#small change pleases forgive me I am human :(

[nsharks]

.

[nvuy]

confiteor (WILL YOU EVER LOOK UP AGAIN?) — sunday

summary. the bronze melodia is a position that requires weariness, empathy, and patience. unfortunately for sunday, he receives far more than he expects through the voice in the window.

notes. i’m ashamed. this is dedicated to the anon that held me at gunpoint and forced me to post this to tumblr. otherwise, you can read it here.

you can read part 2 here !

warnings. mdni. this is LONGGG it’s about 7k words. religious themes, religious guilt, explicit sexual content, very inappropriate use of a confessional, mild degradation but in a religious way, reader is AFAB i fear and uhh. indecent and guided mutual tug sessions, if you catch my drift.

“Next. Please, step forward.”

Sunday had heard it all before. Timid footsteps, hushed whispers, skin stretching as the person trembled and fidgeted. It was always confronting to sinners, to step close to his voice and absolve.

Nothing truly shocked him anymore. He’d fallen in a state of numbness, in taking this position. A Bronze Melodia, as it was called.

He’d heard murder confessions, perjury, disloyalty, misconduct, everything. He had to grow used to it; this was his job. To forgive, to press his fists into palms beyond the confessors' sight line, and pretend he was as all-forgiving as he appeared to be.

He had learned to hold his voice steady.

Sunday found himself absentmindedly fixing his sleeves, though they already sat perfectly on his wrists.

What he could never predict was whether the person behind the window was here to absolve, or to mock the Aeons. It was always a guessing game for him; perhaps that’s what kept him from straying too far from the path.

The position was tedious, though patience was a virtue of his. He liked to akin himself to an adaptable man, warping his words and honeying his rather monotonous tone to that of reassurance. A false promise of hope, if you will.

He was good at that. Humans were exceedingly predictable in most of their actions; he had learned as such and had tried to drill the knowledge and dangers of the species into his dear sister, too.

Humans were cruel. Robin had never believed him, even in the feats of his struggles as a child, how one of the wings below his ear was mercilessly snapped in an act of child’s play. Child curiosity, it was dubbed as, though to him, it felt more like hatred.

He remembered crying that night, with his right-wing bandaged by his caregiver, and Robin had to remain in his room and sing him to sleep.

Now, it was different.

Quiet shuffles of footsteps were heard. He could tell they were the last recipient remaining, for the muted idle chatter of attendants had faded, and the sun was beginning to set. Members of kinship and the like would return home and sin, and then enter the church begging for forgiveness tomorrow. A never-ending, boorish and lonely cycle.

How shy. He listened to apprehensive slow steps until he heard the click of sharp heels stop just short of the window.

“Come to me, my devotee. I have sought THEIR presence within us.” Sweet words, peppered with powdered sugar poured from his tongue. “Tell me… what ails you such?”

The quiet intake of a breath, sharp and hushed.

Curious, Sunday leaned against the interior wall, just barely closer.

When there was no answer, he added, “do not be afraid. I am here to forgive. I cannot judge you.”

Another harsh inhale.

And then, “I apologise, Reverend.”

“Not at all.” A small, gentle smile pulled onto his lips. You could not see him through the box, and he made sure to stay clear of the iron bars of the window, but he hoped you heard the warmth and comforting sweetness in his tone. “Are you new to the congregation? Your voice is unfamiliar.”

He heard the shuffling of clothes. A pause, and then a wilting, “yes– no, sir.” Another pause, longer than the last. “I have not visited the confessional, but I do sometimes attend service.”

Sunday hummed curiously. “And what has prompted your change of heart?”

He heard the tapping of nails against the exterior of the box, pensive and thoughtful. Rhythmic, like in time to a tune he couldn’t quite place his finger on.

The setting, orange glow of the sunlight, partially tinted a deep bloodied colour through the stained glass windows of the church, crept further through the bars of the confessional as it drew closer to the horizon. The light was warm on the lick of his fingertips that rested close to the frame.

The persistent tap, tap, tap sounded like an agitated display of impatience. Like a song of trepidation and dread, yet much too quick to be sorrowful. Excitement, perhaps?

Then, there was the hard swallow of a lump in their throat. He heard it through the wall.

“I fell in love with a man.”

Their voice, your voice, rang clear as if you were standing next to him without the muffle of the confessional in between his body and yours.

Sunday’s eyes flitted to the wall by his head as if he could see you through the wood.

He said nothing.

Speckles of dust caught in the setting orange sun from the stained glass windows.

“A beautiful man,” you continued softly. “Generous, kind, considerate…” Your voice tapered off like a votive candle flickering in the breeze.

