost when he first heard your voice it made him question if you were really a demon because you sounded just like an angel to him.

Sadly your scent betrayed you showing to him you really were the demon that did such horrific crimes. The rehabilitation brought you close to Gyomei, and you spent most of your days together in the empty estate.

Present day the two of you have been together going close to a month and shockingly you two do have sex, one might think a religious and traditional man like Gyomei would wait for sex until marriage but nothing about his relationship with you was traditional I mean you were a demon and the two of you were both men but he didn’t seem to care.

“I’m bored Gyo?” You’d grumble all sprawled around in his lap like you were a king on a tanned flesh throne “must you lay like that on me [name]?” He’d sigh just reaching one hand down firm on your hip, his voice holding no true disdain having you in his lap

“yes I must!…and you know we could always pass time in other ways Gyomei?” You’d lean close standing on your knees in his lap now leaning into his ear whispering using your thumb to wipe the tears running down his cheeks with his eyes open glossed over as always unblinking and pale white.

“Always insisting sinful things to me, you really can be a from [name] pulling me into temptations with your binds..”his slightly red beneath his skin tracing his hands to your waistband with you straddling his lap in his room of the stone estate.

“Speaking of my binds….wanna use mine on you when you’re stretching me out. Bind you against me skin to skin while I ride you” you speak shamelessly nearly confident in his lap but he was totally flabbergasted, his body tense you could see red on the tips of his ears with a few hot tears pricking back down his cheek right where your thumb pressed wiping his cheek off again.

His large hands felt your pants around tracing and guiding them to the zipper making due with his lack of sight while you on the other hand let go of his cheek taking your hand down to his pants undoing his fly as he sits under you. With your belts coming out of your back wrapping around his waistband pulling them off softly before turning to blades cutting his boxers up to get his cock out

“you are such an eager demon [name]” his voice rang in the cool night of the estate with his cock hard pressed to his shirt with a pearl like bead of pre cum sitting on his tip, clearly sensitive pulsing eager for touch— which you were happy to give.

“You’re eager too Gyomei, don’t bother telling me different I feel it” you murmur retracting your binds for a moment to Scoot closer lifting your shirt over your head with your cock springing free when he can finally get your boxers off.

You crawl further in his lap sitting down on his cock with it pressed between your cheeks reaching above your crack making a sticky mess in your laps

“always feel so good, boy” he groans grabbing your hips with his teary eyes white and wide as always grinding his cock between your cheeks easily lifting you around like a boy toy in his lap making your binds react wrapping around his back tearing through his haori leaving marks in his skin unintentionally.

“Shit- didn’t mean to Gyo—“ you let out a sharp gasp hushed by him taking one hand off your hip keeping you firmly pressed to his cock reaching his hand up to the back of your head and shoving your face upwards leaning down eagerly kissing you into silence “it’s fine, not worried about it [name]”

He murmurs his tongue pushing past your lips into your mouth running against your cheeks pressing to your tongue making you huff using your binds to fully get his haori and shirt off with the sound of his golden buttons hitting the floor with your chest pressed to his leaving your cock weeping between your thighs pressing all leaky between your stomachs.

“Prep me already gyo..” you muffle out guiding his hand off your hip pulling your mouth off of his panting trying to catch your breadth before shoving two of his fingers down your throat “so warm baby” he speaks his teary face all red and flushed at the lewdly of what was happening with him only being sad his prayer beads weren’t around we hike his cock throbs between your cheeks producing more precum.

“I’m going, be patient or you aren’t getting anything but your own fingers” he finally broke away with a string of saliva his voice booming making a shiver run down your spine pouting pressing more to him feeling his large hand snake out of your mouth using the hand on your hip to lift you off his lap enough to push one finger inside you.

“Hm, you can’t do that to me” you shriek a little panicking with your rim puckering staying still in attempt to adjust to the feeling looking up at the blind Hashira with your binds all sharp and from wrapped around his muscular back holding his larger body to yours while your jaw slacks a little feeling him thrusting his finger in and out massaging your walls curling against your prostate before trying to prod his second finger in you.

“I can, and I will if you don’t get it together in my lap” he hums now scissoring your rim open using the mix of spit on his fingers and precum from where his cock rested between your cheeks to open you up. His fingers rub against your bundle of nerves building up a hot pit in your stomach and you think he knew that too because right as your cock perked up against his stomach he pulled his fingers back out.

“Want you to cum from me, need to know my cock was what pushed you over” his hands trail lifting you up by your hips making your binds lose grip on his back with your hands holding his muscular shoulders while he nudges his cock head against your rim. “Feels like you’re ripping me in half Gyo~” your air fled your lungs leaving you exhaling harshly feeling a burn shoot through your body but any tears quickly heal from your regeneration sealing yourself around him bottoming out inside you leaving a outline in your stomach.

“I bet you look so beautiful sitting on me like this, wish I could see your body. I’d kiss it up in every way” his large arms move on your body grabbing around your waist holding you slowly starting to jerk his hips upwards from beneath you making your rim stretch further and engulf his full length feeling his balls pressed firmly to your cheeks while you dig your nails into his shoulders straddling his large lap.

“I- know you would gyo-mei~” you squeak out, your muscles tensing reaching forward kissing him nearly eating his face off moving your lips against his slipping your hand off his shoulder wrapping around the back of his neck with your binds all slithered around the two of you holding you two skin to skin. His hands hold onto hour hips bouncing you in time with his movements with your thighs on either sides of his hips filling the room with small plap’s of your asscheeks smushing to his balls getting stretched with your cock bobbing back and forth tapping your stomach with your tip an angry red.

“Mh- [name] you’re clenching me so tight, boy” a soft strained sigh leaves his lips starting to pick his pace up holding your hips down firmly groaning against your lips pulling back only to suck in air before smushing his lips back on yours rutting his hips upwards driving into you with his cock stretching you out, his veins dragging along your inner walls while you hold your arms around his neck pulling your mouth off his and shoving his face in your pecs gripping his black hair.

“Just suck em” you moan your Adam’s apple bobbing like your cock while your binds dig at the skin in his back leaving marks from how tight you hold him to you. Gyomei’s cock pushing and nudging into your sweet spot over and over practically bullying your prostate making you feel its pulse while his face buries into your pecs biting at one of your nipples rotating between sucking and biting with his tears dampening your s/c skin.

“I can tell you’re getting close [name], you’re clenching up more- cum for me baby” he murmurs pressing sloppy kisses over your perked up buds holding your hips tighter making the bulge in your tummy bigger feeling a burning pain build up inside you from being fucked and spread open on him so long. One hand in Gyomei’s hair and the other holding his shoulder firm rocking your hips downwards into his thrusts trying your hardest to feel him deeper and deeper inside you with your belts tightening even more erupting a moan from the larger man.

“Oh fuck-oh I’m gonna—! I’m cumming~!” You mewl out shoving his face in your pecs harder arching your back up straight with your hips rolling erratically clenching and clamping as tight as you can around him breaking his skin with your other hand digging nails in his shoulder with your cock stiffening nearly jumping forward shooting sperm in its own groaning dropping your head forward on top of his when your cock shots a final rope of cum onto his stomach.

“That’s a good boy, gonna make me cum won’t you?” His chin resting on your rib cage blowing on your sensitive peaks rocking his hips forwards into you slowing down going in deeper and longer thrusts trying to let your rim milk him while he hits his own climax, the muscles under your hand tensing up letting you know the fire in his loin is bursting hot feeling the first spurt enter you making you shiver your eyes half lidded getting filled up.

“So warm” you coo out in his lap feeling your bulging tummy bloat up some with your binds slowly loosing around him letting him go as they retract back inside your back with your regeneration healing up your once broken skin. “Did I go over board [name]?.. how are you feeling?” He’d murmur lifting his head from your chest with a serious expression on his face needing to hear your verbal words not being able to see your reaction.

His tears flow freely down his cheeks making you sigh in his lap reaching your hand up from his hair and off his shoulder wiping his cheeks mumbling “I’m great Gyo, you were great.” Leaning in with a kiss on his cheek sitting still on his cock letting out a little hiss when you lift yourself off his cock feeling his semen slipping from your now loosened rim leaving your cheeks all slick when he grabs your waist and lays back pulling you right on top of his chest holding you laying on his mat in his personal bedroom of the stone estate letting you pull a blanket up.

“In the morning I’ll make sure to draw you a bath inside the estate, I know your beautiful skin is sensitive to the sunlight” he spoke in a soft tone to you holding you to him in a comfortingly tight regard rubbing at the back of your head and if it wasn’t for you being a demon he’d personally take you to the saunas but he knew that wasn’t possible with your inability to stand in the sun, doesn’t mean he still won’t give you the great aftercare you deserve.

[stop4death]

confessions

note: i'm not a good writer i apologize in advance. but i have challengers brain rot and can't stop thinking about it so i had to write this. thinking about writing fem!reader x tashi next (reader is lowkey in love with tashi as well in this one in my mind) lmk if u like this and maybe i will

pairing: stanford!art donaldson x fem!stanford!reader

summary: since you started at stanford, you’ve been avoiding your close high school friend, art, and you’re pretty sure he’s been avoiding you, too. when he shows up to the tennis courts while you’re playing with your roommate and asks to talk, some confessions are made.

warnings: nsfw 18+ (MDNI!), smut, sub!art donaldson, soft dom!reader, angst, fluff, grinding, hand job, praise, aftercare (reader loves art sm), art is pathetic (in a good way i love him), please lmk if i forgot anything

word count: 1.9k

posted: may 27th 2024

It’s been a little over a month since you started at Stanford. With the stress of all your classes, homework, club meetings, and private out-of-season training for tennis, it feels like you can never catch a break. To make things even worse, you’ve been actively avoiding your close high school friend, Art. You promised each other you’d stick together at school while your best friend, Tashi, and her boyfriend, Art’s best friend, Patrick, are touring. Now, you haven’t heard from him, and haven’t tried to reach out to him either. When your roommate found out you’re a tennis player, she asked if you’d be willing to teach her how to play. You happily agreed, so you’ve been going down to the courts and playing with her once a week. Today, your heart jumped out of your chest and you almost dropped your racket when you were teaching your roommate how to backhand and Art walked in, sitting down in the stands.

“You okay?” your roommate asks, concerned by your sudden change in demeanor. She looks back to where you were looking and sees Art, then turns back to you confused.

“Uh, yeah, I’m fine” you say unconvincingly, and serve the ball. She doesn’t press any further, so you continue with the lesson, trying to ignore the knot in your stomach.

You can’t help but keep glancing up at Art. He hasn’t taken his eyes off of you since he got there. Once you finish up her lesson, you say goodbye to your roommate and nervously walk up to the stands where Art is sitting.

“Hi.” you say softly, scratching at your palm anxiously.

“Hi. How have you been?” he asks, seemingly genuine.

“Um… I-I’ve been good. How about you?” you stutter, your heart racing.

“Can we talk?”

“Yeah, sure.” you sit down next to him, but he shakes his head.

“Privately?” he looks around at the few people who are on the tennis courts, including your roommate who’s still slowly packing up her bag and glancing up at you confoundedly.

The knot in your stomach twists even tighter, but you nod your head in agreement, standing up. You follow him out of the tennis courts and towards one of the dorm buildings. He unlocks a door on the first floor, gesturing for you to enter. As you walk into your friend’s dorm room for the first time, you look around. Your lips curve up slightly and you feel a warmth in your chest when you notice a photo of yourself with Art on a wall of photos of his friends and family. Your apprehensive look returns when you turn back towards the door as he shuts it behind him, standing awkwardly in the middle of his room. You’ve never been a fan of confrontation, but you should have prepared for it when you decided to completely ghost one of your best friends with no explanation.

“You can sit down, you know.” he says casually.

You glance between his desk and his bed, ultimately opting for the desk chair. You face the chair out away from the desk and sit down. He sits down on his bed, facing you.

“Nice room.” you say awkwardly, desperate to break the uncomfortable silence.

“Why did you stop talking to me?” he says plainly. You suddenly feel like you might vomit at any second. You would rather be six feet underground than in Art’s dorm room having this conversation right now.

“I didn’t mean to, I’ve just… been so busy with classes and clubs and training I guess I haven’t gotten the chance to text you.” you lie. And he sees right through it.

“Can you be serious… Why haven’t you talked to me since we got here?”

You take a deep breath, and look down at your hands. Trying to think of any other way you can stretch the truth and not have to tell him what you’re about to tell him, but your mind has gone blank. You look back up at him, realizing you have no choice but to be honest.

“Art I-” you try to find the words, your heart racing even faster. “I, um… back in high school, I had this… huge crush on you." Your cheeks flush with embarrassment as you stutter through the confession you've held onto for years, and you continue awkwardly, “And I knew you had a thing for Tashi, and it hurt because obviously who could ever compete with Tashi. She’s literally perfect. So over the summer, like a week before school started, Tashi and I were drunk and I decided to block your number. I thought maybe it would help me move on, start fresh, you know? I didn't want to keep being just friends and feeling, I don't know, awkward around you." You shift uncomfortably, the weight of your words heavy on your shoulders. "Honestly, I forgot I even did it until now. I thought maybe you were avoiding me, too, or… I don't know, I guess I just didn't think it through. I'm sorry, Art. If you don't hate me now, could we maybe try being friends again? I've moved past that crush, I promise. I won’t let it get in the way again.”

You try to make the last part sound as convincing as possible. You don’t think you’ll ever be over your crush on Art. He just sits there and listens as you talk. His expression is unreadable, and for a moment, you fear you've said too much. You look down again, fearing his response.

“Why didn’t you tell me before… that you had a crush on me?”

“Cause you liked Tashi. Like everyone else.”

“Tashi was always just a friend to me. I liked you.”

You look at him as if he must be lying, searching for any hint of irony in his tone or facial expression.

“I still do.” he says softly, and the knot in your stomach is replaced with butterflies.

You stand up from the chair, and Art looks at you with concern, thinking you’re about to walk out. You take a few steps forward and sit down next to him on his bed, your knees brushing together.

“I still like you, too.” you whisper and put a hand on his cheek. You slowly lean closer to him, and press your lips against his. His lips are soft and they taste of cigarettes and watermelon lime ChapStick, his favorite. You’ve dreamed about this taste for years. He places a hand on your thigh, deepening the kiss. You quickly move to straddle his lap. Your hands twist in his soft strawberry blond hair as you kiss him sloppily, as if you were trying to consume him. You feel his erection growing under you and grind your hips down against him, making him moan softly into the kiss. You tug at the hem of his shirt and he quickly removes it, tossing it carelessly across the room, then smashes his lips back against yours hungrily. His hand moves up your thigh to the waistband of your skirt.

“So impatient.” you say with a smirk, moving your head down to kiss his neck and taking his hand in yours, moving it away from your waistband. He whimpers at the feeling of you sucking and nibbling gently on his neck. You kiss up his neck and jawline then back to his lips quickly before pulling away. You move off his lap and sit further back on his bed, spreading your legs slightly and patting the space between them.

“Come sit here.”

He looks at you a bit confused, but he obeys. He sits between your legs on the bed, his back to you. You move your hands slowly over his arms and chest, kissing his neck from behind, bringing back the sweet sounds of his whimpering. He closes his eyes and leans his head back on your shoulder, giving you better access to his neck. He moans softly, reveling in the feeling of your lips and hands on him. You tease him, moving your hand slowly down his abdomen and stopping just before his waistband, then moving back up slowly. You do this a few times before he can’t take it anymore and his hips buck upwards, begging for your touch.

“Such a pretty boy… you want me to touch you?” you tease, speaking softly against his neck and driving him insane. He whimpers, nodding his head eagerly.

“Use your words.” you whisper in his ear. His hips buck up again, a needy whine escaping his lips.

“Please,” he gasps out, his voice soft and needy, “please touch me, I want you so bad.”

You smirk and move your hands to the waistband of his pants, tugging down gently. He wastes no time pulling his pants and boxers off in one quick movement.

“Good boy.” you say softly, sliding your hand down his abdomen. A strangled moan leaves his lips as you wrap your hand around his cock and start to stroke him. His hips jerk up, desperate for more friction.

“Fuck” he gasps out, his voice a husky whisper. You continue to stroke him slowly, your other hand wandering over his chest and abs, kissing his neck occasionally.

“Love hearing your moans… such a good boy for me.” you say softly in his ear. He can’t contain his whimpers as you continue.

“Feels… so good.” he chokes out through moans, leaning his head back on your shoulder again. He lets out a low moan as you kiss his neck again, panting heavily.

“Such a good boy.” you emphasize, playing with his hair with your other hand.

“Yes, I am… such a good boy for you.”

You can tell that he’s close to the edge.

“You gonna cum for me, baby?”

“Yes… yes.” he gasps, his eyes squeezed shut as he breathes heavily. You stroke faster now, and he lets out a loud moan as he finally lets go, cumming hard on your hand. He pants heavily as he leans back against you, trying to catch his breath. “Thank you.”

You move your hand up to your mouth, licking some of his cum off and swallowing it, then moving your hand to his mouth. He knows exactly what you’re asking of him. His breath hitches at the sight, and he leans forward to lick the rest of his cum off your hand. He swallows then closes his eyes and leans his head back against your shoulder.

“You did so good for me, angel. My good boy.” you wrap your arms around him, holding him close and rubbing his stomach as he recovers. He lets out a contented sigh as he leans back into you further, his body still trembling slightly. He puts his arms over yours, holding onto you tightly as he catches his breath. You let him lean on you for a few more minutes, still rubbing his stomach, before the two of you lay down, you still holding him from behind. He turns over to face you, his lips curling into a smile. You smile back at him and put a hand on his cheek, stroking it gently.

“I missed you so much. Please, don’t ever leave me again.”

His words are like a shot to the heart. You still feel like a horrible person for the way you hurt him, but one thing about Art is he could never hate you, no matter what you do. You pull him close, stroking his hair gently as you whisper, “I won’t. Ever. I promise.”

[jenchan-writingmultis]

Sylus SFW/NSFW Headcanon/s

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

A/n: I genuinely couldn’t resist. I’m sorry.  This is also my first time writing headcanons that are NSFW! I hope you like it! And I based Sylus on that anonymous man that Rafayel was talking to, while it’s definitely inaccurate, I didn’t know where to base him from aside from the leaked trailer, I hope you like this one!

Masterlist

Pairing: Sylus x AFAB Reader

Warning: NSFW Up ahead! This is for 18+ readers. Stockholm Syndrome, TOXIC! Obsessive love, unhealthy relationship. Degradation

Tell me if I left a warning out, I’ll update this immediately.

Credits: The line dividers are from Kaomoji; the art is from Love and Deepspace ⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

SFW: ✧ He’s the kind of person who won't hold back. After you were handed to him like a free meal, he decided that whatever you discussed with Xavier and Rafayel would fail, and he’d ensure it. Even if the plan was to infiltrate Onychinus, he would absolutely make sure it failed.

✧ When Rafayel handed you over to him, he was so elated that he ordered his men to take you to his home as soon as you were drugged, where you’ll be kept trapped. Unlike the other male leads, he isn't upfront but rather lurks in the shadows, stalking your every move.

✧ Even though he acknowledges your capability and doesn’t see you as a weakling, he will ensure you remain completely obedient to him. If you try to escape, he will isolate you further, providing only food and water to keep you alive. In his view, isolation is the most effective method of punishment, especially if it means breaking your spirit to force your obedience.

✧ He despises you. He hates how you make him feel like he's dependent on your presence, while you, on the other hand, don’t even know him, to himself, you were his whole world. Sylus won’t tell you how easy it is for you to have him under your thumb.

✧ You may hate him for your own reasons, and he can see it in your eyes. Yes, he might have been responsible for the explosion that took your childhood friend and grandmother, but it wasn’t entirely intentional. He didn’t expect you to come home so early that day; it was a miscalculation on his part.  He won’t tell you that though, he likes seeing you so focused on him with an emotion you would never feel for the other men in your life. The hatred fuels him.

✧ Now while he’s lenient with you growling and squirming like a mutt, if you try to bite and hurt him back, he’s going to make sure to put a collar around your neck, you’re being a bad pet. He’ll make sure that you drop that disobedience before he’s forced to make it leak out of you instead.

✧ If you start to relax, or simply get tired of trying to escape, he will reward you by letting you go out with him. However, if you try to speak or ask for help, the collar around your neck will inject you with drugs that will turn your brain to mush, ensuring you won’t betray him in public. Not that anyone would dare to save you; he’s confident a few people recognize him.

✧ Oh, don’t take him as someone reckless though, he takes extra measures to prevent you from acting out. Once he implements those safety measures, he’ll be happy to buy you outfits that fit his aesthetic, or anything you’d like really. Sometimes he’ll be nice to you, only sometimes.

✧ I think it’s obvious how he shows his hatred and love for you in these headcanons, he’s going to make sure to tear down that confidence you have, he’ll break you. One of his methods would be to have you be eaten by guilt till you start blaming yourself instead of him. He’s good with his words, he wouldn’t be gaining such loyal followers without it. ⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

NSFW:

✧ BRAT TAMER TO THE FULLEST, he wouldn’t let you act out at all, if you tried, he’s gonna have you bent over the wall while he smacks your ass, making sure his handprint stays marked there. Till you can’t sit down comfortably, actually he won’t even let you test if you can sit down properly,  cause he’ll have you sitting on his lap, it can be during a meeting with his trusted companions, imagine a console table with almost 10 people along with him in front, while people are discussing their plans, you can’t even hear it properly cause of how deep his fingers are pumping in and out, his thumb pressing on your clit. If you let out a yelp he'd chuckle before nipping on your ear.

“Quiet, you’re distracting them” he’d murmur while squeezing your waist as a warning.