Sunday remained quiet, choosing instead to focus on the soft beating of his heart in his ears, and the sound of your breathing.

There was another ruffle of clothes—a blazer perhaps? It sounded like stiffened cotton or something as luxurious as pure wool. He wondered if such a material could be purchased by someone so common. Wool was a fleeting thought; an easy purchase with the wave of a credit card.

There was a pregnant pause, as if you, too, did not know what to say.

“Is he a bad man?” Sunday inquired encouragingly, still soft and eloquent.

A hiss of an inhale.

“No, not at all.”

Still, nothing.

Sunday watched the wall for a moment, imagining a figure on the other side fidgeting nervously. He could hear the tussle of form-fitted clothes shifting back and forth as if the devotee had been unable to stand still.

“I offer my sincerest apologies,” he started gently. “But I fail to understand any wrongdoings in your confession.” He prompted his voice to remain even. Patience. All in due time. “If he is as truly good a man as you put it, then there is nothing I see to absolve.”

“It’s not him,” you tried. There was a drone in your tone, as if you were trying to defend yourself. “It’s who he is.”

“An unattainable man, I presume? Or, is he perhaps forbidden?” The pressure was light. He was not so much forcing or coaxing words from your throat, but to embolden you instead.

He heard you hum nervously in agreement. He thought it to be a reply to both of his questions.

“Is it his status?”

Another uncomfortable tussle of clothing.

“Yes, sir.” He heard you lean against the confessional through the strain of the wall. “He is a holy man.”

“Ah… a man of the church?”

“I cannot want what I cannot have,” you dwelled softly. “I know the answer is to let go, but it has been months, and I have grown worse.”

Sunday hummed. Quite the predicament indeed. Such a precious scenario, though. Somebody ordinary in love with the unordinary. So sweet, like fruit growing on a tree in a sacred garden.

The tragedy of unattainable romance was fleeting for the congregation. Even Robin, his dear sister, a truly devoted romantic at heart, could never commit herself to a person. To worship another, and to take eyes from Xipe, would be worth a painful, slow and torturous death unlike no other.

Grotesque and twisted, like the many priests before him, who had been slashed and severed for their transgressions.

To turn your back on The Family–

He willed the thoughts away.

“I do hear you. I pray for your struggles.” His gloves pressed to the window. “But, it is not unreasonable, nor a defiance of the Holy, to be in love with a man of the church.”

“That’s the thing. It’s beyond love, Reverend,” you said, hoarse and strained, like you’d raked a hand down your jugular. “It’s everything.”

The shift of clothes again. This time, a hand brushed against a zipper, though there was no tug at the clip. He listened attentively, like a song he’d never heard before.

The stretch of clothes around skin, the glimpse of an expensive leather shoe from the corner of his eye, and attire inappropriate for the church. Exposed legs, too much skin, a low neckline of a shirt. Patterned stockings following black embroidered flowers and thorny stems travelled up bare legs like serpents.

“I want to ruin him.”

There it was.

“I want it so he thinks no more of the Aeon he worships, and only of me.”

His lips only barely parted at what he was hearing. A startled quiet breath escaped him.

He heard the skin of your knuckles pull taught into fists. They tapped against the wood.

“But it’s wrong of me to think this way, so I humbly request your blessings, Reverend, even if I–” You paused. Sunday flinched when a hand pressed against the iron bars, dreadfully close to the feathered wings beneath his ears. “There’s something bad inside of me. I need your help.”

Never had he heard something like this. A sinner be so outwardly humble and honest in their speech; to admit that you were wrong. To admit that your behaviour was treacherous and ghastly.

And to pine after a man of worship and unbreaking devotion.

To defy the Lord. To fight teachings, to fight him and his words. A stubbornness like no other, and one so incredibly shameful and distasteful, and yet, you still carried a weight of guilt heavy on your chest.

Another shudder of a breath. Another pitiful, desperate noise. All to receive his good graces.

“I don’t ask for forgiveness anymore. I don’t think I even deserve your blessings, sire. I don’t think anybody does.” Maybe he would agree with you, and maybe he wouldn’t. Instead, he leaned against the wall and stared up towards the ceiling of the confessional. “I only ask to hear your voice.”

Sunday’s breath hitched at the suspicious sound of a zipper being tugged, roaming hands, far too purposeful in their placement. He didn’t wish to imagine where your fingers travelled.

Instead, he squeezed his eyes shut.