✧ While he gives off a vibe of being a dominant top if you want to ride him, he’ll let you, however with the condition that you make him cum before you do, which fails! Cause he has a pretty good endurance, you poor girl. Once he wins, he’ll flip you down, pinning your arms up while spreading your legs further, hand pressing on your soft tummy.

“Can’t even ride properly huh? You want me to do all the work pretty girl?"

✧ HATE SEX is one of his favorites, once you get the privilege to go out, if he ever sees you try to speak to another man aside from the bodyguards, he sent to watch over you while he’s busy, he’s going to use that as a reason to leave multiple marks on your body, specifically your neck. You can’t even hide it, along with the bite marks on your thighs. Oh right, not like anyone can see it, you’re forbidden from going out till he milks you of every orgasm he can pull out of you for the next few days.

✧ The type to finger you while you’re in public, if you’re wearing something short, like a skirt, he’ll lift it up, sliding his hand underneath your panty before fingering you. Make sure you don't make too much noise now, or people will notice, slut.

✧ He’s messy, the type to eat you out like a man starved, watch him suck on your clit while he pushes his fingers on your sweet spot, he had his arms wrapped around your thighs just so you don’t try to run away from his skillful tongue, the type of man to make you squirt and once he does he gets drunks over your taste, pulling away a bit just to look at you,

“One more, I know you can take it” he’d say before giving your puffy clit a kiss."

[pinkanonwrites]

"Oh! That's What That Does?!"

All art by @archie-sunshine

G1 Rumble/ Mechanic Reader - 2400+ Words NSFW, Valveplug, Plug 'N Play, Mild Sparkplay, Accidental Stimulation, Edging, Human Reader, GN Pronouns

Ahh, the inherent eroticism of repairing your machine.~ I've had this one cooking for a while, so I hope you all enjoy! I've also gotten pretty attached to this mechanic Reader, so they'll likely pop up again with other cassettes (and maybe even some other Decepticons!)

NSFW WRITING AND IMAGERY BELOW THE CUT!

“Ey… EY! Careful wit’ dat! It’s touchy!”

“Rumble,” You groaned, pinching the bridge of your nose. “You're making this way more difficult than it needs to be.”

“I wouldn't be complainin’ if you'd stop touchin’ all up on bits that don't gotta be touched! Rootin’ around in there like I'm one’a your crappy organic machines!”

Removing your hands from Rumble’s open chest, you tossed them roughly into the air. “Y'know what? Fine. Do it yourself. Better yet, get Frenzy to pull the shrapnel out of your chest. That'll go great.”

You would have slid off of Rumble’s lap and stormed off, if not for his massive servos closing around your wrists with an unexpected delicacy. Your efforts to remove your hands only reinforced his grip, using just enough force to keep you from leaving without crushing your wrists entirely.

“H-Hey, no need ta be so hasty! Look, I’m just steamed cause'a the battle, dat’s all. Frenz’ can't do dis, it's gotta be someone more… dainty. Y’know. Little human hands and all dat.” The harsh glow of his visor had dulled slightly as his gaze cast down to your hands. You rolled your eyes, wrists finally slipping from his grip as you settled back in. 

Dangling wires and sparking shrapnel dotted his open chest cavity, illuminated by the light of his spark chamber. Rumble had staggered off-balance into your workshop whining about the prodding pieces of broken metal keeping him from transforming properly, yet you’d barely managed to get two wires back in place before he started squirming and whingeing and slinging verbal abuse at you.

 Not that you weren't used to it, any interactions with Rumble and Frenzy usually involved some level of bullying. Fortunately, the two cassettes are also incredibly predictable. As soon as you would threaten to take away or withhold what they're asking for, they’d start falling all over themselves with apologies and placations. After all, you may not have been the only mechanic in the area, but you were certainly their favorite.

“Are you going to actually let me work? Or are you going to start yelling at me again?”

“Yellin’? Who's yellin’? Yer the mechanic here, my spark is in your squishy little hands. Do your magic, doc.” He sat back again, servos clutching the edges of your workbench in a show of effort, a genuine attempt to keep them still (or however genuine any show of rule-following from Rumble could be.)

“That's what I thought. Now let me actually fix a few things before you start whining again.” Your gloved hands dipped back into his chest cavity, skirting the edges of his spark chamber to pick away at the bits of loose shrapnel stuck in some of the wires. His frame shuddered, a hiss of steam escaping through his dentae as your knuckles brushed the underside of the spark casing.

“C-Careful,” He said again, with significantly less bite to his tone.

“Does it hurt?”

“Somethin’ like dat.”

“I'll be careful, so let me know if it gets to be too much.” You smoothed a palm down the armor covering his stomach, flinching back when you heard another sharp hiss of steam.

“I’m fine! It's fine! Just… do ya gotta be all on top’a me like dis?”

“I can't reach properly if you're laying down. If you're standing you might keel over on me, and I really don't feel like being squished to death today.” He let out a low grumble as you jacked another cable back into its proper port. “I'll try to be quick, that way you won't have to worry about my ‘human germs’ and you can get outta here. Deal?”

“Yeah, yeah. Just-”

“Be careful. I know.”

And with that you went to work, separating and organizing cables, taping off leaky tubing and removing pieces of scrap metal as gently as you could. Every once in a while Rumble would jerk or twitch beneath your touch, letting out a muffled curse or huff but sparing you from his usual complaints. It was… uncharacteristically quiet, for sure. This was the most extensive repair you'd ever done on him, though, so maybe he was just having surgery jitters.

“Okay, I've gotten most of the shrapnel out. But there's a piece right behind your spark casing.”

“Well? Get it outta there!”

“I'm going to, but I need to get my whole hand in there. I'm warning you now because it's going to be bumping up against your spark casing a lot. I'm going to do my best but you have to tell me if it hurts too much.”

Rumble let out a long, pathetic groan. “Actually doc, maybe you can just leave dat one in there? F-For funsies?”

“Eh?! Rumble, I’m not gonna just ‘leave it in there’! It's gotta come out.”

“Something's gonna come out if you keep proddin’ around in there like dat…”

“What was that?”

“Gh! Nothin’! Don't worry ‘bout it!”

“...Okay. I’m gonna start now. Are you ready?” Rumble only responded with gritted dentae and a tense nod. Working your gloved hand under his spark chamber, you could feel the ambient energy making the hairs on your arm stand on end as you felt for the jagged edge of broken metal. Your glove blocked your view entirely, so you were left blindly groping your way up the metal surface, feeling for anything bent or out of place. When your fingers could no longer reach any further while still avoiding the casing, you slid forward and ducked slightly into Rumble’s open chest, the back of your hand pressing up against the underside of his spark chamber.

CLANG!

You jumped, and if it weren't for Rumble’s arm wrapping around you and almost crushing you into his open chest you may have jostled the sensitive chamber even further. You slid your hand back again, easing off of the reinforced glass, and his grip receded.

“What the hell was that? And what was that clang?”

“I said don't worry ‘bout it!” He hissed, voice glitchy with static. “Everythin’s totally normal, I dunno why you're getting all jumpy ‘bout- MMNGH?!” You moved your hand up again into the same position, and Rumble let out an embarrassingly high whimper. You glanced up at his face, a flush of pink behind the usual grey and beading with coolant… and something clicked.

“Oh my God are you getting off on this?”

“N-No!”

Behind you you heard a sharp snikt, and the sound of pressurizing hydraulics.

“...Maybe?”

“Jesus fucking Christ.”

“H-Hey, don't go gettin’ a big head or nothin’! A bot’s spark chamber is sensitive! Don't go thinkin’ this is cause of your squishy frame or your soft little digits or nothin’!” He seemed to almost shrink in on himself, face plate practically glowing as his shoulders pulled up around his helm. You'd never say it to his face, but he looked surprisingly… small, at this moment. You heaved an exhausted sigh.

“Okay. Okay. I'm going to get this last piece out, alright? It's the last one. And whatever happens while I'm doing that..? It just happens. We won't bring it up again, no need to be embarrassed. Deal?”

“‘Deal?!?’” He squawked, positively scandalized. “How do I know yer not gonna gossip with Frenz’ the next time he's in for a tune-up?”

“Well Frenzy usually never lets me get a word in edgewise, first of all.” You huffed. This was way more than you'd signed up for. “I'm not going to make fun of you, Rumble. Let’s just get you patched up, then you can head home. Okay?”

His mouth was pulled into a tight, wobbly frown as he glanced down at you, choking out a single word. “...Promise?”

“I promise.”

“...Slag. alright, let's get dis over with.” He lolled his head back against the table with a clank, resigning himself to his fate. This time, when your knuckles brushed his spark casing, he couldn’t stifle his soft moan. Your fingers felt further and further up, until almost your entire hand was behind the glass bubble containing his pulsing spark. Finally, you could feel the jagged piece of metal. You wrapped your fingers around it and gave it an experimental tug. It stuck fast, and your hand bumping against Rumble's spark only pulled another surprised moan from him.

“W-Watch it!” He yelped, sounding too fucked-out to come across as actually threatening.

“It's really stuck in there. I'm going to start working it out, so let me know if you need me to stop.”

“Wh… workin’ it out? Whadda ya- ohhh…~” 

With your thumb and forefinger gripping the edge of the broken metal, you began to wiggle it gently back and forth to ease it from the plating and wires around it. Each time you moved the back of your hand rubbed up against the far side of his spark chamber, warmth radiating through your glove as Rumble started to vent more harshly.

“Slag… slag! Don't think it's ever been touched back there before. Feels… feels crazy.” He moaned. The metal of your work table shrieked and crumpled like cardboard under his iron grip, desperate to keep his servos off of himself or, Primus forbid, you. The piece stuck firm, and as you braced your other hand against the outside paneling of his chest to readjust your balance he let out a sharp, staticky yelp. “S-STOP!”

You froze immediately. “Are you okay? What's wrong?”

A few shuddering vents were your only response for a moment, Rumble’s visor lights flickering frantically as he tried to steady himself. “Whooo… Almost blew my top for a second there.”

“Seriously?”

“Hey! Yer the one that told me to tell ya if I need ya to stop! I'll be slagged to the Pit before I let some ‘squishy’ run my charge like dat.”

“...Can I start again? I’m making some progress here.”

“...Y-Yeah. Yeah. Yer good.”

You let out another soft sigh, trying to focus on the rhythmic sktch sktch sktch of metal on metal rather than Rumble’s shivering whines. His vocalizer pitched and warbled with static, attempts to stifle his own words slowly giving way to a deluge of fucked-out babbles.

“Ah! Gh! Ohh, mmnh, stupid little hands feelin’ all- nnh!~ Jus’ get it outta there! Please?”

I’m working on it. You’re doing good, just hang in there.” Your placations only resulted in another desperate moan. After what couldn’t have been more than another thirty seconds or so, he blurted out again.

“Ah! Stop!”

You retracted your hand for a moment, letting Rumble gasp for breath above you in a futile attempt to cool his core. You rubbed at his chest paneling as he shivered beneath you hard enough that you thought bolts were going to start coming undone. Even the paneling you were seated upon was burning up, heat seeping through the fabric of your coveralls. His glowing face plate was slick with coolant. Without thinking, you reached up and swept away a bead of it with your thumb, making him jump.

“H-Hey, quit dat…” He groaned, all bite lost from his tone.

“Rumble… The more you keep stopping me the longer this is going to take.”

“You think I don’t know dat?!” One of his arms draped dramatically over his face. “I’m tryin’! But you just keep pokin’ around in there and it’s all touchy and it’s makin’ me feel like my spike’s gonna burst and I can’t take it anymore!” He sniffled. Could Cybertronians even sniffle? You weren’t sure, but he sounded close to tears.

“Rumble… Have you ever actually edged yourself before?”

“Whu- Whuh? How’s dat any of yer business?”

“I’m just thinking…” You ran a placating hand down his shivering plating. “If you haven’t it can be really overwhelming, and-”

“I can handle it! I-I can!”

“Let me finish. It can be really overwhelming, and I don’t want you to hurt yourself further. Just��� take a deep breath for me, okay?” You took a slow, steadying breath, and after a second he mimicked it. “Good. Just think about letting go, okay? I’m not going to judge you. Just think about it.”

He let out a low, pitying grumble, peeking at you from behind his arm plating. “...You can start again.”

Once again, your hands dipped into his chest cavity. Only this time you slid both hands up behind his spark casing, gripping as much of the broken metal as you could reach. As you rocked it back and forth Rumble’s moans returned with a fervor, one servo finally flying to cup your lower back.

“Ah! Ah! Slag, oh slag please! Please don’t stop I’m so fraggin’ close.” He fisted the back of your uniform, crumpling the cheap fabric between his digits. “C’mon, c’mon c’mon c’mon I need it!”

“Shh, I’ve got you baby. Just let it happen.”

With a metallic shriek and a gush of brackish oil the shrapnel popped free, the force enough to send you sprawling if not for Rumble’s servo in the small of your back. Of course, said unexpected force also slammed the backs of both your hands right into the underside of his spark chamber, and Rumble’s voice box screeched into a wail of radio static. Something hot and sticky splattered up the back of your coveralls; said something you decidedly were not going to look at until later. His frame rattled and shivered beneath you, steam venting and joints glitching and spark pulsating a near-blinding glow.  Finally, after a burst of noise and sparks and twitching, he went slack beneath you, helm clanking against the workbench as his optics flickered.

As delicately as you could, you removed the oil-slick shrapnel and let it clatter onto the floor before shedding your gloves and dabbing at his face plate with the cuff of your sleeve. With the whir of an old monitor blipping back to life, his visor blinked back up to its standard brightness.

“Whuh… Wheh?” He garbled.

“How you feeling, hun?”

“Like I got struck by lightnin’... but in like a nasty way.”

You choked back a snort. “Well, I’ve got all the worst of it over with. Feel free to rest for a while if you need it. I’m gonna go change my jumpsuit.” 

He let you slide off his lap without a fight, not even commenting until you’d turned around to make your way over to your office. Only then did he let out a low, salacious whistle when he’d finally caught sight of the back of your uniform.

“Comm me next time yer free, doc. Then I can repay da favor.”

[atypicalamortentia]

They Think You're Cheating On Them/Jealousy

Synopsis - The hogwarts legacy boys think you're cheating on them/they get jealous.

Warnings - Mentions of sex/sexual acts.

Note - All characters aged up to 18+!

Word Count - 1.8k.

{Caffeinate Me}

SEBASTIAN SALLOW is toxic as fuck. He thinks you're cheating on him the moment you say ‘hello’ to another guy. Hell, he even has his suspicions about your relationship with Ominis from time-to-time. This time it was because Leander asked you what the potions homework was. Sebastian had stalked you out of the classroom and pulled you into an empty broom cupboard, pressing your back against the wall, snarling at you. “What was it this time?” He snapped, arm closing you in against the wall. 

You immediately knew what he was talking about and rolled your eyes. “He just asked me what the potions homework was.”

“Yeah, sure,” Sebastian scoffed as he rolled his eyes. 

“I’m being serious Sebastian,” you said. Your voice held a stern tone hoping he would see how irrational he was being.

“So what? You were just talking to him?” He asked, voice sounding unconvinced. 

“Yes!” 

“Psht, sure, if that’s what you call your mouth around another man’s cock then that’s what it was,” Sebastian snapped. 

You pushed him away from you lightly and growled. “Sebastian, you're being stupid. You’re with me all the time. Even if I wanted to cheat on you, which I don’t, I’d never have the time!”

Sebastian grinned at your statement and it seemed like you had actually gotten through to him without the usual huge argument. His hand cupped your chin and he pulled your face close to his. “You’re mine, sweetheart. You’ll do good to remember that.” Now it was your turn to scoff. You rolled your eyes as Sebastian pressed his lips to yours softly. “I only worry because I love you. I can’t lose you Y/N.” 

“You will if you keep acting like this,” you whisper between his lips. You knew that wasn’t the case though. You had it down bad for the brown-haired Slytherin. He could ‘Crucio’ you out of anger and you’d still stay with him.  

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled after a few moments. 

“It’s okay Sebastian, but you can’t keep accusing me of cheating anytime another man looks at me,” you say seriously. 

“Why don’t you let me show you just how sorry I am?” Sebastian smirks, grabbing your hand and leading you out of the broom closet and to the empty Slytherin dorm where he would show you just who you truly belong to.

OMINIS GAUNT will just talk to you about it whenever he suspects that you might be cheating on him. He’s not as insecure as Sebastian and sometimes just needs reassurance that you love him and no one else. You’re sitting in Defence Against The Dark Arts when he grabs your hand and whispers in your ear. “You love me, right?” 

You look at him with a shocked expression. Even though he couldn’t see you, you knew that he could sense your surprise. “Of course I do Ominis.”

“And you’d never cheat on me, right?” 

“Where is all this coming from?” You ask, instead of answering his question. This makes the blonde raise an eyebrow and repeat his question. 

“You’d never cheat on me, right?”

“Never!” You exclaim, squeezing his hand. “Where’s all this coming from?” You asked again. 

“Just… I heard you and Sebastian whispering to each other this morning during breakfast and I suppose,” he let out a breathy sigh. “I suppose I just got a little insecure.” 

You continue to squeeze his hand and smile at him softly. “We were talking about your birthday present,” you say. “I didn’t want you to hear what I’ve got you. That’s all.”

“Do you promise?” 

“I promise,” you said, linking your pinky finger with his. This seemed to satisfy Ominis, who leaned his head into your shoulder and hummed with approval.

GARRETH WEASLEY constantly watches the way Sebastian is around you and always thinks something is going on between the two of you, but he’s not as toxic as Sebastian is. He will make jokes about it, but sometimes he can get really insecure. The two of you were fighting when this recent comment left his lips and as soon as he said it, he regretted it. “Well why don’t you tell your boyfriend Sebastian all about it!” Garreth shouted, throwing his hands up in the air. Your eyes widened at his comment, and you were slightly hurt. 

“What is that supposed to mean?” You asked, narrowing your eyebrows.

Garreth didn’t want to admit he was in the wrong, so he continued to dig his own grave. “You heard me. Why don’t you tell your boyfriend all about it.” 

“He’s just a friend, you know that Garreth. We’ve been over this numerous times.” 

“He looks at you like a lovesick puppy!” Garreth retorted. 

“And I look at you like a lovesick puppy. Garreth, so what if he does? I’m in love with you, not him.”

“I don’t know that,” he pouted, calming down slightly at your words. 

You let out an exasperated sigh and sat down next to him on his bed, placing a hand on his thigh. “Listen, Garreth. I understand you get jealous, or insecure, whatever it is but there’s no need to throw a friendship in my face.”

It was Garreth’s turn to sigh next as he realised how stupid he was being. “Yeah. I suppose you're right.”  

“I’m sorry… What was that?” You asked, placing your hand by your ear.

Garreth grinned at your joking demeanour. Even when you were arguing you would still attempt to joke with him. “Shut up.”

“No seriously. You said I was what? Right?” 

Garreth pushed you on the shoulder lightly until you fell back on to his bed. He quickly climbed on top of you and pressed soft kisses to your neck. “Yes. Yes. You’re right. I’m sorry.” 

“You are forgiven,” you smile, a soft gasp leaving your lips as his cold lips touch your warm neck. He certainly showed you how sorry he was that night. 

LEANDER PREWETT thinks something’s going on between you and Amit. When Amit invites you to look at the stars with him, or study, Leander puts his foot down. “No way. It’s a date. You’re my partner, not his.” 

“Leander,” you hissed at him. 

“What? No. I’m not having it.”

“It’s just a study session,” you reply sternly. 

“So you want to go? You want to leave me and be with him instead? I knew something was going on with you two, I just knew it.”

“Woah!” You exclaimed, holding your hands up in the air defensively. “What do you mean? Leander, what’s going on?” 

“You heard me,” he frowned, eyebrows pronounced.

“Yeah, but I thought I heard you insinuating that I was cheating on you?” You asked rhetorically. Leander just rolled his eyes and continued to flick through his potions book on his bed. 

“If you wanna be with him so badly then just break up with me for fucks sake,” Leander snapped, causing you to wince at his sudden harshness. 

“Leander… I don’t want to break up with you at all.”

He raised an eyebrow. You had clearly caught his attention now. He closed his potions book with a thud and looked at you in disbelief. “You don’t?”

“If I didn’t want to be with you, I wouldn’t be with you.” 

It was then that he realised he was being irrational and immediately pulled you into a bone crushing hug. “I’m so sorry. I don’t know what came over me.” You gulped back tears and nodded. It wasn’t like Leander to snap at you like that, ever. Even when he was angry, he would always talk it out with you first, but when it came to other men or the possibility of you cheating on him he acted first and thought about it later. “Can you forgive me?” 

You hesitated but replied, “of course I can. You just need to stop thinking I’m cheating on you whenever I hang out with somebody else. Leander, I’m not that type of person.”

“I know. I know. I’m sorry.” He pulled you closer to his body and pushed you down until you were laying on his bed. His body was pressed up against yours as he stroked your hair gently, almost soothingly. “It won’t happen again.”

“Won’t it?” You asked hopefully, even though you didn’t believe it. Leander nodded and kissed your cheek. 

“I love you.”

“I love you too, you idiot.”

AMIT THAKKAR hates the way Garreth always jokes with you and attempts to get you in on his little schemes, so much so that he thinks that you’re actually cheating on him with Garreth. One day, while you’re studying astronomy together, Garreth approaches you with a cheeky grin on his face. “Guess what I did Y/N?” Garreth said, half-singing his words. 

“Y/N doesn’t care,” Amit snapped at Garreth, causing the ginger to retreat back into the shadows from where he came. You stared at Amit, completely confused at his sudden outburst. 

“What was all that about?” You asked softly, placing a hand on his arm. 

“You’re cheating on me aren’t you? With him!” Amit accused you immediately. You sat back in your chair out of complete shock and just blinked at him. You couldn’t even justify him with an answer, but this only raised his suspicions even more. “Well?”

You could only cry out, “no!”

Amit looked slightly puzzled, as if he wasn’t expecting that answer. “You’re not?” He asked. 

“You’re really asking me that?” You snapped, feeling your blood boil with anger. How dare he accuse you like that, especially with no evidence! Amit opened his mouth to speak but you interrupted him. “You don’t get to speak right now Amit. Who do you think I am? Some whore for the whole of Hogwarts to enjoy?” 

“Well no-”

“Then why on earth do you think I’d be cheating on you?” You snapped, eyes burning a hole into his. 

“It’s just the way he acts around you… Always bringing you in on his little pranks and joking around with you like you’re best friends.” 

“We are friends. Not best friends, but we are friends,” you said sternly. “Amit, I’m allowed to have guy friends. Just like you’re allowed to have girl friends. If you don’t trust me, what’s the point in this relationship?”

“I do trust you!” He managed to rush out even though you assumed he was lying. “I don’t know what came over me. I guess I was just jealous and well, fed up of him coming on to you.”

“Next time you feel like this,just talk to me instead of blowing up at my friends,” you say. “Having doubts and worries is normal, but accusing me out of the blue isn’t.” Amit nodded at your reply and looked down at his book somewhat ashamed of himself. 

After a few moments of silent studying, Amit finally spoke up again. “Y/N, I’m sorry. I hope you can forgive me.” 

You wrapped your arm around his waist and pulled him closer to you. “Of course I can forgive you, but only if you promise me not to act this way again.”

“I promise,” he said, holding his pinky out for you to wrap yours around. You did so and smiled lovingly at him before continuing on with your ​​studies.

[kyri45]

✨ShadowPeach Bio Parents Bio AU Q&A! 21/11✨

Welcome to the Q&A! A space where I can answer related or similar question about the Shadowpeach Bio Parents AU! If you submitted your ask anonimously, then you’ll have to check the whole post if it’s answered here, if it’s not, worry not! Your asks might have been used for a future comic or just in the queue~

Anonimo ha chiesto: Hi! Would Macaque kidnap Wukong again? I read your comic, the last page, where Macaque is the kidnapping expert. And I'm very curious about it. Anyway, I love your comics! You are awesome.

Haha I don't think they really need it unless they want to do a "traditional wedding courtnapping" but it would be pretty odd since they kind of already live togehter.

Anonimo ha chiesto: I know this is definitely a LONG ways away, but, imagine: Wukong and Macaque playing the newlyweds game. What questions? What answers? Who’s asking the questions? Who’s getting the most right?

I wont list all the lesson but I think Macaque would get most of them right just because Wukong never really changed a lot during the years, while Macaque went through different stages of his life, and and he has new hobbies and tastes.

Anonimo ha chiesto: Will mk have a nightmare about LBD? If yes Then we will have some angst with fluffy monkeys family moments!!!

Oh he has. He has many. Most of them he has while he is at pigsy's.

Anonimo ha chiesto: Can you please shows up a flashback backstory on how MK/Wukong discovered/found out/came out as trans?? 🙏🙏🙏 Banana sundae with chocolate sauce, rainbow sprinkles, THREE cherries, and a super-deluxe one-and-only Monkie King™️ collectible spoon???

Anonimo ha chiesto: will we see any past Shadowpeach?? I’m interested to see how you frame their dynamic back 5en.

Hahah maybe in the future, I'll see

Anonimo ha chiesto: Can we get Wukong telling dad jokes? Please, I’m begging i want to see MK laughing and Macaque just being so disappointed with Wukong yet so smitten. I want to see more Monkey family domestic blissss. 🙏🙏🙏🙏

I don't have my dad jokes book here but man give Macaque an award for the patience he has with these two children

@goofybearclown ha chiesto: Hi :3 Just wanted to say I love your shadowpeach and cotl AU!!! I didn't notice you made both at first but when I did I was like "waow :0". Tbh your works are in my top 3 series on Tumblr! @fenikzia ha chiesto: I love your LMK comic so much, I look forward to reading the new additions to it when they come out every other day,and reading your comic just makes my day better. Even if it hasn't updated a particular day, I make sure to go back and reread the newest part.Keep doing what you're doing and make sure to take breaks! @skye-minecraftyt-blog ha chiesto: You! I like you! Your Bio parents Lmk au always makes me extremely happy and I regularly reread it. ((o(^∇^)o)) Just wanted to say it @blazeandsilver ha chiesto: Hello, I just wanted to say your artwork is absolutely stunning, it makes my day whenever I see that you posted something new to the BioParents comic. Please keep up the good work and be sure to take some time for yourself, you’re important too.

AWWWWWW THANK YOU FOR ALL THE LOVE!!

Anonimo ha chiesto: Hihi shadowpeach au question: You mentioned in the latest comic that Mac is more lean and skinny than Wukong. Will we ever see the full extent of that?? ALSO I ADORE YOUR ART OMG ❤️❤️

A fully naked Macaque you say? Maybe.... who knows....

Anonimo ha chiesto: I come to defend Wukong acting like a man looking at a victorian lady ankles, he hasn’t seen his (ex) husband’s fur in centuries. And he probably hasn’t socialize in years either besides MK and the gang. Romantically he is stunned right? I doubt he has even looked at anyone besides Macaque anyways…

Honestly I like to think that Macaque was the only being in all the universe that was eer able to make him flustered

@mochalikesdrawing ha chiesto: So I got a question, will we ever get to see kaiju MK again?

I have a scene post AU I would like to draw. Maybe.

Anonimo ha chiesto: Ignoring all the angst because it is crushing my soul /pos, I'm lowkey convinced that Macaque knows Wukong feels some kind of way about him because he can hear his heartbeat go crazy at certain moments and isn't dumb, but just isn't calling Wukong on it because he's still trying to sort his own feelings first. BUT ONCE HE DOES OH BOY-

Hahah Macaque knows perfectly well Wukong is down for him. In the meantime Wukong is alwasy afraid he's just imagining things bc he's dense af.

Anonimo ha chiesto: Do you think Wukong and macaque would be cuddling and macaque would be watching something scary and Wukong would be trying to not pay attention to it because he hates scary stuff or would it be the other way around?

yess

@ep2nd ha chiesto: In your shadowpeach bio parents au, if MK and Wukong were created by Nuwa, with Nuwa using Macaque and Wukong as a base, has anyone wondered who created Macaque? And does Macaque himself knows?

Wait Nuwa created Wukong? If that's so I think then all the 5 monkeys were made by her, for some reason.

@boonalina ha chiesto: Sooo what exactly is the courtnapping process like? Is it just a simple "I'm gonna pick you up and carry you away" or is it an entire ceremony? Does someone have to lure the person into place? For example, Mei bringing Redson over to a secluded spot so that Mk can "courtnap" him? (Side note: I've been in this fandom for around two years now, and this comic is what made me find out about courtnapping lol)

I "think" anything that can be counted as like a sneak attack that takes them out of guard and brings them to the designated courtnapped room can be considered as courtnapping technically.

Anonimo ha chiesto: ... Hey so your shadow peach bio parent AU is better way better than season five. WOAH, WHO SAID THAT!! (no but seriously it is like a sitcom I tune on ever so often. Much love 🫶)

Haha thank you! That's a HUGE statement!

Anonimo ha chiesto: I wonder if MK has any unique attributes/abilities as a living mass of celestial material?

He's such a cocktail ofdifferent energies I wouldn't be surprised he is able to glow in the dark.

@cjtuy ha chiesto: I do have a question it's mainly about pigsy and tang when and how long have they been together as a couple and did both of them find mk are they married ?

They have been together for almost a year, but I don't think they are married, but maybe that could happen in the future??? But yeah MK found out a little after season 5 that they are together, that was also the same time he started calling Tang "Papa"

Anonimo ha chiesto: Has macaque added any personal items to the house? Like is he moved in? Have Wukong and macaque improved or changed anything else besides making the bed bigger?

Yes he did! Half of his belongins are in FFM, althought he's a little more minimalistic than Wukong. He also have been bothering Wukong to death so that he can finally organize his stuff (and they were roomates

Anonimo ha chiesto: I feel like if they were to play Minecraft or something macaque would be the base mom. He would be the only one to remember to farm food to not starve. The others would probably forget all the time that hunger is a thing in game. Wukong or Mk: oh dang does anyone have food I'm starving Macaque: (always brings extra for this reason) "sighs" yes

AH!

Anonimo ha chiesto: Remember the Minor Scale episode, from season 2? Where MK learn how to shrink himself? And there’s also the final episode of that season where MK just grow very big to try to fight LBD. I just love that part of his power and I have seen very little people showing it. Like, sometimes that power can show up when the poor boy is experiencing overwhelming emotions that can’t be contained anymore, or pure exhaustion. For example, Having many responsibility can lead to a lot of stress and exhaustion and at some point MK just can’t do more and just become tiny, not able to do more. On the opposite, maybe he experience trauma again through a nightmare (like about azure for example) and the emotional burden is to much and he just becomes big because of that. You see my vision? I love sizeshifting base on emotions :)

Aww and i love emotion-based powers, they are just so easy to play around.

Anonimo ha chiesto: Tbh the show should let macaque have a motorcycle. Wukong gets to be passenger princess

Yesss

Anonimo ha chiesto: as we get into the colder months i like to imagine MK’s first winter coat and he’s all super fluffy and warm

Cool for the monkey parents, bad for pigsy and all the hair in the restaurant from sheeding.

Anonimo ha chiesto: I think it would be so funny if MKs rock hadn't been cracked and he'd been raised on FFM by wukong. If the same thing happens in the show macaque planning to take mks powers thinking he's just Wukongs student but then while macaque and MK are training. Since macaque is so close he notices his ears. (Being raised by a monkey he gets his form sooner) suddenly putting everything on hold busting into FFM and is like WUKONG WTF

There's a fic on AO3 about it it's A Son of Two Dads

@cheese-hommo ha chiesto: Hii, fiesta I want to say I love how you draw and everything, it just looks so cool and beautiful. Now, with the last chapter of Monkey parents Au and so, with the acknowledgement of the demon etiquette and else, DBK and Wukong really misunderstand the comfort scene for a confession? Or something more? It was just so funny seeing the two of them getting so embarrassed at the end 🙂‍↕️

Ah, 2 young demons in their true forms so close to each other, blushing? Scandalous.

Anonimo ha chiesto: I've seen Mk is his Lego merch- he gots a tooth gap- so does this MK have one or did he get it filled?

Wait that was a tooth gap??? I though it was like, a detail of the smile

Anonimo ha chiesto: 🎤 what is your official (if any) opinion on Ink MK? (as a character, plot device, literary parallel, what have you)

It's ok. I personally believe "shadow" version of one character with their own fears and doubts is a clique a little bit too much used. But they give a lot of angst.

Anonimo ha chiesto: Thoughts on Macaque knowing either Japanese or Korean due to him liking anime.

I'll give you one better. Macaque always traveled to Japan pretty frequently during the centuries. Then became a weeb

Anonimo ha chiesto: Maybe it's just me but Wukong looks a bit thicker each time, is it because his fur's thickening or is he getting chubbier ??????? Anyway luv ur art

Both.

[twisting-roads]

DEBUNKING COMMON RAIN WORLD MISINTERPRETATIONS

The target audience for this was for people who don't know too much about the game as well, so I'm going to explain things that a normal player might already know.

Rain World is known for how it simply throws you into the world with almost no tutorial, and is often praised for it.

But this lack of explanation if you do not go out of your way to find it has also lead to a lot of misinterpretations from those who did not read all the game’s available information, or misunderstood what they were being told. I used to watch some RW lore videos that would explain and summarize these things, and in the past I believed them.

I’ve since stopped doing that after having some time to actually process what I’ve been reading, and I’m here to say...

YOU ARE ALL WRONG ABOUT RAIN WORLD.

Ok, hyperbole. Not everyone believes these, and art can always be interpreted in different ways by different people, and I won’t stop you from having these beliefs. But also, there’s plenty of ingame content which completely disproves most of these unsubstantiated points from those who do not fully research the game before making videos about it.

Looking at you Tale Foundry…

The purpose of this is to pick apart some of the sadly far too common points I’ve heard many times before from Youtube videos, to Tumblr posts, to people I’ve spoken to on Discord.

Starting with my least favorite…

------

“The 5 karma were seen as sinful”

Obvious westernization of a game based off fucking Buddhism aside, there’s no ingame text directly supporting this claim. There isn’t any that says otherwise, but we have good reason to believe this isn’t the case.

The 5 natural urges, as they’re sometimes called, were NATURAL. They were what bound you to the cycle. They never worsened your life or made you a terrible person should you keep following them, but an aspect of life on the same level as suffering or ecstasy.

Hey, I’ll break down the 5 karma and their meanings to show you that they're not just "sins"

I believe the natural urges have 2 different meanings: an animalistic one, and a more “human” one.

KARMA 1 This obviously represents violence, as you see one guy stabbing the other. I believe it also represents competition and intense emotions, For example: Artificer experiencing intense grief and lashing out in violence as a result. It was not the violence that started it, but her emotions. (Yes, its Downpour. But it’s a good point.)

KARMA 2

They’re having sex. They’re fucking. They’re- ok you get it. Karma 2 represents reproduction. But, I also believe it’s desire. Joyful bodily experiences, and such. The 2 figures seen here are in a much more playful pose than if they were simply doing this only to reproduce. No, they’re having fun.

KAMRA 3 Connection. Bonding with others. Yet also trade and personal belongings. Attachment to things that are not yourself.

KARMA 4 It’s mentioned ingame that this represents gluttony It’s overindulgence, you know. Similarly to karma 2, it can also be searching for fulfillment. I'm not particularly good at telling what the meaning of this could be.

KARMA 5 Self preservation. Self preservation can come in many forms, from an animal running away from a predator or somebody getting defensive after being accused of something or being threatened, this one is rather vague about its meaning.

I do this to show that the 5 urges have very NEUTRAL meanings. It being positive or negative is entire dependant on context. They’re not sinful, get out of here with that Catholic shit!

The 5 karmas have both positive, negative, and neutral contexts which they can fit into.

------

“The ancients hated being alive”

The ancients simply hated the cycle itself and its unknowable properties, as well as being much more aware of things like karma and the urges. Rather, they valued being effortless to disconnect themselves from this cycle.

“This was an eternal dilemma to them - they were burdened by great ambition, yet deeply convinced that striving in itself was an unforgivable vice. They tried very hard to be effortless.” – Bright Green Pearl (DS)

Some practices did of course include things like starving yourself, but as mentioned by Moon, these methods proved to be mostly obsolete. Void Fluid fundamentally changed their culture from what we see. Rather, we do see the ancients enjoying life and valuing it in their own way, which is INCREDIBLY important to some of the games themes, but I’ll get into that later.

"[...]'In this vessel is the living memories of Seventeen Axes, Fifteen Spoked Wheel, of the House of Braids[…] Seventeen Axes, Fifteen Spoked Wheel nobly decided to ascend in the beginning of 1514.008, after graciously donating all (ALL!) earthly possessions to the local Iterator project (Unparalleled Innocence), and left these memories to be cherished by the carnal plane.The assorted memories and qualia include:Watching dust suspended in a ray of sun (Old age). Eating a very tasty meal (Young child). Defeating an opponent in a debate contest, and being applauded by fellow team members (Late childhood/Early adulthood).’...and the list goes on. I'm sorry, little creature, I won't read all of this - the list is six hundred and twenty items long.” – Deep Magenta (SH)

There’s quite a lot to pick apart here, I had to cut down some parts short, but even the cut parts have important details. Just not important enough for me to bring up here.

The Memory Crypts we see ingame are… well where memories are kept. The qualia (personalized experiences) is stored within these mutated fleshy neural organisms referred to as “cabinet beasts”. These of course, contain the “living memories” or qualia of those who have ascended. There are people smarter than me who have already covered these ideas of course, so I won't go TOO indepth.

The ancients greatly valued titles and achievements just as us. They still lived normal lives. As well as this, they valued personal experiences and memories of the carnal realm so much they built an entire citadel to store memories.

As we can see as well, Seventeen Axes has quite a lot of enjoyable memories from throughout their life. Eating nice food and winning a debate contest and getting validation from their peers? That sounds rather… complacent with the 3rd and 4th natural urges, doesn’t it?

I do not believe this screams “I hate being alive!” as much as people have made it out to be, and is honestly ruins part of the game’s messages of compassion and personalized experiences, especially in the game’s ending where Survivor dreams of home.

“You have no name. I once had! I was embalmed, adorned, readied for the journey. So proud. There was jubilation! My name was sung, loud and clear. Did they know? That I didn't quite leave, didn't quite stay? Should I be ashamed? That I linger here, where my memories are kept? Should I be ashamed that I now envy your flesh prison?” - Four Needles under Plentiful Leaves

This is leaning into personal theory territory, but...

I personally believe that the ancients were somewhat terrified of the unpredictability of the cycle and the fact that life would always have more suffering in it.

RW’s religion is heavily based off Buddhism. This is well known of course. The Cycle is a variation of Samsara. Now, I’m not Buddhist, and I’ve tried to do my research about some of these topics. Feel free to correct me, I’m simply going off what I know. (Also I'd love to hear what you have to say regarding your thoughts on the game!)

In Buddhism, each new life you could be taken into the body of an animal, or even end up being tortured in hell for a very, very, VERY long time if you made the wrong decisions, which made escaping it as soon as you could seem like a rather reasonable thing to do.

The ancients never fully grasped the scope of the cycle, and the prospects of having your soul wake up in the body of some miserable worm with no memory of your past or any ideas of your future might’ve seemed bleak.

Suffering is inevitable. But that doesn’t mean they hated being alive, like I said before.

------

“Rain World is post-apocalyptic.”

It really isn’t. There was never any apocalypse. The ancients simply left on their own accord, leaving behind their mark on the world that will slowly be buried once again in the ever so present cycle.

“The bones of forgotten civilizations, heaped like so many sticks.” - Two Sprouts, Twelve Brackets

The world is thriving, even. The purposed organisms left behind have evolved and taken over and become it’s own ecosystem.

The iterators are dying though. Dying very slowly, but soon they’ll all decay and everything will move on.

It’s all just another manifestation of the cycle.

------

“The creatures in Rain World cannot die”

This is definitely something I hear from people who haven’t played much of the game and only hear about it from outside sources and watch the gameplay.

Yes, it is easy to believe this. As slugcat, when you die, you wake back up again. This is entirely a gameplay thing and not actually related to the lore. Saying this might seem like I'm avoiding the question at hand here, but the rules that apply to you do not seem to apply to other creatures.

Every creature in the game has a 4 integer ID (it can go higher, but not in a standard playthrough).

This makes every creature you see an individual of sorts with its own randomized values or appearance.

As well as this, creatures spawn from specific marked dens. When you kill a creature that spawns from a certain den, the next cycle, that creature’s ID will never appear again. Instead, the den spawn is replaced by a creature of the same species with a different ID, or a new species entirely.

Through gameplay, you see that the respawn rules that apply to you do not apply to other creatures. I’ve heard many points about how these dead creatures are transported to another alternate universe where they are alive, but I really do not want to delve into that theory. You do that yourself.

Excuse my unprofessional language, but this is kind of stupid. Billions and billions of little timeline splits accounting for every single insect and microbe that dies seems far too complex of a solution. Occam's Razor and all that.

With this gameplay element you see, I also want to give LORE explanations as to why this is incredibly stupid.

1) If death had no impact, the 5 natural urges would not matter

If no creatures died, there would be no point in eating (karma 4), competing with other species (karma 1), or any form of self preservation (karma 5). Reproduction (karma 2) has no role and there would be absolutely no reason to do anything any longer. All natural processes would be useless.

2) Light Blue Pearl

The information received from the cycle is most likely from the Light Blue Pearl, found in Outskirts.

“[...]The repeating mantra is important because it symbolizes the cyclical nature of life and death, and the termination verse is a symbol for ascension above and beyond it. I don't know how familiar you are with the nature of life and death, but I imagine like all living creatures you have some intuitive knowledge? Then you know that death isn't the end - birth and death are connected to each other like a ring, or some say a spiral. Some say a spiral that in turn forms a ring. Some ramble in agonizing longevity. But the basis is agreed upon: like sleep like death, you wake up again - whether you want to or not. This is true for all living things, but some actually break the cycle. That doesn't apply to you or me though, you are too entangled in your animal struggles, and for me not breaking that cycle is an integral part of the design. Our mantras keep repeating.”

“Then you know that death isn't the end - birth and death are connected to each other like a ring, or some say a spiral. Some say a spiral that in turn forms a ring.“

This line is very misunderstood. Moon specifically mentions birth and death. She mentions death. She never brings up the notion that nothing truly dies either.

As well as this, Moon says that “some say”, implying that even the ancients weren’t sure what the cycle was either. This is more important to my point regarding how the unfathomable nature of the cycle was why the Ancients were so averse to it from above, though.

------

“Sliver of Straw found the solution.”/"There is/isn't solution"

No she didn’t.

.

.

Ok fine I’ll explain.

If you’ve played Rain World you know that the purpose of the iterators is to find the solution to the “Great Problem”, the problem of how to ascend ALL living creatures.

You’ll also know Sliver sent out the Triple Affirmative…

“[...]affirmative that a solution has been found, affirmative that the solution is portable, and affirmative that a technical implementation is possible and generally applicable. She's also one of few that has ever been confirmed as exhaustively incapacitated, or dead. We do not die easily.[…]” - Pale Yellow (SL)

After sending out this affirmative, the iterators became conflicted. They never could figure out if she really ascended and had found the solution, or if it was some sort of catastrophic error.

The answer to the Great Problem is clearly intended to be as obscured as possible. There cannot be an answer one way or the other. The themes of it and the endless tolling of the iterators would not be as impactful if we knew there was or wasn’t a solution.