“If you have convinced yourself that nothing can be done, then why would you seek me?” he asked, a waver in his tone. His ear pressed to the wall again, cold against his warm skin. “…If you think you cannot be absolved, then I am unable to help you.”

“I want relief,” was all you said. You pressed against the confessional. “Blessed Reverend, I want you to relieve me.”

Sunday was at a loss for words. He was listening attentively again.

You did not ask for forgiveness, peaceful solitude, or punishment. He did not understand what you were referring to specifically, choosing instead to pull delicately at the tips of his gloves. They suddenly felt constricting, like they’d grown a size too small for his hands.

Usually, he’d refrain from mindless fiddling and fidgeting. Something was different now.

Something warm ran from the pit of his stomach up to his neck.

It was vile. Like a serpent’s tongue following the rigid bone of his spine towards the nape of his neck. Warm and forked, like a pitchfork wielded in the hands of the irreverent.

The slimy body of the snake would twist and coil around his neck, squeezing the delicate flesh, marring it, coercing more sweet honey from his tongue until you were writhing.

The localised swelling heat curling in his stomach burned hotter when your breathing faltered and strayed from its natural rhythm.

It faltered too immorally to be mistaken for a simple hitch, or an error in your presentation. It was not a reflection of apprehension, nor fear.

It was–

“Would you be honest with me?” Sunday asked gently. His trembling hands curled into fists, still pressed against the wall and out of view of the window. “I only ask one answer of you.”

“Of course.” Strained, weak, unsure. Another pathetic attempt of an even breath left your lips. The aroma of something rich and sweet wavered through the bars of the window. “Anything for you.”

How depraved. Indecent, perverse. Your tone was repulsive, and so incredibly honest.

He heard the sound of something slippery, like the swallowing of spit in your mouth, or perhaps something far far more obscene.

He was tempted to move closer, to bite at the hand that fed him.

Your devotion was corrupt, focused solely on the sound of his breathing from inside the confessional. You were not here for redemption.

The box grew warm with his shaken breaths.

“Then, pray tell…” His temple rested against the interior of the confessional, and something hot and vile stirred in his stomach, like fiery pits of devastation. Like claws from a being unforeseen by Aeons above. “Are your hands between your thighs?”

You let out a stuttered gasp.

Sunday closed his eyes and tried to control his shaken breathing. His perfectly fitted clothes suddenly felt too tight, too restricting, every crease and fold tattering and ruined heating skin.

He swallowed thickly, wings barely catching on the window of the confessional.

“I’m not–” Your hands abandoned their position and pressed to the window, the diagonal frames digging into your soft flesh. The pad of your longest finger shimmered in the setting sunlight. “–I’m wrong. There’s something wrong with me.”

His gloved nails dug into his thighs. The dove white trousers stretched with the pressure.

He could not see you fully, no, for if he could, he was afraid he’d throw the door open, drag you into his lap and satisfy that burning ache that ricocheted in his stomach.

“To think of you this way,” you continued meekly. “It’s disgusting and vile and I need you to help me.”

He had to agree with you, though his fingers pressed just shy of the borders of the window. He almost grabbed your hand and dragged his tongue up your finger.

He felt the same. Hot and sticky, clothes clinging to him like they’d been doused in glue. The feeling pressed into his burning skin like a fragrance of saffron and black peppers.

That seductively enticing aroma of your perfume that lingered through the gaps in the windows. Honey and dessert, and the salty smell of your sweat. He did not eat sweets anymore; that sweet tooth was long left to dust and decay, and yet his mouth watered.

He felt as though he was being tempted to bite into something that held dire consequences.

Desperate to relieve the burning below his skin, Sunday unbuttoned his blazer. “Do you wish to be absolved?”

“I–” He heard you shuffle. The telltale swish of cloth. The click of heels. You’d dressed up for him, even if he couldn’t see you, and you couldn’t see him. Even your painted nails he peered at; a dark navy blue, like the wings at his waist that stretched in relief when he freed them from the confines of his jacket. “I don’t deserve it.”

“So, why did you come?” he asked. The larger, navy blue wings were much too big for the small perimeter of the confessional, but anything was better than to feel as restricted as he was.

His gloved hands pressed to the window now.

He wanted to touch you.

God, no. He couldn’t think like this.

He wanted his fingerprints branded into your skin, to stain every inch of your flesh like cigarette burns, forever marring the perfection.

“To relieve myself.”

Sunday smiled, and it was pained. You heard it in his tone. “How honest.” His temple pressed onto the cool wooden box again, leaning as close as he could to your voice. “Aren’t you ashamed?”