“[...]Either way, after that these different factions developed, as well as a huge forensic effort to recreate and simulate Sliver of Straw's last moments. Some of the simulations were wrapped in a simulation wrapped in a simulation, in case something dangerous might happen. Nothing much has come from it.[…]“ - Pale Yellow (SL)

Here’s my favorite way of explaining what I mean…

Imagine Schrodinger's Cat, the famous thought experiment. There’s a 50/50 chance that when you open the box, you either find the Solution, or find out there is No Solution.

Except you cannot open the box. And the box is entirely theoretical and nobody’s seen it. It seems impossible, but maybe one day you’ll find that box. That’s what the Great Problem is.

Sliver apparently having found the solution would have completely broken everything. Five Pebbles wouldn’t have ended up hurting himself and Moon had Sliver finding the solution been known with certainty. He was taking a shot in the dark.

------

“Ascension is akin to suicide.”

I strongly believe this point harms the role that ascension and the void sea play in Rain World’s narrative. Ascension is meant to be a final destination, a goal you build up to and prepare for when you’ve lived every bit of life you possible could, and can now move on.

Bringing up the Memory Crypt pearl from earlier, Seventeen Axes lived an incredibly fulfilling life from what we see, and ascended happily.

As well as this, Buddhism strongly encourages those who wish to liberate themselves to discover their own path, which is also subtly shown through the gameplay, as there are many many routes you can take to Five Pebbles, Looks To The Moon, and The Depths.

I do also think this is why Five Pebbles failed. He tried to brute force his way to ascension.

Suicide implies that ascension is only meant to be a fruitless escape and that it’s wrong to ascend. I… do not want to go into why suicide is bad. It’s a strong topic and I’m just here to talk about video games. But ascension is a neutral thing that you can choose to do or not do and to wait until you’re ready.

------

Conclusion...

I really only have the time to cover these 6 misconceptions, and I believe it should be enough. There have been many others I’ve seen, such as the ancients being malicious or that there weren’t any civilizations before them, but there’s not as much to say about them, and they aren’t as common.

Rain World is a very confusing game. I’m not upset at people who think these things to be true, and I do not believe they’re stupid or don’t have any media literacy. I just wish that the people who did actually cover this game did some more looking into it, and actually discussing it with Rain World fans.

Also I should say, that during this entire discussion I have avoided talking about Downpour- RW’s DLC- as it’s more of a official fanmade project. And so much of what it says may not be entirely in line with Vanilla. Because my life isn’t easy and of course there has to be an incredibly divisive and confusing thing like this that I need to avoid bringing up so that way the conversation isn’t muddled.

Thanks if you managed to make it through all this by the way

[aticklishpercivalwriter]

My Honey ♡ My Bee (fic)

Link to Art (credits go to @munchr00m (elaine !) on Twitter!): Sethos/Scaramouche

—

Summary: Wanderer and Sethos hang out, but Scara’s thoughts and uncertainty about their dynamic in the future end up eating at him. Sethos reassures him through convincing means.

A/N: SethoScara!! These two have me in a chokehold and the art and fanfics for these two are amazing. And here is my contribution :) Inspiration for this fic comes from this post. I did my best to retain Scara’s bratty attitude, but I also wanted to show a softer and vulnerable side to him. So, I’m sorry if Scaramouche seems OOC to you all. With that being said, I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it!

P.S. There is a small scene that might be slightly NSFW to some, you’ll see it when you get to it, so you can skip the section until you don’t see any of the stuff you don’t want to see. Can’t reveal too much for spoilers. If anyone’s interested in me writing a smut fic (would be my first!) for these two, let me know! I’ll leave a poll :)

Word Count: 1965 Also on AO3!

—

The sky was a mix of red and orange hues as the sun set over the horizon. At the base of a tree outside of Sumeru City sat Wanderer and Sethos. The two of them have grown to like each other’s presence and made the tree their special spot to be with one another.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Sethos spoke.

“You have poor taste in beauty,” Scaramouche answered, making Sethos chuckle. “That wasn’t supposed to be funny.”

“Hehe, I know. I never get tired of your responses.”

“Hmph, weirdo.”

A comforting silence settled afterward before Scaramouche spoke again.

“Why…Why do you keep putting up with me?”

The seriousness in his tone made Sethos look at him with concern.

“What do you mean?”

“I’m a nobody. Someone who tried to become a god. A puppet that was thrown away because they were useless. One that makes mean and snarky comments. Why? Why do you want to be with someone like me?”

A surprised look crossed Sethos’s face.

“Isn’t it obvious? It’s because I like being with you.”

Scara’s eyes widened as Sethos continued.

“I was curious about your mysterious past and kept pestering you until you told me. When you did, I didn’t turn away disgusted or begin to hate you. All it did was make me want to be with you even more.”

Conflicting emotions and uncertainty ran through Wanderer's eyes before they were stopped by a hand on his cheek.

“You dare-” Scara started, making a move to swat Sethos’s hand away before Sethos started stroking his cheek with his thumb. He went quiet as he made eye contact with Sethos who had an endearing expression on his face.

“I'll take care of you.”

I'll take care of you.

A flicker of light is shown behind Wanderer’s eyes upon hearing those words. But as quick as it came, his eyes darkened with uncertainty.

“It's rotten work.”

“Not to me.”

Surprised, stormy eyes met determined, loving ones.

“Not if it's you.”

Those words were an arrow to his heart as tears from decades of sadness, anger, and hurt threatened to fall. The world seemed to blur around him as his senses were solely focused on the man in front of him.

“The things you mentioned are in the past. It's time for you to move on and not let them plague your mind.”

Sethos leaned closer, accidentally making Scara’s hat fall off his head. The latter could hardly care as he felt Sethos comb his fingers through his hair and his breath on his face. Not to mention the soft lips that were barely a millimeter from his own.

“You aren't useless, Scara.”

Sethos’s warm breath hit him in the face as he spoke.

“You aren't a nobody either. Since our first interaction with one another, I was obsessed with you. Your hat. Your past. Your attitude. But most importantly, what hid behind those stormy eyes of yours. And the more I got to learn about you, I began falling for you. I wanted you. I liked you. I love being with you. Your sassy attitude, you calling me a busy bee, I cherished those moments. In my eyes, you are the perfect being and you have a place in my heart. I will go to the ends of the world to fight with you. To be with you. To…love you.”

Sethos pushed forward, softly planting his lips on Wanderer’s. He melted into the kiss, kissing back with fervor as Sethos took the lead.

“Sethohh- mmm~”

Sethos smiled into Scara’s mouth, taking pride in making him fall apart. Taking it a step further, he licked his lips asking for entrance. When he met no resistance and instead Wanderer parted his lips, he dove right in.

“Se- mmph! Mmhmm~”

“Mmm~”

Sethos sucked his tongue, making him roll his eyes in ecstasy as he tangled his fingers in Sethos's hair. Sethos deepened the kiss, gently pushing his back to the ground.

“S- ahh! Mmm~ Aah! Mmphahh~”

“Mmochi~ Hah! Scaraah~ Mmm~ You have hah~ too many ngh~ na- aah~ names~”

They continued their make-out session, drowning in each other's embrace and letting out their feelings for one another.

They broke for breath after some time. Sethos towering over Wanderer with his arms on both sides of his head and the latter laying his head back on the grass looking up at Sethos. His face was flushed, complimenting the pink and orange hues of the sky and Scara couldn't help but reach out a hand towards his cheek, caressing him.

“Beautiful,” he breathed out.

A red tint started to spread to Sethos's ears and a shy smile started to form.

“M-Me?”

“snort. Yes, you.”

He wrapped his arms around Sethos, bringing him down to his chest.

“I hate how you make me feel so mushy inside."

There's no bite behind those words. Instead, love and affection.

“It's my job now, honey~”

“Argh, Sethos.”

“What? You call me a bee, I call you honey. Plus, you are so sweet-”

“I am not sweet.”

“Yes, you are. Especially your taste. Sweet like honey. No wonder I am a bee that is so attracted to you~”

Scara just groaned, his face flushed red. “Where did you even learn to kiss like that?” he asked, changing the subject.

“Oh, that. Heh,” Sethos rubbed the back of his head, rolling off him and laying beside him.

“You know how they say the quiet ones are the interesting ones? I'm far from being quiet, but since being in the Temple of Silence, I tend to be alone in my thoughts a lot and my imagination runs wild. And when I first laid my eyes on you, I never stopped thinking what it would be like to kiss those lips of yours.”

Wanderer’s heart fluttered in his chest, knowing that Sethos was thinking of him from the first time they met.

“And how did it feel?” he asked, turning to him.

“We both know the answer to that.”

“I want to hear it from you.”

Sethos chuckled, facing him. “Alright, if you really want to hear it. It was the most amazing feeling in the world. The moment just felt right. When our lips touched, a pleasant tingling sensation traveled down my spine. Having your lips locked on mine, it just felt like we were meant to be together. Oh! Your moans. Don’t get me started on your moans. They were sweet as hon-”

“Okay, you are just teasing and trying to make me flustered.”

“Maybe~ Is it working?”

“Not even.”

“You sure about that? What's that reddening on your ears?”

“Oh, shut up.”

“Make me.”

“Is that a challenge?”

“What do you think?”

“Oh, you are asking for it, annoying bee.”

“I'll like to see you- ack! Ahahaha! T-Tihihickling is cheheating!”

Scaramouche smirked, hearing his giggles as he tased his sides with ease. “Aw. Sucks to be you then~”

“Wahahait! Nohohoho fahahair!”

Scara draped himself over Sethos, lazily tracing random patterns from his shoulder blades to his neck to his chest and back again.

“Doesn't take much for me to make you giggle, little bee.”

“Hahahaha! Mohohochihi! Gehehet off mehehehe!” Sethos tried to roll around to no avail.

“Hmm, let me think about it,” Scara put on a fake thinking face for a few moments before he began to knead Sethos’s hips making him choke on a surprised laugh. “Nah.” A smug look crossed his face. “I want to do this all day~”

“GAhahaha! Nohohoho! You ahahare- NAHAHAHA! Nohot thahat SPOHOHOT!”

Sethos shrieked as his lover dug his fingers into his armpits causing him to clamp them down.

“You are losing, my love~” Wanderer teased, rubbing deep circles into his lover's armpits causing him to howl with laughter.

“AHAHAHA! HOHOHONEY! IHIHIT TIHIHICKLES SOHOHO BAHAHAD!”

“Oh really? Here, let me help. Tickle tickle tickle~”

“THAHAHAT’S NOHOHOT HEHELPING! YOU’RE MAHAHAKING IHIHIT WOHORSE!”

“How about this? Coochie coochie coo~”

“STAHAHAP TEHEHEASING MEHEHEHE! AHAHAHA!”

“I have no idea what you are talking about,” Scara said, playing dumb.

“YOHUHU LIAHAHAR! YOU- GAHAHAHA! NOHOHO!”

Sethos squealed as Scara used his thumb to massage his upper ribs.

“PLEheaSE ScahahARA!”

“Oh, my ticklish, little bee. Begging already? We are barely getting started~”

He decided to have a little mercy on Sethos, slowing down, so he could take a breather.

“Thahank youhuhu,” he giggled out.

“I’ll tell you what,” Scara started. “If you don’t laugh for 5 minutes straight, you win the challenge and get to tickle me to your heart’s content. If you lose, get ready to be tickled without mercy.”

“Pfft, 5 minutes. I can handle that. Challenge accepted!”

Wanderer inwardly grinned, his scheme working as he kissed Sethos with passion. Being caught off guard, Sethos quickly recovered, returning the kiss, unaware of the one hand that was inching closer and closer to his side until-

“MMPHAHAHA!”

Perfect.

“Noho! Youhuhu caught mehe off guahard!”

“I win~” Scara cheekily said. “Seems like that was your best… what a pity.”

“You planned that from the start!” Sethos pouted.

He stuck his tongue out towards Sethos. “Bleh, I win and that is all that matters. Come here and give me my prize.”

He lunged toward Sethos, leaving him no time to escape before he crawled his fingers under his clothes and attacked his tummy.

“I’ll geHEt yOUhu bahACK! AhAHAhAha!”

“Keep on dreaming little bee~”

After what felt like an eternity to Sethos of Wanderer skittering his fingers along his sensitive spots and teasing him to oblivion, his lover let up, lying right beside him.

“Mouchehe, you’re a ruhuthlehess tihickler.”

“Heh, that means that I’m still good at it or you are just too ticklish for your own good, or maybe both.”

“Scaraaa.”

They both fell into a peaceful silence as they stared up at the now starry sky, enjoying each other’s presence.

“Sethos?” Wanderer’s voice was soft when he spoke his name.

“Hmm?”

“Your words from before, I wanted to hear someone say those words to me for so long.”

“Which ones? You being sweet?” Sethos teased.

“Sethos,” Scara groaned. “I’m trying to be vulnerable here.”

“Hehe. Sorry sorry,” he chuckled, turning towards him and hugging him.

“I’m talking about when you told me you’d take care of me,” Scaramouche continued, snuggling into his embrace. “How it’s not rotten work to you and how you love me.”

He took a breath before continuing.

“It's all I ever wanted. Someone to say those words to me.”

A shooting star raced through the sky, lighting up his eyes. Sethos saw hope and a new spark of life in those mesmerizing eyes of his.

“I know I’m a bratty character and that’ll probably never go away, but I love you. I truly love you, even if I don’t show it at times. And…and I’ll go to the ends of the world for you too.”

Sethos could see the tips of his ears reddening and he inwardly grinned at how cute he was before going in for a quick peck on the cheek.

“Mochi, I love you so much. You are so freakin cute right now. But in all seriousness, I’m happy that you are in my life and I can’t wait to spend all of it with you. My sweet, honey love.”

“Archons, you are going to be the death of me you mushy bee.”

Sethos brought their lips together for a slow and soft kiss. Knocking their foreheads softly together, both of them stared into each other’s eyes, enjoying the moment before pulling away. Sethos was the first to stand up, grinning from ear to ear. Wanderer shook his head in amusement, picking up his hat and setting it atop his head before reaching out towards his lover’s outstretched hand. They started their way back into the city, hand in hand with fingers entwined.

My Honey.

My Bee.

—

More questions are in the Google Form if you want to provide more feedback. Plus, the question for a potential smut fic. Thank you again for reading and your time :)

Link to Google Form

[livwritesstuff]

for @steddie-week day 5 | exes to lovers

fully and completely inspired by @emchant3d's divorced dad's post [x] from a few weeks ago bc i did not once stop thinking abt it

tags: modern day, artist!eddie, finance guy!steve, steddie as rich gay divorcees, sort of an accidental parent trap situation

They were too young, Steve thinks in retrospect – married at twenty-three, their daughter born when they were twenty-five, and then divorced before his twenty-seventh birthday.

He gets to think retrospectively because in a few years it’ll be a full decade since the papers for that last bit got signed. Now, Steve is thirty-four and sweating his ass off in a red polo and crisp jeans, the stiflingly hot July sun beating down on him as he scans the perimeter of a crowded playground for a familiar head of curly brown hair – not his nine-year-old. He found Rosalind already, wreaking havoc on the jungle gym. No, he’s looking for his ex (-husband, technically, but Steve usually stops at ex; the -husband part just makes him sad these days).

It’s custody swap day, which is either his favorite or least favorite day of the week depending on who the swap is favoring.

Today it’s favoring him which is why he’s slowly making his way around the edge of a playground in Bushwick, keeping an eye out for his ex, Eddie.

“Steve,” he hears from somewhere behind him. Steve turns towards the sound and sees not that curly head of hair he’d expected. Eddie’s hair is completely buzzed (which, for the record, was not the case last week when Steve dropped Rozzy off with him) and he’s wearing a paint-splattered white t-shirt tucked into old jeans and all that combined is making it reeeally hard for Steve to pretend he’s not crushing hard on the guy he divorced eight years ago.

“Dude,” Steve started, eyeing Eddie’s hair (or lack thereof) as he made his way to the section of fence that Eddie was occupying, “What–”

“Yeah, yeah,” Eddie rolled his eyes, “Rozzy already hit me with all the good zingers so you’re too late.”

“No, I don’t –” Steve stopped, “It’s…not a bad look, just…you know. Why the change?”

Eddie looked away.

“Long story,” he replied as Steve remembered (yet again) that he doesn’t get full access to Eddie’s world the way he used to.

Luckily for Steve, Rozzy runs up to them and spares him from having to figure out a response for that.

“We should get pizza,” she says. Steve’s eyebrows fly up.

“We should get pizza?” he repeats.

“Please,” she adds, her eyes shining, “At Dad’s? And we play Mario Kart? Dad said I’m getting good at 200!”

“He said that?” Steve asked, and he glances over Rosalind's head to see that Eddie is making a so-so gesture with his hand.

He’s never been all that good at saying no to his daughter (or anyone), so it doesn’t take much more convincing on Rozzy’s part for the three of them to head off in the direction of Eddie’s loft, with a pitstop planned for the pizza shop down the block.

They actually have a nice time.

It’s true that Rozzy is getting better at 200cc – good might be a bit generous, but Steve’s fine with that (he doesn’t know if his ego could handle getting crushed by a fourth-grader).

Just as they’re finishing their second grand prix (the Star Cup, because Rozzy likes the dolphin race), one of the other kids in the building knocks on the door and invites Rozzy over for a sleepover, which Steve agrees to because he remembers the illicit kind of joy in a summertime Monday night sleepover.

Eddie doesn't show Steve the door after Rozzy's gone. Rather, he pulls a bottle of wine from the fridge – an expensive Sémillon he says was given to him by a client.

“So the art biz is still going well, I assume,” Steve comments as Eddie pulls two vintage wine glasses out of a cabinet and pours them each a healthy serving.

Conversation about work manages to sustain them through the first few glasses (Eddie actually remembered that it’s been just over a year since Steve left his dad’s Fortune 1000 for a CFO position at a marketing company that had just graduated from small to midsize status). They work through the second quarter of the bottle talking about Rozzy, and the third vanishes even quicker while Steve spills some of the latest Harrington family drama.

While Eddie is updating him on how Wayne is doing, Steve finds that he isn’t really listening, distracted in the way he can’t help but notice how Eddie’s paint-stained t-shirt is actually more like an undershirt, and a size too small for him, the torso and sleeves tight around lean muscle, and there’s a thin silver chain around his neck and a scruff of facial hair around his jaw, and –

Steve doesn’t immediately realize when Eddie stopped talking. When he does, when his eyes finally unstick themselves from the buzzcut and drop back down to Eddie’s, he sees that Eddie is staring at him too.

Eddie’s tongue darts out to wet his lip.

“Ask me again why I buzzed my hair,” he tells him.

“Why’d you buzz your hair,” Steve asks, because he’s obedient like that (and because he really does want to know).

“Steve–” Eddie stops, a giggly, wine-induced hiccup of a laugh slipping out before he shakes his head, “An entire can of paint tipped ov–” He cuts himself off with another half-hysterical laugh, barely managing to say, “Spilled on my head,” before he was completely doubled over, and Steve is laughing too because he can totally picture it and because he had a bit more wine than he planned to and this is honestly the first time that he and Eddie have hung out without their daughter in…Steve doesn’t even know how long.

“Steve,” Eddie says again when they finally both recover, and his tone is completely different this time around and there’s a vulnerability in his eyes that wasn’t there before and something is happening, something is happening, “Please don’t kill me for saying this, but…fuck, it’s really kinda pathetic how badly I still want it to be you and me.”

Steve thinks he tries to respond, but then he was too busy kissing Eddie to do anything else, too busy scraping fingernails over Eddie’s scalp, too busy choking back a moan as Eddie sucks his bottom lip into his mouth, too busy tugging Eddie’s shirt out of his waistband to shove a hand up underneath and finding that he’s built more solidly than Steve remembers from the last time they touched like this, but something is telling him that’s true about Eddie – true about himself too – in more ways than one.

And if Rosalind comes home the next morning ready to ask how she’s getting back to Daddy’s house only to find that he’s already there, stealing Dad’s mug out of his hand for a sip of coffee when his own is right there…that’s a conversation for another day.

part 2

[banj0possum]

Alistair x (platonically) Teen Reader

In the fic he is like oh my god a bride, he walks in and instead of an adult..or a bride-

They find a teen, who literally threw a pebble at him, an angsty teen💀

I’m very happy to read ur fics and usually pair them with teen/child mc because I find it funny because they expect the love of their life

and teen mc standing there :🧍‍♂️

anyways sorry for the long request, luv ur writing, and ur art :D

Yandere! Evil King x Teen! GN! Reader

CW: platonic relationship, Alistair is a bit of a DILF so do with it as you will, Dads are hot you guys!! READER IS A MINOR.

👑 Who is this sassy lost child?

👑 His minions kidnapped you while you were on a carriage ride back to your kingdom.

👑 He was hoping for like a princess or something to marry and take over the kingdom with or whatever so like...what tf he gonna do with you???

👑 Clearly you were too young to be in a situation like this, but theres no way he's giving you back without a reward, so yes he still holds you for ransom.

👑 "Child, I am Alistair, King of-ACk!"

👑 Did...did you throw a pillow at him?!

👑 "How dare yo- AHK! Stop it!" another one..

👑 You refuse to listen to anything he says, you just wanted to go home

👑 You two had a bit of rivalry for a bit. He hated you and you hated him.

👑 He promised not to show any affection or care towards you since in his eyes, your actions didn't deserve it. How can someone be so rude to a king !?

👑 But he starts to notice you don't eat much. He never sees you in the dining hall and has only seen quick moments of you nibbling on some bread or pastries the servants gave you.

👑 He scoffed, so irresponsible! You must eat a proper meal right this second or you'll starve!

👑 You're surprised to see a meal prepared for you during your routine trip to get a snack from the pantry with a note on the plate.

👑 "Next time, ask for a proper meal. I don't want your parents to think I've been starving you. -Alistair P.S. go to bed early."

👑 Huh...

👑 Alistair smiled from the doorway of the dining hall, watching you eat up with a smile on your face. You might have been too scared of him to ask for food so you've been sneaking snacks while he wasn't looking.

👑 Of course he wasn't doing it because he cared about you, he just didn't want royalty like you to resort to such pathetic means to eat!

👑 Why are you still sad? Perhaps he should get you some things to keep your attention..

👑 He asks (threateningly may I add) about your hobbies or interests.

👑 The next morning your cell (which has been upgraded to a lovely room in the castle because he didn't want you to be filthy and gross in a dungeon) was filled with anything he could find that he thought you'd enjoy.

👑 Don't think he wants you to be happy! He's just tired of seeing you sulk everywhere!

👑 He denies everything, but you swear you could see a tiny smile on his face when you hugged him happily.

👑 You start being a little more open to him, showing him anything you've made or done with pride and he'd receive it gratefully, but he won't show it of course.

👑 "I made you this friendship bracelet!"

👑 "I've seen better jewelry."

👑 "Oh I'll take it back then I guess.."

👑 "No, it's mine now, back off."

👑 Drawings and the like that he said would be thrown out as soon as you left would be seen framed in his room

👑 It would be a..waste of good canvas..

👑 And of course he buys a few books of your choice for you to read, he'd be damned if your brain turns to mush.

👑 Bro bro he'd be the type to let you swing around while holding onto his bicep.

👑 If you ever have any problems, or come to him in a bad mood, he'd have no idea how to help other than to sit down and listen to your troubles.

👑 He's not the most physical when it comes to affection, but you bet your ass he's gonna do everything he can to cheer you up.

👑 At this point he's rewriting his demands for the ransom. Either your kingdom lets him sign some adoption papers or he's starting a war.

[seongwars]

strangers by nature | i

Pairing: heir!Song Mingi x heir!Reader AU: non-idol | arranged marriage | enemies to lovers Genre: angst, humor & fluff in later chapters Summary: After a life-altering car accident, Mingi is given one final shot at redemption—reborn as a fuzzy little puppy. To earn a second chance at life, he must complete three tasks or risk being doomed to the afterlife forever. Word Count: 6.8K Warnings: angst no comfort, swearing, suggestive content, puppy!!!!

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a/n: here's the first part to the revamped mingi drabble series someone tell me to finish my other wips

“Don’t fuck this up for me,” you hissed, slipping on your heels and casting a sharp look in Mingi's direction.

Mingi, lounging by the door with his tie half-done, didn’t even look up. He adjusted his cufflinks instead, his movements slow, deliberate, a hint of a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“You think I’m the one who’s going to mess this up?” he replied, his voice laced with mockery. 

“You’re lucky I’m even bothering to show up at all. God knows I could be elsewhere.”

“Did you forget that you sabotaged last year’s event when you showed up completely shitfaced?” 

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” you hissed, hoping no one would notice. Mingi just laughed, a bitter, mocking sound that rang louder than you’d intended to speak as you pulled him aside.

“Nothing’s wrong with me,” he slurred, his words coming slow and thick, as if savoring each one. “But look at you, all dressed up like it matters.” 

His gaze raked over you, and for the first time, you felt small—like everything you’d done, everything you cared about, was nothing but a performance in his eyes.

Throughout the evening, he continued, unleashing a trail of subtle digs and outright insults, each one cutting deeper than the last. 

“No, I’m not much into charity—though I guess marrying Ms. Choi counts,” he drawled. You felt the sting of the insult, a wave of humiliation creeping up as he smirked at your expression.

And as he went on, his words got uglier, accusations laced with venomous insinuations about your foundation, about the people you’d invited, about you. 

“You know what’s funny? This is all she has. She begged me to be here, begged me to care. Pathetic, right?”

It was the cruelty of it that made you flinch. He looked at you, pleased with himself, with that twisted smile that told you he had come tonight for one reason only: to break you down.

Mingi didn’t hate you. He didn’t even care enough to despise you. Hatred would have required him to feel something at all, but to Mingi, you were nothing more than an obligation, a piece of his life he had to endure when the occasion called for it. 

You had to exist in the same spaces as him, but only on his terms, only when he wanted to remind you how little you meant to him.

Mingi had taken so much from you already—had eroded every bit of independence and dignity you’d fought to hold onto. But the annual Gold Gala, hosted by your foundation, was different. It was one of the few things left that was still unmistakably yours.

The Cromer Foundation wasn’t quite the classroom you’d once dreamed of teaching in, but it was something. It was your way of keeping that dream of becoming a music teacher alive. It was a way to support arts education, a way to pour hope and passion into the future. 

It was the only part of this new life you’d been forced into that felt like it had real purpose, the only place where you could still feel yourself making an impact, even if it meant facing Mingi’s ire every step of the way.

“I had to work my ass off,” you bit out, voice trembling with the strain of holding back everything you wanted to scream. 

“I had to clean up your mess to convince donors to continue supporting the foundation after you nearly destroyed it last time. This is the one thing I have left that actually matters to me.” 

The words were punctuated by the ache in your throat, your heart pounding as if it might burst from the sheer weight of your frustration.

“I’m not begging you to be there. I never asked for that. But I think we both know that neither of us wants to hear our families complaining about your belligerence, especially since I made concessions to let her be there.”

Your voice caught on the word, but you forced it out. He knew exactly who you meant—her, the woman he’d flaunted just enough to humiliate you but never enough for his family to call him out on it. 

Jeong Ahri. His first love, the girl who knew him before he became what he was now. She was also his best friend’s sister, the one woman who, even in her absence, always held a piece of him. Just the sound of her name was enough for him to lay his arms down. 

Mingi didn’t consider himself religious. He’d never felt the pull toward faith, despite his family’s insistence on portraying themselves as god-fearing, pious people. But the day his father announced that he was considering a merger, weighing options to secure their legacy through an alliance, Mingi prayed for the first time he could remember. 

But his father chose otherwise. Mingi hadn’t heard his father’s reasoning in detail—only the clipped statement that “it was decided” and that it would be you instead of Ahri. It wasn’t that she was lacking in education or accomplishments; her qualifications were impeccable. 

But you were different, his father had said. More refined. More…controlled.

Where Ahri was unpredictable, a free spirit with an uncontainable passion that Mingi had always adored, you were composed, you brought a stability that his father believed Ahri could never offer, and to him, that was paramount. It was a choice made for optics and security, the perfect union on paper, a marriage that would uphold the family’s reputation.

Now here he was, bound not to her, but to you—an arrangement forged by titles and alliances, with love considered an afterthought at best. This marriage wasn’t just a partnership but a meticulously crafted piece of his family’s foundation. 

And you—perhaps unwillingly, perhaps reluctantly—were the chosen piece in this carefully woven tapestry of alliances.

“How could I forget? We’re putting on a show, some picture-perfect life that everyone else could admire.” His gaze was sharp, unyielding. 

“Picture-perfect life?” You let out a bitter laugh, the sound harsh in the quiet of the room. 

“Please. This is far from that. All I wanted was to make something meaningful out of this sham of a marriage, to salvage whatever was left of my life.”

“Meaningful?” he sneered, his eyes narrowing. 

"You think you're the only one making sacrifices?" he snapped, his voice low but venomous. 

"I lost any chance at a real life the moment I agreed to marry some pathetic charity case." The words dripped with contempt, his gaze locked onto yours as though daring you to react.

“Playing the victim as always,” you replied coldly, your gaze steady as you met Mingi’s glare. His jaw clenched, a flicker of something dark passing over his eyes, but you pressed on,  undeterred. 

"Maybe you should have fought harder against your parents instead of just rolling over every time they threw you a command. Including this marriage.”

That struck a nerve. Mingi’s expression twisted, and for the first time, you saw a crack in his armor. He scoffed, but there was no humor in it—just a bitter edge, sharp and unrestrained.

“You think I didn’t try? They didn’t care who I spent my time with as long as they got what they wanted—a merger, a legacy. So I went along with it. It wasn’t worth the battle when I already had Ahri.”

His words stung, sharper than you’d anticipated, cutting right through you. But as you stared at him, searching for any hint of regret, any flicker of hesitation, there was…nothing. Just the same cold, unfeeling expression that had worn down your patience over time.

“And here we are—both miserable because you took the easy way out,” you sighed. 

“All those sacrifices you keep talking about, all those things you supposedly gave up? They mean nothing if you can’t even own up to them. Including marrying the ‘charity case’ you despise so much.”

You saw his eyes harden, his shoulders tense, but you refused to back down, leaning into the truth you both knew but never spoke.

“You wanted a convenient life, and you got it. But don’t you dare try to make me the villain just because you couldn’t stand up to them—or to yourself.”

You held his gaze, a cold, bitter silence stretching between you. Without another word, you turned, steeling yourself for the night ahead, knowing that the only thing left between you was the hollow image of the life you failed to create.

⋆

Your wedding to Mingi was more of a business transaction than a celebration. The ceremony took place in an office that bore more resemblance to a boardroom than a place for vows. 

The only witnesses were your parents, your cousins Jongho and San, and Mingi’s best friend, Yunho. All were seated with neutral expressions, gazes locked on the officiant as if marking the completion of a financial report.

You barely remembered the words exchanged. There was no music, no flowers—just the murmured vows, the scratch of a pen signing your names, and the cold weight of a ring slipped onto your finger by a man who didn’t even meet your eyes. 

When it was over, the officiant closed the book with a finality that made your stomach drop—a reminder that there was no turning back now. Your parents offered restrained congratulations, their smiles polite but empty. 

Only your cousins seemed to look at you with genuine sympathy, understanding the weight of what you’d just committed to. Mingi’s mother, on the other hand, wore a sharp, proud smile, one devoid of joy but full of satisfaction. To her, this wasn’t a marriage; it was a completed transaction.

Following the ceremony, a small reception was held in the upstairs lounge. Glasses were raised, and toasts were made to "a prosperous future," though they felt painfully empty. 

Mingi barely spoke to you, instead engaging in brief, clipped conversations with his father and yours about the two families’ businesses and the outlook for the next quarter.

You sat in silence, barely tasting the champagne in your glass, as you watched the people around you discuss the "success" of this union. You wanted to scream, to tell them this wasn’t a union, just an arrangement—a legal binding that had stripped you of any choice you once had.

The room felt cold, and as you glanced at the man who was now your husband, you couldn’t shake the feeling that this was the beginning of something lonely.

You had spent years nurturing a different dream—one that had nothing to do with boardrooms or mergers. You had wanted to teach music, to live a quiet, meaningful life, far from the shadows of your family’s empire. 

Drawn to the idea of leaving it all behind, you envisioned moving abroad to pass on your love for music to young, eager minds. The plan was simple: save enough, book a one-way ticket, and disappear into the life you wanted. 

But when you told your family about your plans, their reactions left you stunned. They couldn't see a future for you as a teacher—not when you were the heir to the Choi Group, not when your last name carried so much weight. 

You fought them on it, desperate to hold onto the life you wanted. Shouting matches stretched late into the night, but when arguments proved fruitless, desperation drove you to action. 

Just as you reached the final hurdle, minutes away from your flight, the authorities stopped you. Your heart dropped as you realized just how deep your parents' control ran—how their reach extended even across oceans you hadn't yet crossed.

By the time you both left the reception, it was clear there would be no honeymoon, no illusion of a romantic escape. Mingi went to his own car without a word, and you followed in your own to the penthouse, wondering how a marriage could feel like a prison on the very first day.

Crystal chandeliers cast their glow across the gala hall, the soft hum of conversation mingling with the gentle clink of champagne flutes. This event was one of the few things you could call your own—a charitable foundation you’d helped establish to support arts education. It wasn’t quite the classroom you’d once dreamed of, but it was something—a way to keep that dream alive, even in the world you’d been forced into. 

You moved among the guests, offering a polished smile and gracious words about the foundation’s mission, with Mingi at your side, his arm draped around your waist as you made the rounds together.

To the crowd, you looked like the perfect couple—a united front. But you felt the coldness between you, the way Mingi’s hand barely touched your waist, how his gaze slid away from yours the moment anyone’s attention drifted.

The evening was moving along smoothly until you noticed her—the woman standing near the bar, her eyes fixed on Mingi. Dressed in a red gown, she radiated confidence, her gaze unflinching as she watched him. She was the shadow that trailed him, the one he turned to whenever he could no longer bear the weight of pretending with you.

Beside you, Mingi’s posture tensed almost imperceptibly, his hand lingering at the small of your back. He noticed her too, of course; he’d be a fool not to. Yet his grip on you remained firm, as if bound by an invisible script dictating the image you two were expected to maintain. Nothing amiss, nothing unseemly, as though the weight of her presence hadn’t shaken him at all.

To anyone who looked closely, the story between them was clear: her gaze was steady, defiant even, a silent reminder that she held a part of him you would never touch.

This was meant to be your night—the one place to grieve the shattered pieces of your own dreams, had you succeeded in escaping the clutches of this arrangement. 

But as you held yourself in place, the warmth of Mingi’s hand was nothing but a reminder that even when he stood at your side, his heart was somewhere else entirely.

You returned to the penthouse alone, the buzz of the gala still ringing in your ears, though the evening itself felt hollow and cold now that you were by yourself. The laughter and polite applause, the countless exchanges of small talk and polished smiles—none of it seemed to matter. 

Mingi had left your side almost as soon as the event began winding down, disappearing into the night with the excuse of business matters to attend to. You didn’t need to ask; you already knew where he was headed and with whom.

You weren’t bothered by Mingi’s connection to Ahri. Sure, he brought her to the penthouse on your wedding night, but you understood that their story existed long before you ever came into the picture—a chapter of his life that, despite the complexities, didn’t take away from your own sense of self-worth or purpose in this arrangement.

The memory of that night still lingered. You had walked into the penthouse to find Ahri there, her laughter filling the space as she sat comfortably on the sofa, a glass of wine in hand. 

Mingi was by her side, his arm draped casually around her shoulders, his fingers tracing patterns along her thigh. A soft smile played on his lips—a smile you didn’t know he was capable of, one that felt like a taunt.

And when you retired to your room, the primal sounds from the both of them escaped through the confines of Mingi’s bedroom. 

“Shit, just like that, right there, Mingi!”

“Fuuuuck, takin’ me so well.”

You knew they were both trying to hurt you, flaunting how intimate their relationship was in front of you, as if to remind you of your place. Their calculated cruelty seeped into your consciousness like poison, amplifying your insecurities and sowing seeds of self-doubt. 

Every laugh, every touch between them was a dagger to your heart, a reminder of the love and warmth you were denied. The pain was a constant, gnawing ache, leaving you feeling more alone and unworthy with each passing moment.

You had hoped, at the very least, that Mingi might see you as more than an obligation—perhaps even as an ally. Instead, you were nothing more than a prop in his life, a fixture he resented. If only he’d see you for who you really were—not the enemy in this tangled web, but someone who could make this shared fate a little less lonely.

You kicked off your heels, draped your coat over the back of the sofa, and sank down, staring out at the glittering city lights beyond the penthouse windows. Loneliness settled over you as you replayed the night’s events. 

Your gaze drifted to the piano in the corner. For a moment, you could almost see him there—Hongjoong, with his fingers drifting effortlessly over the keys as he coaxed a melody from the instrument. 

He had been the son of your piano teacher, your best friend, and your first love. You remembered the way he’d listened to your dreams, encouraging you to reach higher, even when you could see the exhaustion creeping into his features, the shadow of his terminal illness never far behind. 

“Would you still believe in me now?” you murmured to the empty room, the silence thickening with the question. You knew what Hongjoong would say. 

“Fuck it, sell your shares and leave. Start over. Eat the rich.”

He had shown you what passion looked like, not only for music but for life itself, even as he faced an uncertain future. He had given you strength and taught you resilience. The long afternoons spent together, his hands guiding yours over the piano keys, had been a sanctuary from the expectations and pressures of your family.

The silence in the room seemed to shift, becoming less oppressive, more contemplative. You could almost hear Hongjoong's voice, softer now, more encouraging. 

"You've got this," he would say. "Just take the first step."

You closed your eyes. Tomorrow would come with its demands and pretenses, but for now, you surrendered to the silence, letting it carry you into a sleep that softened the loneliness—if only for a little while.

Ahri’s laughter filled the confined space of the car, soft and unrestrained as she collapsed against Mingi’s chest, her fingers drawing idle patterns along his jawline. There was a glint of mischief in her eyes, a playful daring that stirred something in him, something he hadn’t felt in a long time. 

“Your wife looked like she wanted to kill me,” Ahri giggled. She knew exactly what she was to him—a temptation, a release, a break from the predictability of his life.

Mingi only smirked, his large hands cupping the curve of her ass with ease as he let out a low chuckle, brushing his thumb along her skin as if there wasn’t a care in the world.

“I would’ve stopped her,” he murmured, the words casual, devoid of any true weight.

Ahri tilted her head, her eyes searching his face, a smile curling at her lips. She could read the lack of hesitation in his expression, the cold confidence of a man who knew he was untouchable, who knew he had nothing to lose by being here with her. 

“You’d really do that for me?” she asked, her voice soft and playful, but she knew the answer. 

They both did. She didn’t need him to reassure her, didn’t need promises or apologies—she was here because she understood exactly who he was, what he wanted, and how little he cared about the impact it had on anyone else.

“Of course,” he said simply, brushing his lips against her neck with an easy familiarity. His smirk grew as he pulled her closer, rutting up against her with a glint of satisfaction in his eyes.

The idea of hurting you wasn’t something he dwelled on; it was merely collateral, an afterthought in a life where his own desires came first. 

To him, this wasn’t betrayal—it was freedom. Being with Ahri wasn’t about guilt or regret. It was about the thrill of defiance, the joy of stepping beyond the lines and indulging in the part of himself he’d never fully let go. 

“Let’s get out of here,” Mingi suggested, his voice low, laced with an eagerness that hinted at the thrill of escaping somewhere no one could find them.

The steady hum of the engine filled the silence between them as Mingi guided the car along the winding roads leading out of the city. The quiet hum of the engine settled between them, and Mingi’s grip on the wheel tightened as he let the night swallow them whole.

His gaze flickered to Ahri, watching the way she leaned back, eyes half-closed, utterly carefree. She was always like this with him—at ease, undemanding, dangerous in all the ways that made him forget everything else. With her, he could let go of every responsibility, every burden weighing him down. 

The soft, velvety vocals of jazz singer Kim Taehyung drifted through the radio, wrapping around the pair in a warm embrace. For a fleeting second, Mingi allowed himself to sink into the fantasy. Here, with her beside him, the world outside felt like a distant dream, nothing more than whispers beyond the car windows.

But dreams eventually come to an end.��

Out of nowhere, a pair of blinding headlights burst through the night, a harsh, unforgiving brightness that tore through the calm. Mingi’s eyes widened, but the oncoming vehicle was so close, so sudden, that there was barely a second to react. His hands jerked on the wheel, trying to swerve, but the road was narrow, and there was nowhere to go.

In an instant, everything blurred into chaos. The impact hit them head-on, a deafening crunch of metal against metal, a violent jolt that rattled through the car as it skidded off the road. Mingi’s head slammed back against the seat, his vision blurring as the car spun, skidding to a brutal stop against the guardrail. The world seemed to fall silent in the aftermath, a surreal quiet settling over them.

Somewhere in the distance, he heard the faint wail of sirens approaching, growing louder with every passing second. As the darkness closed in, Mingi felt the weight of it all—the choices he’d made, the life he’d led, and the person waiting for him at home—weighing down on him, filling him with a regret he could no longer ignore.

⋆

It was after midnight when the phone rang, the sudden sound breaking the uneasy stillness of the penthouse. In your sleepy stupor, you hesitated for a moment before reaching for it, your heart pounding in your chest. A vague sense of dread built as you picked up the receiver upon seeing your mother-in-law’s contact photo.

“Y/N! Oh, thank goodness! Mingi—he’s in the hospital! He was in a terrible accident and is in critical condition. Your father-in-law and I are on our way now!”

Mingi. Critical condition. Hospital. The world seemed to tilt on its side, and you felt as if the air had been sucked out of the room, leaving you struggling to breathe.

“Wh-what happened?” you stammered, barely able to get the words out as you clutched the phone, your knuckles white. “How… how bad is it?”

“It’s bad. They… they’re not sure if he’ll make it through the night.”

In that instant, any resentment or past grievances faded into the background. You couldn’t deny the strange ache settling in your chest as you thought of Mingi lying in that hospital bed, perhaps alone, facing something he could not fight or push away.

You didn’t remember much of the drive to the hospital. The city lights blurred past you as you sped through the streets, your heart pounding so loudly it drowned out every other thought. All you could focus on was getting to him.

When you finally reached the emergency wing, the harsh, fluorescent lights made you feel even more out of place. You spotted his family first—his mother and father huddled together on the worn hospital chairs. 

Mrs. Song was barely holding it together, face streaked with tears as she leaned against her husband, clutching his hand so tightly her knuckles had turned white. Her shoulders shook with quiet sobs that she tried to stifle, but each gasp tore through the silence, raw and full of anguish.

It was odd, seeing her show so much emotion for her son when, for so many years, her presence in his life had been so distant. There was no trace of the stoic woman who had always seemed to keep the world at arm's length. Here in the unforgiving lights of the hospital, she looked like any mother, grieving, terrified of losing her son.

Your own parents were there too, solemn and tense as they stood a little to the side, offering whatever silent support they could. 

When your mother noticed you, her gaze softened, and she reached out, wrapping you in a brief, tight hug. Yet even in her embrace, there was a certain restraint, like she wasn’t sure how to give more, wasn’t sure how to bridge the space between you in a way that felt natural. 

But then you turned, and that’s when you saw him.

Through the window of the ICU room, Mingi lay on the hospital bed, looking nothing like the man you knew. He was pale, his face bruised and battered, his body still and weak beneath the sheets. Tubes and wires connected him to a series of machines, each beeping and whirring to keep him alive, monitoring his vitals after hours of surgery to stop the relentless bleeding.

It was a jarring sight, seeing someone usually so full of life, even if that life had often been directed at you in anger. Now he seemed so small, vulnerable, a shadow of the man who had once looked at you with such disdain. 

Despite all the bitterness, you couldn’t deny the weight settling heavily in your chest as you found yourself wishing he would open his eyes, even if it meant another one of his sharp, dismissive looks.

“H-Hey.” 

You whipped around to find Yunho. His shoulders were slouched, exhaustion evident in the dark circles under his eyes, and worry etched into his expression. He offered you a small, tired smile, a weak attempt at reassurance that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Hi,” you murmured, tearing your eyes away from Mingi. 

The silence between you and Yunho was thick with unspoken concerns, a tension that felt almost palpable.

“I know things between you two have never been easy,” Yunho murmured, his voice low and hesitant. He avoided your gaze, eyes lingering on Mingi through the glass. His tone was careful, a mix of sympathy and regret. 

“I’m sorry that he’s been awful to you. My sister, too.”

You blinked, momentarily stunned. For so long, the hostility from both Mingi and Ahri had been an almost constant presence in your life, a simmering resentment that had shaped almost every single facet of your relationship with your husband.

But hearing Yunho acknowledge it so openly was…strange. Disarming, even. You weren’t used to someone seeing it, let alone speaking about it without any pretense or defensiveness. In his soft, understanding tone, you could sense not just sympathy, but regret.

“How’s Ahri?” you finally asked. 

“She’s pretty banged up,” he replied, rubbing a hand over his face, exhaustion evident. 

“But doctors say she’s expected to leave here in a few days. Nothing too serious, thankfully.” He hesitated, his eyes drifting back to Mingi. 

“But Mingi is still pretty touch-and-go.”

You could hear it in Yunho’s voice—the worry, the fear that his best friend might not make it. It was a stark reminder of just how fragile life was, how quickly things could change in the span of a heartbeat.

“He’s got so much fight in him,” you acknowledged softly, as if you were trying to convince yourself.

“If anyone can pull through this, it’s him. He just… he has to.”

Mingi’s presence, for all the ways it had complicated your life, was something you weren’t ready to lose. The ache in your chest betrayed the truth: you wanted him to fight, to come back, to have the chance to be more than the sum of his anger and bitterness.

“Hey! Can you hear me?” A voice cut through the silence, clear and sharp. 

Mingi’s eyes fluttered open to an otherworldly darkness, pierced only by the eerie glow of dim, floating lanterns. He felt weightless, almost translucent, his last memory fragmented—the screech of tires, the blinding headlights, the sound of metal twisting. He tried to move, but his limbs felt disconnected from him, as if he were less a person and more a shadow drifting in an endless void.

“Where… where am I?” he whispered, his voice echoing through the vast emptiness.

A figure emerged from the darkness, wearing a calm, almost unsettling smile. Dressed in flowing black robes, the man stood before him, his gaze sharp and cat-like.

“My courtroom,” the man replied, his voice smooth but cold. “People know me as The Judge, but you can call me Wooyoung.” 

His eyes gleamed as he looked down at Mingi, as if he could see every mistake, every regret, every flaw carved into his very soul.

“I’m…I’m dead?”

Wooyoung tilted his head, his gaze unwavering, assessing Mingi as if he were little more than a curious object. 

“Not necessarily,” he replied, a slight, detached smile curving his lips. 

“At least, not until you plead your case.”

A chill ran through Mingi, spreading from the base of his spine up to his shoulders. He was no longer in the realm of the living, yet neither was he truly dead. This wasn’t a dream, nor was it a fleeting punishment. 

This was judgment.

“It seems you have unfinished business,” Wooyoung continued, his tone as calm as if they were discussing the weather. 

“Regrets. Mistakes. Wrongdoings that tether you to the life you left behind. And now, you will face them.”

“W-What…” Mingi stammered, struggling to find words, every attempt at forming a coherent thought falling apart under the man’s unrelenting stare. 

“What… unfinished business?”

Wooyoung’s expression twisted, a mix of disbelief and disdain crossing his face as he raised a brow. 

“Really?” he said, his tone heavy with incredulity. He let out a small, humorless laugh, shaking his head as if Mingi’s question had been the most ridiculous thing he’d heard in centuries. 

Wooyoung’s eyes gleamed as he summoned a scroll into his hand, the parchment unfurling with a dramatic flourish and rolling all the way down to the ground. An endless list of Mingi’s transgressions and misdeeds spilled forth, each offense scrawled in elaborate detail, stretching on as if it would never end.

“Selfish. Petulant. You’re the kind of person who only considers what you want, regardless of who gets hurt.” His voice grew sharper, each word landing like a blow. 

“You cheated on your wife without a second thought, treating her like she was nothing more than an inconvenience in your life. And let’s not forget—” he tilted his head, a dark gleam in his eyes, “bullying other kids in middle school.”

Mingi felt the words hit him like a punch to the gut, dredging up memories he had buried long ago, things he’d justified or ignored. He shifted uncomfortably, every accusation pulling him deeper into his own shame.

“That… that was so long ago,” he whispered, barely audible. “I was a kid. I didn’t know any better.”

“Ah, so ignorance is your excuse?” Wooyoung’s tone was icy, unimpressed. 

Mingi swallowed, his mind flashing through a thousand faces, fragments of past encounters that blurred together but still left an unsettling weight in his chest. All the people he’d dismissed, manipulated, pushed aside. The friends he’d neglected, the promises he’d broken, and, above all, the way he had carelessly stomped on the one person who had also been innocent in this situation–you. 

“So how do I fix it? I—I don’t want to die. Please,” he choked, his voice barely above a whisper as he looked up at the man with pleading eyes. 

Wooyoung’s gaze didn’t soften, but there was a pause—a brief, quiet stillness that felt like a moment of reckoning. He tilted his head, studying Mingi as if weighing the depths of his fear, his regret, his desperation.

"Is that it, then? Now that you’re here, now that death is staring you in the face, now you want redemption? Not when you had the power to make different choices, not when the people who cared about you needed you to be better?”

Mingi swallowed hard, feeling the weight of each accusation sink into him. He could barely meet the man’s gaze, shame twisting in his stomach. 

“I made mistakes. I didn’t think…I thought I’d always have time to change, to make things right. But I can’t…I can’t end like this.” His voice broke, and he felt the desperation bubbling up, raw and unfiltered. 

“I’m begging you. Give me a chance. I’ll do anything.”

Wooyoung watched him in silence for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then, slowly, he took a step closer, his dark robes fluttering against the ground.

“Anything?”

“Anything,” Mingi whispered. “Just tell me what I need to do.”

Wooyoung’s lips curled into a faint, humorless smile. “If you want to escape this fate, then you’ll have to complete three tasks within three months.”

Mingi’s heart pounded in his chest, but he nodded, his eyes shining with desperate determination. 

“I’ll do it. Whatever it is, I’ll do it.”

“Good.” 

With a single snap, Mingi felt his body contort, an overwhelming, suffocating pressure enveloping him. His form began to shrink and his vision blurred. A high-pitched yelp escaped his throat as he realized he was no longer human. 

He was small, helpless, wrapped in fur with tiny paws trembling beneath him. He had been transformed into a puppy, looking up at the man from the ground, his new form shivering in fear and confusion.

“You’re much cuter when you’re not hurling insults at people and lying through your teeth,” Wooyoung cooed, reaching out to poke Mingi’s snout. 

Indignation boiled in Mingi’s tiny chest, but he was powerless to do anything but stand there, his fur puffed out as he tried to look fierce while Wooyoung continued to pet him.

“First,” Wooyoung began, “you’re going to learn what it means to be vulnerable. Focus on letting go of control completely, and start with small acts. ” 

“For your second task,” he continued, “you’re going to help someone who’s hurt or lost. You have to figure out how to comfort them. You’ll need to offer genuine support, not just do what’s easiest for you.”

Mingi whimpered, his tiny body shivering, but Wooyoung didn’t give him a chance to protest.

“And finally,” Wooyoung said, a smirk tugging at his lips, “you’ll help someone find happiness. You’re going to show them kindness and bring them joy, with no expectation of getting anything in return. For someone as self-centered as you, that’ll be your most difficult challenge of all.”

With that, Wooyoung straightened, a mischievous glint in his eye. 

“Simple enough for you, little guy?” he chuckled, scratching behind Mingi’s soft, floppy ear. 

“Complete these tasks, and you can have your life back. It’s not so hard, right?”

Mingi looked up, wide-eyed and uncertain in his new, pint-sized form. The world felt so large and overwhelming now, every shadow looming like a mountain, every distant sound magnified. His tiny paws shuffled nervously, a soft whimper escaping him.

“But, hey, if you can’t handle it and end up staying here, at least you’ll be the cutest little thing in the afterlife. You’re so small, I could just carry you around in my pocket!”

Mingi huffed, his tail puffing up in what he hoped was indignation. The thought was absurd! He couldn't decide whether to feel insulted or embarrassed, but Wooyoung’s warm smile and the affectionate scritch behind his ear made it hard to stay mad.

⋆

You sighed and sat down on a bench, the quiet stillness of the early morning hours settling around you. Mingi’s mother hadn’t let you leave, insisting that you stay for any updates on his condition. It was easier to wait outside, where the air felt fresher and the weight of worry wasn’t as suffocating.

Two years. Had it really been two years? You leaned back against the bench, staring up at the faint dawn light peeking through the trees. You let out a hollow laugh, shaking your head. Mingi’s bitterness had been a slow, creeping poison. He blamed you for the engagement, even though it was hardly your choice, and his resentment seeped into every corner of your life.

Every conversation was strained, every look filled with contempt, and yet here you were, waiting outside a hospital, a dutiful spouse in name alone. 

The weight of your commitment felt heavier now that he was teetering on the edge of life and death. The responsibilities and promises you had made to each other took on a new, almost suffocating significance. It wasn't just about keeping up appearances anymore—it was about being there, truly being there, when it mattered most.

You sighed, the sound mingling with the faint rustling from the bushes nearby, pulling you momentarily from your reverie.

From the corner of your eye, a small white puppy emerged, its fur dirty and matted with leaves. The tiny creature padded forward, nose twitching as it sniffed the air and hesitated as it spotted you. Something about its curiosity struck a chord in you, melting the heaviness in your chest just a little.

“Puppy!” you gasped, crouching down and holding out your hand. 

Mingi’s ears perked up at your voice, and he took a tentative step forward. 

You appeared more exhausted than usual, the shadows under your eyes more pronounced, and a weariness etched into your features that he hadn't noticed previously. There was a fragility about you that tugged at something deep within him, a vulnerability you rarely allowed to show.

But the way you whispered, with that soft, delighted tone and the way your face lit up when you saw him—it was unlike anything he’d ever seen before.

Without thinking, his little tail started wagging, betraying him completely. He could feel his new puppy body responding instinctively, unable to stop the joyful swishing, even though part of him knew how ridiculous he must look.

“Why are you by yourself?” you asked, wiggling your fingers in front of him. 

Mingi watched, trying to resist the urge to play, but then—damn it—he couldn’t help himself. Before he knew it, he’d pounced forward, his tiny paws reaching for your hand, teeth closing softly around your fingers in a playful nibble.

No, stop it, Mingi! He cursed, attempting to restrain himself from giving into his instincts. But he couldn’t. The look on your face, the warmth in your eyes, was worth the humiliation of his tiny, floppy form and the impulse to play like he actually enjoyed it.

He flopped onto his back, revealing his soft, fluffy belly, earning an immediate squeal of joy. The sight of his tiny paws tucked adorably close to his chest and his big puppy eyes was simply too much.

The sheer cuteness of the puppy version of him was undeniable, and you couldn’t help but scratch his belly. His hind leg kicked instinctively, a sign of his enjoyment.

Mingi let out a soft, high-pitched whimper, as you scooped him into your arms. This is…nice? And when your hand ran gently down his back, he melted further, his tiny body going limp as he nuzzled into your chest. His heart thrummed with a fluttering feeling he didn’t recognize. 

Why does this actually feel good? 

You didn’t have that look of quiet disappointment that had seemed to settle on your face since the day you both said, “I do.”

You just looked…happy.

For the first time, Mingi realized how little he’d truly known you. It hurt to realize that a tiny puppy—his current form—could make you feel more affection than he ever had when he was human. He hadn’t given you any reason to smile at him like this; he hadn’t even tried.

“I guess the universe is exchanging my husband for you, huh?” you mumbled, stroking his tiny head with your thumb.

Mingi bristled internally. How rude! He was irreplaceable. You couldn’t simply replace him with a puppy!

You stood up, carefully bundling him against your chest to shield him from the chill of dawn. 

He wondered if he would ever feel this again once he returned to his original self, or if he would only carry the ache of what he could have had—if he’d been a different person, if he’d ever let you in.

ii >>

a/n: I have a taglist signup to keep things organized! feel free to fill it out for any fics that I'm currently working on! also this first chapter will be the longest and future chapters will be shorter

[solxamber]

Again its me again of the seraphim request😭

Can you do a part 2 of ‘The Cat’ (i dont know the name, rip💔) with Idia and Rook, Vil!

And do take your time writing this later if you’re busy with the other requests or irl things

Vil, Rook, Idia with 'The Cat'! Reader

hi! I'm pretty sure the cat's name is quite literally just 'The Cat' lol and thanks for waiting <3

Part 1 with Jade, Jamil, Azul

Vil Schoenheit:

Vil doesn’t tolerate nonsense, but your catlike, elusive nature is an exception he begrudgingly accepts. He knows you're always nearby, watching with those sharp, observant eyes, even if you’ve seemingly vanished from the room.

There’s a part of him that appreciates your ability to slip away from prying eyes—though he'd never admit it aloud.

"You really must learn to make an entrance properly," Vil remarks, not bothering to glance up from his mirror as you reappear, perched silently on a windowsill.

"And ruin the fun?" you reply smoothly, your voice lilting with amusement. "I thought you appreciated subtlety."

Vil's eyes narrow in the mirror, his reflection catching yours. "Subtlety is an art. Vanishing into the shadows is a parlor trick. Though, I suppose you have your charm."

You smirk, lazily stretching. "I'll take that as a compliment."

Vil sighs but can’t hide the small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "Don't push it."

Rook Hunt:

Rook finds your elusive and catlike behavior endlessly fascinating, like a puzzle he’s always eager to solve. The thrill of the hunt, of tracking you down in your hiding places or catching a glimpse of your vanishing figure, delights him more than he lets on.

“Ah, mon cher mystère, always slipping through my fingers,” Rook calls out theatrically, his voice carrying through the empty corridor.

You appear just behind him, your voice low and teasing, “Perhaps you’re not as sharp as you think, huntsman.”

Rook spins with that ever-present smile, eyes gleaming with amusement. "Oh, but the chase, it only adds to your allure! Each time you vanish, I find myself more intrigued."

You step closer, lips curving into a knowing smile. "Catch me, then."

Rook’s grin widens. "One day, I just might." But even he knows, deep down, that the game is far too fun to ever truly win.

Idia Shroud:

Idia isn’t exactly a fan of social interaction, so your tendency to vanish into thin air doesn’t bother him. In fact, he finds it kind of reassuring—after all, you’re never gone for long.

He’s used to the way you silently reappear, blending into the background, just like an NPC who pops up unexpectedly.

"You always show up when I least expect it," Idia mutters, eyes glued to his screen. He doesn’t look over, but you know he’s noticed.

"Surprise," you whisper from behind him, your voice almost purring. Idia jumps, then groans. "Do you have to do that? It’s like a horror game—except the jumpscares are real."

You chuckle, slipping around to his side. "I’m just keeping things interesting." He side-eyes you, hair flickering slightly. "Yeah, interesting, sure. You’re like, everywhere and nowhere at the same time. It's... kinda OP."

You grin, leaning close enough for him to hear the smirk in your voice. "Better than being predictable." Idia gives a small, awkward laugh. "Touché."

Masterlist

[comfortless]

Hello! This is the Frankenstein anon back with more praise and another prompt that you might like. Again you are amazing and everyone you come out with stuff, I weep for joy! Please continue what you are doing because it is absolute art✨

Okay onto the prompt. So lately tiktok has been putting onto this telenova drama called Hilda Furcão which is pretty much this priest and prostitute fall in love but due to societal pressures, cannot be together. The YEARNING in this show is amazing and I can’t help but think of Priest Konig in this situation. Imagine he falls in love with reader who works at a brothel but because he’s a churchly man, he’s fighting demons in his head (and down yonder) cuz he YEARNS for her but the lord says no🥴

Please keep doing what you’re doing and I’m constantly cheering you on with your work! ❤️

In the Arms of Flowers

content/warnings: 18+. minors do not interact. pining, lots of talk of religion/silly metaphors, fluff, ridiculous attempts at courtship from both, dark (if you squint), implied cyber stalking, violence/murder, minor character death, some angst, sexual violence (not done by König), König becomes horribly obsessed and reader is fine with it, virgin!König-> oral (both receiving) piv smut.

wc: 11k.

There’s a garden in the churchyard, one that’s always been, even before his vows were taken and the cassock was pulled around his shoulders.

It’s the very place that the arching den window in the clergy house faces out towards, and the very place that an angel descends from Heaven to stalk through night after night.

Even when the thunder clamors and rolls to light up the sky above, the pretty thing is there, kneeling amongst the blooming lilies. A listless sort of purity swallows over her, bathes her in the white of petals and the bright illumination of each bolt of lightning above, arcs a halo over her head like a proper mirage.

The whole town knows these doors remain open, but never does she even look toward the church or the home of holy men at all: only the flowers. The lilies and carnations seemed to be her favorite to haunt, weaving through the petals as they sway for her in breezes like whispers from the pouting lips of cherubim.

He’s prayed for this lost soul many times already; clutched the rosary between his fingers and whispered to the Lord to protect her, to heal whatever aches, to bring her wandering feet into the chapel one of these days. But as most lilies, this one’s beauty is gone away by mid-morning.

Tonight, he wills himself to bring her in for prayer and refuge from the coming rain. Its been a long time coming, and regrettably he’s hesitated at every other opportunity. Nothing’s changed, the scene was so commonplace even the others have commented on it prior.

Maybe he hallucinates her holiness; the halo has become made up of fallen petals now as they arch over the crown of her head where she’s found sprawled out amongst them. She raises herself to sit upright, dusts the dirt from her knees and offers a wary glance with each step he takes until his soles halt in soil that would soon be mire.

“I’m sorry. I’ll leave,” the angel breathes out with her eyes darting from his collar down to rest at the expanse of short blades of grass between them. “I don’t mean to cause you any trouble.”

She doesn’t meet the concern in his eyes, and König is no stranger to sin. To the shame and grief that he’s absolved from far worse than her in the stuffy wooden confessional.

“You’re welcome to stay.” A silent prayer rests there in his breath — please stay, though even he wasn’t certain as to why there’s a demand stirring in the pit of his stomach for this woman clad in a dirtied white dress.

She smiles then, gazes right up at him in such a way that immediately sparks something misplaced, something tucked away beneath studying scripture and kneeling before the wooden altar. A sin of the flesh, a heated poker jabbing at both his heart and his loins.

“No, I’m okay,” she assures with a slight dip of her head, already taking steps back to dart away, back to whichever gilded little nest of baubles and starlight she took flight from. “I was just heading home.”

And that’s it. He doesn’t plead for her to come inside, the offer has been laid out already. It’s not his job to force a belief that one doesn’t want, only lend a kindness and a cushioned pew, advice for the lost and a choir for bleating lambs.

He bids her goodbye and walks back to the clergy house, ignoring the strange looks of his peers as they all prepare to bed down after a nightly prayer. It’s rare to smile here, when sacred words are passed from the wrinkled, cracked lips of his seniors. But König does smile, the grin is as bright as the seconds of white lighting up the sky in intervals as he silently thanks God for such a sweet vision amidst such darkness.

The fixation does not falter for the following three nights. She doesn’t return to the churchyard to whisper secrets to the blooms, but the angel weighs on his mind so heavily that König finds himself convinced that she must have been his calling, a soul that he would assuredly save.

His sermons now lack their passion. The parishioners come to him with weighty hearts and misery in their eyes, but bless him all the same, even when he’s distant. Away with the fairies, some would say. He can’t help but wonder when one such service rolls to a closing prayer if whoever conjured such words had also been in the presence of a seraph.

“Do you need prayer?,” one of his fellow priests asks as the flock trickles out, worry clear in the wrinkles laden beneath this eyes and the way his lips draw down before pressing thin. “You don’t seem to be sleeping well.”

And König regrets the words he speaks next, when he describes the woman from the flowers in detail greater than necessary: how her eyes seemed so soft, her smile fragile, and her body language more docile than that of even a lamb. He mentions the dirty dress, the way she seemed to be trying to escape something yet refused the shelter he offered.

The other priest nods and sighs, his eyes squeezing shut in thought, and though König has not feared a scolding since he abandoned home nearly two decades prior, the way the ordinarily calm priest seems so frustrated by this sends a swell of fluttering anxiety beneath his ribcage.

“The woman you describe is a temptress,” his elder explains coldly. His sharp, dark eyes rest on König’s face as though the disparity in their height does not exist at all. “Best to let her be, she does not want our help. Leave it alone.”

“Ja. Verstanden.”

The warning is enough to dull the buzzing in his chest, the mush that’s been made up of his head until he sees her again.

The bakery in town regularly makes donations of pastries and thick loaves of bread for church goingson. It isn’t regular that he’s been asked to pick them up; the eldest of the priests usually does so, some blood relation to the owners that König has never cared enough to ask about. The old man never did well in the summer months, though, far too frail now to bear the heat snaking over his pale skin and leaving burns.

With the mistake of rambling onward about this perturbing fascination still grating at his mind, he doesn’t hesitate to volunteer, to take the old truck and step away from the stained glass and crucifixes for a brief outing. A moment of respite.

There’s a complimentary mug of coffee presented across the expanse of the counter when the cashier greets him with a smile so broad it seems faked.

König’s fingers twitch when he grasps at the handle; the uncertainty was something he had sworn he would outgrow one day with God’s healing, but it never seemed to stray far from him. It rests over the back of his neck like a feeding vampire when he takes his first sip, one that burns his tongue and stings at his eyes when he notices the woman seated at a table in the corner.

It’s her: temptation and fate packaged up in a loose fitting sweater that covers the pulse in her neck and a short skirt.

She holds her phone, not the mug stationed before her, staring down at the thing with the most somber expression he’s ever seen on a lady before. She taps her thumbs at the screen, talking to someone, but there’s a loneliness in her expression apparent like the rust on the old truck parked outside.

Poor little thing.

She glances up when his staring is detected, confusion stripped bare upon her with a pinched brow and a slack jaw. Then, follows realization and she offers the same smile she did that night, some seventy or so hours prior.

“Morning, Father.”

There’s not a fractal within König that wants to make the sweet spirit uncomfortable, but each step he takes towards her table seems to make her shoulders tense. She knows that he knows, sees that sympathetic look in his eye and hates it.

Maybe even hates him for the divinity he wears in the sable cloth pulled over his shoulders.

That doesn’t stop his approach.

König sits across from her with shaking hands and a forced smile like the one the cashier wears, drops his mug onto the table and offers her his hand. Fingers bending to graze the palm as though beckoning a frightened animal when it’s he who feels most afraid.

The angel merely eyes him cautiously for a moment before she takes the cup into both of her hands and gives him a fragile huff, dismissing his attempt to pray for her soul. Again. Yet, the sting he feels is not from a lack of a starved savior complex being satisfied, only… that he has yet to touch her somehow. That sudden thought stifles him in full.

But angels are nothing if not merciful and loving; she picks up on his dejection and speaks again in his place.

“How are the carnations?”

“Hm?”

“The flowers in the garden… the red ones,” she elaborates with a soft laugh, hides it behind the rim of her cup when it’s raised for her to take a sip. Her mouth looks soft, compelling, and he’s staring again. “I like them the most.”

He knows he should stop this, that what’s become of an innocent meeting has left him feeling anything but. There’s a howling chasm in place of the heart of a worthy devotee. She’s nothing like the women who frequent the church — the only other women he sees. Brighter at best and alluring at the worst.

“I thought the lilies were your favorite…” It’s unsuited for a priest and a man so tall and broad to sound so breakable, but his voice only comes in an hurried breath, embarrassed and small.

She shakes her head, tousles her hair in the process. “I like all of them. The ones at your church grow prettiest.”

“I see…”

The woman gives him an expectant look, as if prompting him to speak more, before her phone chimes and the air seems to shift from tentative yet sweet to something vast and cold. She doesn’t seem eager to be interrupted in such a way, either; her expression falls from that subtle playfulness to something akin to a regretful acceptance.

She stands from her seat abruptly and takes a step towards the door. “I have something I need to take care of.”

God gives and takes away.

“I can bring you some,” he offers, winding in the too-small wooden chair to face her. Too late to reel in the flirtatious nature of such an offering, too late to bite his tongue and remember the vows he had taken. The burden upon his heart seems far more pressing than any words from an old book. “Carnations and lilies… some of the others, too.”

The woman almost seems shy when she glances over her shoulder and offers him the most imperceptible nod. “Yeah, sure… I’ll see you around.”

His angel leaves him to rot in thought at that lonely table, in this tiny bakery. He does not think to repent for the way his temperature and pulse spiked in her presence, for the way he takes her empty cup and stuffs it into one of the boxes of baked goods to collect later.

Riding back to the church is dreadful, because she’s already fastened to his heart like a ribbon on a pretty bouquet. He’ll ask the sisters from the cloister to clip flowers for him, tie them up in a lace that will leave her face warmed and lips pouting.

When the people in the church have their fill of sweets and bread, König tells a lie, maybe several.

He claims he doesn’t know why that innocuous porcelain thing is resting where food once had, doesn’t know why the baker would have stuffed that in there too. He takes it to his room and claims that he would return it come morning.

The bed has always felt far too small for him alone, but he pictures her there with him, sat upon his lap when he brings the cup up to his lips with his eyes closed.

It’s cold and hard, difficult to imagine it to be a kiss at all, but he pretends her lips are upon him, eager and willing. It takes only rolling his tongue back to flick over itself, envisioning it being her own, for him to feel his trousers grow too tight. He doesn’t touch himself. He can’t bear the thought of it, not with the cross staring down at him from the far wall.

And finally, regret comes.

Shame, too, because König is aware he’s become a bit of a creep; enchanting himself with second hand kisses whilst his angel takes another man to bed. A man undeserving, but… he could be. He was deserving enough to become a holy man, surely she could see he was worthy of her as well.

The bed is too small even when he curls into himself and pulls the blanket up passed his eyes. Sleep is too skittish to come for him, even when he prays in a whisper to be absolved of his lust.

The dreams are only filled with images of an angel trapped in a rose bush, the thorns sinking into her wings until blood is drawn, but still she smiles. She reaches toward him with shaky limbs, whispers something so dreadfully mournful he knows to his very soul that she is his purpose alone.

It’s what wakes him in a fit, compels him to venture out through the yard with a heart set on seeking guidance. There are moonbeams above and animal calls from the surrounding trees. All of God’s creations are in perfect, dreamy harmony.

Why couldn’t he be the same? Always the outsider in one way or another; always the sore thumb rather than the loving green. Desolation is an art, a skill he’s learned to hide back: clenched teeth to still a wrathful tongue and a layer of muscle to guard that wounded thing in his chest.

There is no better peace than the quiet of the church in the late hour. Moonlight through stained glass and empty, antique seats that would make the worldly whip out their phones to snap pictures in a heartbeat. The doors are always open, for the sinners and the devoted alike, though the confessional is rarely touched when there would be no saint awake set on absolving.

Perhaps that’s why he takes to the booth he needs to make himself smaller to fit into: one shoulder and one foot first, then the next set. He’s never cared for it, left it to the better and smaller. The sound just past the thin partition rattles him. It isn’t the creaking of wood below his feet, but something softer. A weak sniffle. A cry from the other side.

“I’ll leave in a moment,” comes a voice, broken from tears and so horribly sad that the usual script entirely fails him. He recognizes the voice, though a bit warbled now. The voice that would make the choir pause, an angel’s sweet tone.

“Wait… no. You can stay. I’m hiding, too.” A breathy laugh comes forced and misplaced. Priest or not, König has never been the best at consoling anyone, let alone one so far above him.

“I’m not hiding,” she tries to sound braver now. He can imagine her chin tilted forward and that sweet smile trying it’s damndest to paint its way across her face. “But… why are you?”

“Don’t know.”

“Who are you?” The crying seems to have ceased entirely for now. Clearly whatever seemed to ail her could be remedied by her own curiosity. A cute, unorthodox little thing.

“König.” It served well enough as a confirmation name when he could not settle on one of the saints. King of them all, one of the other saved men had said in jest. Ironic, now.

“I like your voice, König,” she murmurs, deliberately testing the pronunciation on her tongue in such an alluring way that a small shiver runs its way down his spine.

“Danke… and you?”

God forgive him, he doesn’t even try. Doesn’t try to bring shame or guilt, read her scripture or pray for her soul. He only listens in silence when she tells him her name, beautiful and charming as he had expected it to be. The woman then tells him of her work, of the motel she ventures to at night… the troubles with money and even vaguely, some of the men she suffers through. This had been a bad night. Strange how a singular hour could have broken someone down to such a desperation to open up, to grasp for what small comfort they could receive.

But she came for him.

She must have hoped to see him.

He thanks his god for that.

— — —

“I bought a phone.”

“I see that.” Her fingers graze over the stems of the flowers, cleanly cut by hands more patient and stable than König’s own.

The angel isn’t looking up at him, not this time. There isn’t even a smile on her face when she cradles the bouquet close to her chest, petting over it where she sits upon the motel bed wearing nothing but some strappy, barely-there lingerie. Pure white with pink lace over the cups of her bra where her breasts swell with each shaky intake of breath.

In this week apart, he’s kept the device hidden in a loose pocket and spent many a night scouring the seediest websites looking for a hint of a body that may belong to her in this very area. Only one seemed to match. The messages exchanged were about hours and pricing, establishing a location, and terms he didn’t quite understand. He didn’t harp on the small details, but finding her messages to be so rigid and dry did surprise him. There were no cute hearts or winking emojis, it all felt horribly transactional.

Priests don’t make a lot of money, it all goes back to the church, but he’s thieved enough from the offering bowls to have a night with her alone. As disheartening as the lack of flirtations seemed, he hoped not to squander whatever opportunity this outing proved to be.

The balaclava covering his face wasn’t purchased with the intention of making her nervous, only… shielding himself from curious stares. The whole town knows his face, his name, the words he speaks so resolutely to his flock. Just as well as they know of who she is, what she does.

Even this knitted shield couldn’t hide himself from her, though. The very moment he entered this drab, modestly decorated room with flowers in hand she had only looked further lost.

“You look very pretty,” he tries as he removes the mask and drops it to the floor, kneels just a hair from where her feet dangle from the bed. “I’m glad that I found you.”

“Thank you.”

The flowers are placed on the side table, petals falling down to the thin carpet below. A cascade of red like blood and white like doves feathers. Purity and a wound in one.

The poor thing looks scorned when she does give him a glance then, but she forces herself into a position that stokes a hellish, unnatural flame within him. Her thighs part as her hands rest on the cups of her bra, pushing the thin fabric down to reveal areola, her soft nipples, sights that he had never seen before.

“You shouldn’t even be here, König,” the lady warns when his gaze sweeps over the innocent flesh laid bare before him. The angel isn’t even wet. Her panties are pristine over her womanhood, and it dawns on him that… she wouldn’t risk what he was even for the generous donation he had given.

“I don’t want to ruin you.”

But she should. Crumble him into salt, cast him away with the wind. Should.

She sees something holy in him too… albeit, not in the way that he would like for her to.

He swallows hard as he rises to his feet and sits next to her. The hands that were so accustomed to being joined in prayer find her breasts now with tentative touches, a curious squeeze, until he wills himself to readjust the fabric and conceal her properly.

“Ja, but… I just wanted to visit you.”

“You don’t need to pay me just to see me.”

The tension in the room finally begins to dissolve. Not by much, but when she sighs something that sounds like amusement, the restless throbbing of his heart does begin to settle.

As much as he would like to take her like some beast in rut, lay some claim to her in bursts of white seed, he doesn’t even know where to begin. Each curve of her body looks as though it would feel like a miracle beneath his palm, under his tongue.

It’s just that nothing is going to happen, not here, not now that he’s brought a prostitute flowers and revealed who he was to her. She sees something pitiful, where he only sees someone to love.

He can’t tell her that he dreams of her, that he views her in the same way he views his god. That would only scare her away, lead her to believe he’s a lunatic rather than a man only just now having his first taste of love.

“Then could I see you every night? So that you don’t have to…” His head dips, because no matter how he tries he knows any word he says is foolish.

This isn’t something she’s doing because it is fun for her; it’s a job just like his own. Flesh or words spoken… did it even matter? And yet, König could feel a malicious, gnawing envy at the thought of a bolder man taking his place tomorrow evening. That man wouldn’t hesitate to peel away her pretty lingerie and fuck her, shove his tongue into her mouth while his cock sat between her legs as if it belonged there.

“König,” she sighs next to him, pityingly.

His jaw tenses as his fingers curl into his palms. The hopelessness of it all crashes down around him as though sung out from the loudest of the choir. He hardly notices when she presses her head against his shoulder, only realizes how close she’s come to him when her hand curls over one of his own.

“You’re the strangest man I’ve ever met.” It’s not a compliment but it feels like one when she laughs like that, airy and soft. “The sweetest one, too.”

He smells her perfume from this close, something scented like fruit or maybe maple, sap-sticky and saccharine. All of her flesh feels warm against the plain t-shirt he wears, a warmth he would give anything to dive into, but not without her explicit command. A powerful seraph in the form of one painfully cute, gentle lady. If anyone could see what he saw now, they too would forsake those holy books and eat from her open palm instead.

“I don’t know what to do,” he confesses, a peculiar bitterness hanging on his tongue.

“How about a walk?”

He pulls the balaclava over his face again when they make their way out into the quiet, darkened street. Hand in hand. It’s not from shame, but a necessity, perhaps, because his pale face has only flowered into a lasting pink since laying eyes upon her on that mattress, sprawled out and waiting. The blush only deepens with every squeeze she blesses him with, every hushed word spoken as she tells him about her favorite places.

She’s dressed in the same white dress they had initially met in, now clean of the dirt from flower beds. Somehow even more radiant at this close, too.

The churchyard and the clergy house are nothing in comparison to the way the rest of the town feels when the moon rises. It’s a world all their own, a place where no one looks at her as if she were a simple harlot, but a queen amongst chipping wood and tarmac. There’s even a skip in her step as she walks ahead of him, her hips swaying beneath her skirt. All because there’s no one here but she and her most loyal and only acolyte.

He wills himself out of her grasp when they cross the threshold into the cemetery. The darkness there is enough to pull him back to earth; thoughts of how easily swayed he’s been linger in the back of his mind. The want doesn’t even begin to reel back its claws, but the guilt does sink its pearly fangs in alongside it.

“I get it. You don’t want to be seen with me,” she says a small step away, drawing her hand up to her chest. It’s the saddest she’s ever looked, and he doesn’t have the words to further explain that he has no god damn idea what he’s doing: here, with her, in the midst of something that feels so normal even though it should not.

“Nein! That’s not—“

“You don’t want to touch me. You barely talk…”

Because the words don’t come easy. Because he’s never felt such an overbearing devotion to anyone, anything apart from what he prays to. How could she… this woman that shared in such loneliness with him not see him for what he was, not see him in the way that he sees her?

“You’re misunderstanding.”

“You just want to… to convert me, is that right?,” she hisses, sounding more shaken up than he had ever hoped to hear.

All hesitation had to be swallowed back.

There was no other option. He could feel her slipping away, a pain he wasn’t prepared to face.

God gives and takes away, but König refuses to let go.

His eyes narrow, his breath halts entirely, and he cups her face in his hands as gently as he can. The distance between them feels like miles as he lowers his head to kiss her through the knit barrier. It’s flighty and petrifying on his side… he feels cold sweat wet his brow when the warmth of her pulls through.

She could hit him, spit her curses like a proper witch, and he would only fall to her feet and kiss her heels. But… she does none of those things. Whatever pain was brewing here is ripped away with the night breeze.

Her hands peel away the balaclava, discard it somewhere into the tall grass where it wouldn’t be found, and she grants him his first, proper kiss.

With only the cracked headstones and cemetery angels watching, what once was tentative becomes a full indulgence. König samples from her mouth as though it weeps honey when the gentle peck graduates to a parting of lips. His hands run down the length of her sides as she grasps at his shirt, they pull her in close until her chest meets his own and two pairs of eyelids flutter.

She feels more heavenly than his imagination could have prepared him for, her tongue hotter and her sounds… the soft sighs and shaky murmurs of approval that fill him with both a maddening love and an urge to burn everything away if only it would keep her safe and near.

The world ceases to be entirely, cast down with Lucifer to the sulfur and smoke. Her lips remain parted when they break apart, a haze over her eyes reflecting the veil clouding his own irises.

Was a kiss really forsaking his vows? Was that really such a painful treachery? No… no it shouldn’t be. The issue remains that he can not see her as just some woman. Something as small as this could consume him entirely.

The night is spent with an abundance of those shared kisses when they return to the motel. Tentative touches, too. He’s never held a woman, not in the way he gets to hold her then. She presses tightly to him, her back to his chest with her hand keeping his own in place over her middle. She’s so soft, swans down plush and smooth as silk ribbon.

There is mint lingering on her breath each time she speaks. No talk of her work, only… she confesses how she had feared him so initially, how she worried that a holy man stepping into her life would only be further condemnation: an angel terrified by a devil that does not exist at all.

He knows he’s lost a part of himself here when he tells her he wishes to meet with her again, that if the church is no longer the place she fancies to walk, he’ll meet her amongst the dead again and again when the old clergymen sleep. Those promises he had reserved solely for God turn on themselves now, when he reveres the idol he shares this bed with.

Though her hips press back against his groin when his fingers crawl up to her sternum, and the desire strikes up within him, his cock remains untouched here. He doesn’t whisper a prayer for forgiveness into her hair when he grows hard, just tucks her in closer and smiles where his head rests atop her own.

It’s the closest to bliss he’s ever felt.

— — —

“You weren’t here for morning prayer.” The voice isn’t accusatory, just observant. The nightly prayers were missed too, though a reprieve is granted by way of those remaining unmentioned.

But the guilt does eat at König when he sees the concern in this man’s eyes, splinters at his very soul until he asks in a fragile voice if he can speak to the old priest in the confessional.

Everything here feels much too small and the booth is more or less the same. The wood closes in around him, bathes him in a blackness that even the glow of candlelight within these walls can not reach. The partition separating them does not help bolster courage, it only leaves him feeling more alone.

The clergyman listens in silence as König confesses that he has become weak. He does not mention the lady of the night, but there’s no need to at all: finding himself so captivated with a woman that he considered breaking every promise to the higher power was bad enough. He does not mention how he’s considered pleasuring himself, touching her too… only that they shared a night together embraced, counts the kisses that were exchanged with each digit of his hands.

There’s a pitying sigh from the other side before the man begins a lengthy prayer that König does join him in. With the “Amen” that follows, he’s told only to rid himself of those thoughts, to bury them with fasting and prayer. No more visits with this temptress, remain on the right path. The very, very simple things he must do to receive God’s forgiveness and favor once more.

“You are not a disappointment,” his elder reminds him with a small pat to his cheek and a smile. It’s more fatherly than the sparse affection he received from his own flesh and blood before coming here.

“Danke… thank you,” he breathes when his eyes bear the burden of tears.

God loves him and so do the sainted men.

But to never see her again would be worse than flagellation.

He chokes down the pain with more water when his stomach roars with hunger, hides the broken heart with smiles and prayer. Holy clothes feel heavier now. The money he stole to spend that night with her is returned to the collection pool in a week's time. The smartphone he had purchased is tossed out with the rest of the garbage in the bins. Even the cup is returned to the bakery after being rinsed in the sink.

Still not a part of him feels absolved from this torturous puppet show.

He thinks of her more than he ponders over his fear of Hell itself. God feels like an old memory as the days pass. He counts them in his daybook, an ‘X’ next to the dates he had gone without seeing her. Ten becomes twenty, and it becomes no less agonizing.

The prayers come easier, at least. He joins with his fellow men, kneels with his hands clasped before him, speaks such heartfelt words now that on more than one occasion he’s shared a healing tear or two with the other clergymen.

God is an old friend, yes, but that title is just a placeholder for the one his prayers are truly for. The little angel of the garden, the woman who has given him nothing at all but stole his heart all the same. Was she not the same as God from that aspect?

After a month, he’s finally given the privilege to stand before the altar and preach to the parishioners again. His sermon is directed by the other clergymen, a subtle admission of his own misdeeds as he guides the flock away from the sins of lust, of worldly pleasures that would steer them away from the right path.

Amidst the men and women crowding the pews sits a new face. She wears a hat, looking uncertain and skittish as a bunny amidst a pack of starved hounds beneath its curved brim. Her coat is tugged tightly around her where her hands grip to keep it closed and snug. No one is out to get her, not here, but there’s a purplish bruise on her neck. A sad stare trails up to meet his gaze when he stammers through the words of scripture.

Then, she smiles and his heart only feels full.

The sermon ends clumsily enough, but she waits for him in the center pew. He ensures the others have cleared out before he takes rigid steps toward her, where he sits a foot or so away on the bench; the feigned friendliness is only a front for the rapid beating of his heart and the way the blush upon his face paints up to his ears.

“I waited to walk with you… like you promised we would,” she says in place of a greeting. There’s no chiding in her tone, just curiosity. Gentle, like she’s speaking to a wounded bird, and perhaps that’s what he’s become: some big, ugly vulture. Holy in its love of everything from the sky to the rot down below.

“I’m sorry. I..,” he laments, grasping for an explanation that does not come.

“No, I understand. It’s alright, König.”

He knows he doesn’t deserve the gift of her redemption with how easily he turned away from her, from the blooming of… something. It was best not to use that word anymore.

“I just didn’t want to wait any longer. I missed you,” she huffs when the silence extends between them, breaks up the tension in the air but not what creeps over her own shoulders.

“Your bruise..” He wants to tell her of his sleepless nights, of how he pictures her in place of any old deity upon a throne in heaven, but settles for where his eyes linger on her neck.

No explanation is provided, but she lets him bring his fingers to it, ghost over where the purple melds to yellow in the shape of thick fingerprints. Add wrath to the ever growing list of his sins, because it’s all he feels amidst the envy and love.

His fingers dig into the plain back trousers when they rest upon his lap again, something foreign buzzes beneath his skin. The thought that any man would be brazen enough to lay hands upon his very own angel.. It’s unbelievable, unforgivable. His thoughts spiral so quickly it’s frightening. Timid things can become vicious, too, when backed into corners.

She manages to keep this growing storm in check when she stands and smooths her skirt, and offers to tidy up the church in an act of ‘repentance’.

The chores are simple and the sisters that linger far past service seem grateful to have her here as she takes up the broom and sweeps away at the dusty floor. They chatter away with her, take her hat and rest their hands over her shoulders when the cleaning winds to an end. His angel closes her eyes in prayer, doesn’t so much as open them to send him a knowing glance when they pray for her to find a good husband, someone who deserves such a lovely, godly woman.

She shares a meal with them while König keeps to himself with scripture in hand, mindlessly roving over the words even when his thoughts drift to the night of their first kiss.

He reasons that it’s only natural when she gives him such a display of acceptance too. It only solidifies what he knows already: this woman is no succubus— she has not crawled from the depths of Hell to drag him back with her, she’s only heavensent. An angel with a broken wing or a gaping wound somewhere… something to care for.

She’s encouraged to return by several fond voices. A few of the women even offer to walk her home, the daylight is dying and it’s dangerous for a lone lady out at night. The angel smiles at him then, sharing in the knowledge that she prefers the dark. Not the wicked things, but the peace and the beauty of the moon.

And she returns when he abstains from her.

She confides in him after each sermon that she does long to see him more often, but she likes the way he speaks of Mary Magdalene and the other women in scripture, pokes fun at the lilt to his voice when he notices her amidst the crowd of others. She says she likes him a lot before they part ways in the evenings, but she doesn’t tempt him with pouts or trailing fingers.

He thanks her for respecting his faith each time - despite being the one who crossed several boundaries initially. Though he keeps his hands to himself now, the looks he gives to her are pleading and soft. If she would pull him into a kiss now, he would let her have all of him. They could run away together, from the church, from her clients…

It’s on one of those cloudy Sundays that he does ask her if she’s stopped. He braves the look she gives him when his question comes as a hushed stutter. The comfort between them no longer feels tentative. It’s just there. Ever-present as the sky above.

“Well, you haven’t,” she whispers in response, propping her elbow up on the back of the pew. It’s as if she believes it could be so simple, but it’s not. Not for either of them.

The spiels of Heaven and Hell won’t reach her, so he doesn’t bother with those. She offers him an invitation with her words and the way she remains so open that it’s difficult not to take.

It’s been months since he touched her last and the love has only seemed to have grown. Strange. Perhaps he is as odd as she’s imagined him to be. There have been weddings in this very church, talks of long years of courtship, and even then what those men must have felt for their brides had to have paled in comparison to this. It had to.

“Tell me how to,” he breathes without any underlying thought. Saints don’t question their gods, they only serve them.

“You’re actually considering it…?”

“I might.”

The silence crowds around the bench while her fingers brush over the pages of a hymnal in repetition and his only inch closer to her clothed knee.

“You could meet me at the cemetery tonight… We could talk more there.”

“At night is probably not the best time.”

“Well, we’re friends, aren’t we?”

Friends don’t kiss. Friends don’t feel the way he feels now, or how he’s felt for the past few months. Platonic arrangements don’t require repentance. But, he bites his tongue and tilts his head back, lets it roll off the shoulder when his hand draws back to his lap. Another time.

Not where the Heavenly Father could see, if he were even watching any longer.

“… Tomorrow morning would be better.”

“Then I’ll come get you. Don’t you dare try and get out of it,” she chirps with the wildest glint of mirth alight in her eyes.

Stay.

If the church caught fire now and the rafters came to sink into the earth not a part of him would or could even care as long as she were just here. But he watches her go without a word of opposition, watches her nod toward the sisters standing out in the yard and clasp her hands in front of her, smiling to herself as though the world were made for just the two of them.

It stings during nightly prayer, and it burns when he lies in bed to wait for the morning. There are cicadas singing and footsteps on old wooden boards to remind him that he isn’t entirely alone, the scent of tobacco drifting from his window when another plaster saint hides beyond the veil of night to smoke. He doesn’t sleep, his eyes remain fixed upon the ceiling until the darkness of the room drifts to a dull gray with the sun’s slow rise.

And König does not wait for her to fetch him. Morning prayer dissolves into a mournful cry because there is no part of him that can fathom or interpret any of this. A trial should not feel like a blessing when he’s faced with it. God must be playing the stupidest game imaginable to test him with someone so lovable, so charming. Where the church leaves him feeling filthy with remorse, she purifies him with only a curl of her lips and starlight dancing in her eyes.

None of it is fair.

The guilt must be something obligatory, summoned up like puffs of dust from the floorboards. Worshiping idols is a sin, but it’s not the angel that feels like one, it’s the attention he pays to the cloud in his head that does. That’s the one that should go.

He grits through prayer with the other men, doesn’t chime in with unnecessary words of devotion this time. The coffee burns his tongue when he downs the mug and forgoes breakfast. There are dark rings beneath his eyes when he ventured to the washroom to brush his teeth, and there are whispers in the halls that the young priest must be either coming under a possession or God is preparing him for something. Something big and exciting. He ignores those and the stern glances from the little nuns in their robes, huffs something of a joke about a momentary sabbatical when he lumbers out of the walls of the church.

There are no new bruises this time, but König has the memory of the last ones stuck in his skull. A clear image of four small marks on the side of her neck, another on its opposite. Larger, more pronounced. Five marks from a hand that never belonged there. Kerosene and a match are what the thoughts running rampant in his head would look like to an outsider.

She tells him on the thin picnic blanket that she’s got a new client, that he gives her enough to where she doesn’t have to consider any others now. The man has a much stranger set of interests, ones she hadn’t delved into before him, but she’s merciful enough to withhold the details that would lead König to make the crucifixion seem a gentle affair.

She tells him because she wants him to be proud that it’s only one now. That she’s making some sort of progress for him. None of it is fair, and he knows without asking that she feels more akin to the way that he does than any of the holy men.

And still he can’t help but ask, “Do you love him?”

“Of course not,” comes her immediate response, and there’s a near imperceptible glare there, judging by the fire in her eyes. It’s cute… and he feels the world's ugliest fool for daring to ask for reassurance as though this relationship was any sort of normal. If it were even a relationship at all.

Their hands touch, reaching for the same flaky pastry in the basket she brought along and Heaven’s bells ring out in his ears when her gaze sweeps over him. Everything is sugared dough and right again. She offers him her lap in place of a pillow for his head when the clouds grow thick and gray above, feeds him from her own hand and runs her fingers across his face with the other.

“How did you get the sky in your eyes?,” she asks him, makes him blush so easily his heart stutters within his chest. He feels like a boy in her presence, and in a way, to her, maybe he even is just some inexperienced whelp nipping at her heels.

The angel does not judge, she softly rakes her nails behind his ear and neck until he shivers in her hold. His hair is next, a victim to her comfort as she tousles it between her fingers, strokes him like the smallest of kittens when he feels anything but.

“I don’t know what you mean,” he mutters, raising a hand to brush at her cheek. Warm as he expected, yet softer. There’s nothing wicked here, only a woman. A woman who loves him as he loves her.

“Your eyes are pretty… sad. I love them,” comes the sweet reply that reduces him to nothing but scattered feathers and a howling ache.

Did he even exist before now? Before her? This woman has filled him with such purpose, breathed new life into a stagnant soul. The church was a safe place for a man scorned by the rest of the world, but that blanket felt unnecessary now. He wanted to feel her hands move over him like this, smell the petals in her perfume, hear her voice speak to him, all of it. Forever.

“I think that I lose myself when I’m with you.”

“Does that hurt you?”

“Nein… I’m happier like this.” It’s the closest to a confession he can whisper.

And he returns to her, morning after morning König rushes through paying his dues to God and his men to return to her like this.

When the graveyard is silent and the dew still sticks to the blades of grass, her voice sounds sweeter somehow beneath the glow of the rising sun. The birds sing around them and often she pushes wildflowers into his hair, clasps her hands around his neck and teaches him to kiss.

Her tongue moves with grace, his is only a thing of greed. Each chaste peck is met with a hunger from somewhere so foggy and forgotten it never had a home at all, not before now. The angel needn’t show him where to rest his hands, they pry at every part of her: gentle brushes against her cheek and neck, kneading at her shoulders, further, further until he does finally starve off any lingering thought of what is good or evil to explore the curve of her lower back.

Most of the time words come in afterthought, once lips are wet and plush from this gentle devouring, after she steels herself from running her hands any further down than his stomach. He tells her in truth that he prays to her, not for. Not anymore.

The shadows cast from the aspens keep them tucked far away from sight, from God and his people alike. A temple for two without four walls to close them in. The only place on this earth that he’s ever found himself in perfect solace.

“I want to try something,” she breathes just when he’s prepared himself to leave. The tree at his back, knees parted, where she remains sat across from him. There’s nervousness there, not the fretful way she looks after a long night, nor the way she looked to him upon their first meetings. “Do you trust me?”

“Ja… more than anyone,” he reassures in a soft tone of voice, tipping her chin up with the tips of two fingers to further accentuate it. Her beauty and her uncertainty always strike a chord within him, a fire that never dwindles. When her eyes search his own, his breath catches.

He doesn’t say a word when she peels away the robes from the front of his trousers. Her hands linger on at the waistband for a moment, takes enough time to offer the gentlest peck to the side of his neck before continuing. It’s another first, being exposed to a woman like this when she lowers the band and has him shimmy backward to free his cock from his pants. Soft with shame or embarrassment, a concoction of other things he could not name, but the moment she looks up at him with pure delight he feels himself grow stiff.

“Wow… You’ve got a perfect cock,” she assesses with a laugh, finger running up the length of it as it twitches to life under her touch.

Scheisse.

He strokes her cheek with reverence as she bends down before him, watching him carefully through her eyelashes. Her warm breath drifts over his manhood and he’s already horribly aware that this would not last long. Another lesson, like the kisses, maybe. She could mold him any way that she likes and he would be pleased to play the role of her Adam.

The tongue isn’t what he anticipated. She flattens it against the tip, breathes a laugh when a keening whine is pulled from his throat. To see such an ugly, vulgar thing pressed to the beautiful mouth he’s kissed a dozen times now. It feels wrong. There’s no hesitation when her lips wrap around him. And then all of it— everything is just right. Every moment spent in this hazy, loving glow with her is right. If Hell were to come from this, then let it.

He can’t tear his eyes away from her, can’t bring himself to speak when he feels the way his cock hits the back of her throat, feels her swallow around him and make such a pleased noise as she wraps her fingers around the expanse she can not take.

Its pitiful, the way he must look: mouth agape, eyes lidded and heavy… He brings a hand to her hair, and runs his fingers through it as if she isn’t letting him fuck her mouth, but rather in the midst of something far holier, softer. Sacrilegious or divine. If God we’re watching, let him.

She pulls back a little, an obscene, wet sound in answer when her mouth is drawn back enough to merely press a kiss the tip, puffy lips glossy with drool. “Is this okay…? Not too much?”

“You are so pretty… it feels… just keep going.” His voice no longer possesses any feigned confidence, it begs like a wounded thing, chanting, “Bitte. Please…”

His hips tilt up when she parts her lips again, all trepidation be damned. This is something, something he’s aches for and never had the chance to feel. All of the ache, the longing to be diminished, to unite with the angel who fled Heaven for him. The cock pushes at her open mouth, smears thick beads of precum over her cheek, before she takes him in again with a delighted, muffled sound. Her soft mouth, the tongue that thoroughly laps at his shaft and follows her movements to wrap and suck at the head. Otherworldly, and… unfathomably bittersweet.

Her lips suction around him, the movements of her wrist only increasing, and with the second roll of his hips he feels his stomach begin to tense as pure heat rolls its way through him. A gentle coursing becomes a blinding inferno in mere seconds, and regrettably, instinctively, that hand so gently combing through her hair comes to snare it instead and force her down further.

His soft grunts and low pleading morph to something choked and almost agonized. It’s the purest rapture, a pleasure so absolute his eyes prick as he bows lower to cover over her as she swallows his devotion by mouth. The angel pants breathlessly when she pulls away with saliva and semen still stringing them together, cleansed by his thumb tracing over her lips, replaced so swiftly by his own mouth. The kiss is so chaste it feels misplaced here, but she nuzzles against him in this comedown from ecstasy, doesn’t even chastise how he lasted a mere two minutes.

And he vows, vows in the sweetness of her comfort and love that no one else will ever have this again.

— — —

Abstaining from meals during a fast is a struggle in and of itself; abstaining from her is some long-forgotten circle of Hell.

It’s not avoidance, but a necessity.

To think that his first sexual encounter would provoke days of concern, a wistful daydream about a future he never would have thought to have had otherwise. There was a desperate, starving desire to repent when he first arrived home after that, but nothing that a bottle of communion wine and a cold shower could not wash away. Repentance has lost its merit to him.

And after seven days, he’s perfectly aware of what he must do. To absolve them both from things where atonement seems far from a necessity at all. He folds his holy robes and leaves them on the bed in the room too small, set neatly next to his Bible. The rosary was the one thing that König could not bear to part with. The beads, red and shimmery, were chosen and strung together with him in mind. It’s slipped into the pocket of his jeans after the plain, black t-shirt is pulled over his head.

There’s a hammer in his gloved hand, and he doesn’t recall where he found it. Lying with its head rusted in the churchyard, perhaps half buried beneath the soil. Some of the other clergymen are talented at fixing things, but König’s never been very good with that. His first rosary was broken with a careless slip of his fingers, and he’s shattered more porcelain than he could count on accident.

Even communion wine can be a bit too strong, sometimes. Or maybe that’s only when the bottle’s been entirely downed. He’ll blame one of his betters when the stock is counted and one turns up missing, if they bother to come seek him out again at all.

The motel is dead at this hour, so late into the night. The few normal visitors have already been accounted for with watchful eyes, and the angel waits in one of the rooms on the second floor. He imagines the laces on her lingerie, the healing bruises on her throat, and that sweet expression upon her face. Or maybe that one was reserved solely for him. He prayed… no, he hoped so.

After tonight, there would be no more mercies for him. Or perhaps there would be an abundance, blessings from the vultures and the wolves and the maggots he would feed. New gods that were still far lesser than the angel who suffers men in sheets, but only looks to him with love.

And he doesn’t have to wait long, because the demon finds his way here with haste. Does he come here every night looking as proud as he does now? His attire even resonates with death, black with those white details, a costume that seems so fitting for one about to meet the very face he wears.

Killing someone isn’t so easy. Cain murdered his brother with a rock, described in such loose detail that one would think a playful throw led to Abel’s end. But it’s not so, not when the victim is hellbent on living.

The demon is smaller, but strong. He’s been in situations like this before, doesn’t have to spit the words to tell König so. They’re felt with each blow, with the sharp edge of the knife this bastard manages to dig into his side. Just barely, before it’s jerked out of his hand and thrown several paces away. The skittering across the tarmac is enough to chant doom.

There’s blood. More with the first strike of the hammer. It seemed so much easier in thought rather than practice. In his imaginings, the head would split with the first fall like an overripe apple, crumple in and the breath would leave the demon in an instant. Instead, it’s dozens. Blow after blow while the smaller man struggles below him.

A strange catharsis comes over him when his soul grows murky, when his hands are slick and the struggle comes to an abrupt end. The sobering only comes when he’s spent an hour driving down the most forested roads to find a place to dump the body. There’s no tact to it, laying a man to rest in shrubbery and dirt. With a head so collapsed it’s hard to think of this as a man at all. A corpse, something no longer simply human.

König does not pray for him when he rests the hammer in the deceased’s hands. Does not offer it more than a passing thought when he peels away back toward home. The deed is done and he’s free of those horrid burdens tainting his heart, keeping him held back on a short leash to divinity.

Like fate, she’s found out in the garden again after the bloodied shirt and stained gloves are discarded. The wound is patched with what he could find available, a hastily tied strip of gauze covers his side. A week or so at best until the gash would heal into an ugly, jagged scar. It seemed even a bastard devil’s blade couldn't be sharp enough to fell a Goliath when he’s caught by surprise and horny.

He feigns merely emptying the garbage into an outside bin, plays off the sting of the gash with a humble, lumbering gait. She beams up at him through lines of tears running down the sides of her face like small, silver streams beneath the darkened sky above.

He’s not a saint anymore, no… a guardian angel. The archangel Michael with his sword set ablaze and divinity scrawled into every scale of his chest plate. Something holy and glowing, unsullied and beautiful.

Like her.

“You’re crying…”

“Sorry… bad night. Client just ghosted me.”

No. This was good, couldn’t she see that? All the sleepless nights, the prayer and the constant, overwhelming longing. Everything he had suffered for her, and still she only comes to him with the thought of that horrible thing in mind.

“He’s dead.” Maybe it was just the fear of a loss of money. He had enough saved up someplace, and the collection pool would be beneficial enough to pivot them towards a new life. No church. No lonely motel. He had to test it, give her a trial and hope that she did not simply break.

The look that crosses her face is one of confusion… Then comes a strange twist of relief. Her mouth falls slightly agape and her arms squeeze slightly around his middle.

“We just spoke a few hours ago. How…?” Finally, suspicion.

Maybe he’s too drunk on playing God now to care, to realize this isn’t how a good man would have handled things. The only thing that holds any weight, that resonated with him any at all is the thought that he loves her, that he will protect her until his dying breath, pray at her feet and anything else she might ask.

That’s what pulls him to press her down against the bed of the truck, to kiss her with every lesson she’s blessed him with in mind. Tongue and teeth, fire and spit, she accepts all of it. She doesn’t beg him for an answer: she’s seen the worst of men, taken cocks far less deserving. Her hands find his hair as they drift away here, gives the strands a sharp tug to usher him closer, roll her tongue against his own.

The sheer tights she wears beneath her skirt are ripped at the seam between her legs by large hands, panties pushed to the side before she finally presses against the broad chest against her to gain some space. Her breath is shallow, face warmed and hair a mess, still the loveliest thing he’s ever laid his eyes upon.

“Are you afraid?” He tilts his head to the side, curious, as if there were no reason for her deny him of this now after he had just *killed for her*. After he forsook what once was all he knew all for her. He would do it again without question, with no gain at all, but the sting of rejection was not something he could entirely choke back.

But his angel never runs out of mercies, it seems.

“No… just give me a second.”

She slips her hand down between her parted legs, demonstrates for him just how to prepare a woman. He watches, mesmerized, as she circles the bud above her slit, dips her finger downward to spread wetness along her flesh. Dew over petals. A finger slips inside of her, and all at once is shoved aside.

“Let me,” he pleads, already pressing both hands to her inner thighs, tilting her hips upward as his head sinks between them.

“You don’t have to,” she whispers, but grants him his wish with feverish nods that betray her words, allows him to kiss her sex as he shifts himself into a better position.

There’s nothing to go off of but her sounds, the cries of pleasure when his tongue lolls out to lick at the nub where most of her reactions stem from. He mutters against her about her taste, something so ethereal he could not even begin to place. Her scent envelopes him in full, and he’s never felt closer to anything prior. She allows his clumsy licking, moans louder for him when he can’t stifle his own groaning. The pants are too tight around him, and patience is another virtue he finds that he lacks.

She doesn’t reach some fantastical height of pleasure when he presses a finger into her cunt, but her body seems to fit even that like a glove, squeezing around him as he lazily circles her bud with his tongue. She doesn’t come, but she tugs him by the hair to usher him back into another kiss, hands roving down his abdomen to free his manhood from the barriers of fabric. And finally… finally he’s granted entrance to Heaven.

The first thrust leaves him spiraling, lost into a world of silk and honey. And the angel does not give him any time to recover, she writhes beneath him, shifting her hips to pull him in deeper, muffles each whine and groan from his lips with her tongue hungrily lapping over his own.

He’s thought about having a woman many times, but never imagined it could feel this good. To be so complete, every woe or fear cast aside in the act of mindless pleasure.

He doesn’t know where to put his hands, to keep his eyes shut or gaze down at her and cease this assault on his mouth to tell her that he loves her, that she feels like pure fucking paradise and he’s already on the verge of coming undone. He settles for moving, dragging himself in and out of her in slow movements, turning his face away to bite down on her shoulder when the feeling of her walls cinching him like a vise threatens to spur him into finishing on the spot.

“That’s just… god… you’re good at this,” she gasps when a hand is sunk between their bodies, flicking at her clit as he spears her open. Her hands find his back, raking her fingernails down past his shoulder blades. It’s agonizing, trying to fight back the urge to breed her full, watch his come spill out from her perfect cunt until he finds himself hard again. The very thought makes him gasp, grind himself deeper inside of her as her nails dig into his back.

“Mein… this is… you understand…,” he’s babbling, hardly coherent, and she only seems to accept it. The angel chants her agreement amidst the beginning of her rapture.

She cries out for him when she comes, her sex pulsing around him as she shivers that all restraint is immediately lost. She hugs him so tightly, squirms as she hisses a curse into his ear.

It’s a miracle he’s even lasted this long. He halts his pace for a mere second to prop himself up, gaze down at her in absolute reverence before that fire swallows him whole. It’s unceremonious when he comes: a growl and a wail as he buries he face into her neck and pumps every last drop of his seed into her pussy.

He doesn’t want to pull out, doesn’t want to leave such a complete embrace. The world has already ended for him, a long time ago on the very night they met. There’s no need to drag out their ruin with whatever else occurs when she’s out of his grasp.

She strokes over the marks she’s made, gentle, tickling touches of her fingertips and shy giggles when their eyes meet again.

“I thought I would never get to do this with you,” she admits, quiet when her hands drift to cup his jaw instead. “You’re perfect, you know that…?”

He wants to cry, wants to fuck all of his woes away, kneel before her and beg that she find a place where they can never be apart. Steal her away to some cabin up in the Alps, where flowers grow in thick patches on the hillsides, a wild garden of her very own.

“… You should stay with me,” he huffs into her ear, fingers dimpling the flesh of her hips as he tries desperately to force himself closer to her.

“You can’t mean the church,” she giggles. “So where should we go?”

“We can figure that out in the morning, hm?”