His forehead pressed to the wood beside the window, out of view. The orange rays of the sun setting outside licked upon his fingertips that curled over the iron bars. The warmth felt cold.

“Very,” was all you said.

Sunday fought the urge to moan, pressing his teeth into his tongue and hissing at the pain.

This was wrong.

He couldn’t stop himself.

“Go on, then. One hand. Relieve yourself.”

He heard a muffled sigh of relief. Perhaps you, too, had pressed yourself against the exterior of the confessional. The only thing parting you from his body was a thin slide of wood.

A sacred sanctuary that you would reform from pure selfishness.

One of the hands on the window abandoned its firm grip around the frames, and he heard a quiet gasp.

It was quickly cut off.

“Let me hear you,” Sunday whispered through the window. A gloved hand raked down the side of the window, and his head knocked against the corner of the confessional. His halo suddenly felt like a crown of thorns, weighted and punishing.

He would indulge.

If you were here to ruin him, then he would indulge.

He heard a wet squelch that made him shiver. His other hand had absentmindedly crawled up his thigh, trembling to remain flat on the seat. The skin below his trousers was pulled taught and had grown sensitive.

You moaned, and it was so close to his ear that his spine snapped straight. His fingers brushed over his straining cock beneath his belt.

The awful, awful, yet so beautiful sounds that tore from your throat left him reeling for more. For his mind to fill in the blanks, squeezing his eyes shut tight until even the light from the window was shunned out of his eyelids.

“Slow your hand,” he whispered. “Enjoy yourself properly.”

The squelching slowed significantly after only a moment of hesitation. He heard you continuously pant like a helpless mutt, confused, perhaps frustrated, too.

The other hand still curled as tight as it could around the iron diagonal bars of the window shook with reckless abandon.

Debauch sin felt good. Like a drug. Like alcohol washing down his throat and filling his stomach. So, so good, like the slide of his hand up his shirt. His other hand, much less secure, fumbled with the golden buckle of his belt.

He wondered if you felt the same. “How will you sleep tonight?”

“I won’t,” you whispered hoarsely. He was sure your appearance was something to match the rasp of your voice. “I will toss and turn.”

As will he. He’ll lay on his side, tangled between freshly washed white sheets and feathered pillows, and touch himself. He knows it so. He feels the strain of his palm tracing along the hot skin, thumbing the beading slit while he thinks of your perfume.

His cock twitched in the confines of his pants when the heel of his palm knocked against his tip. So hot, and so difficult to breathe. This box was not made to entertain whores, nor himself.

Sunday managed to unbuckle his belt. The leather straps smack against the side of the box.

You’re so wet. He can hear you through the confessional, and a dreamy sigh escapes his nose.

“How many fingers are inside of you?” He couldn’t quite tell. His hands curled into fists.

“Just one, sire.”

Sunday huffed, thumbing the button of his trousers around his waist. The claws in the pit of his stomach had returned, scratching and marring the inner walls and slicing through the bubbles of acid, desperate to be set free. It hurt.

He could imagine how you felt. He could imagine everything; the rhythmic sound of a single finger sliding in and out of the pretty wet hole between your legs. Pressing your body against the exterior of the box, desperate to feel the cold wood against your burning skin.

Your finger being hugged tight inside of you, pressing and dragging along sensitive nerves deep near your womb.

He was a mess.

Hair frazzled, halo dimming and fading when the light angled into the box just right, wings twitching, battling a game of whether he was to wrap them around himself or spread out as wide as they could.

You must’ve heard the zip of his fly undone, for you gasped, and your finger sped up accordingly. That same wet squishing of your poor poor limbs trying to accommodate how shameful you’d become.

His teeth caught on the tip of his glove and pulled the material off. The white cotton fell to the floor uselessly.

“You must be so lonely,” you said to him through the window. “So deprived.” He felt the fanning of warm breath against his ear. “I can fix that.”

Sunday, attentively listening with glowing cheeks, slowly freed his cock from his pants. A sigh slipped past his wet lips.

A different sound echoed from between your legs, and you groaned as close to his ear as you could.

“I want to hear you, Reverend.”

His hand dragged up his cock and he moaned. It was a shameful display of sincerity, and he wished he had bit his tongue again. Instead, he panted against the wood of the confessional, and muttered, “touch yourself.”

A wet noise that made his hips shift forward into his hand told him your finger had abandoned your insides, instead dragging up to play with that precious bundle of nerves.

He heard the stretch of skin, the shift of whatever clothes you had kept on yourself, and what you had thrown to the side. You were leaning against the box; your scent was stronger, that perfume and something sweeter, mixed with the salt and sweat of your skin.

He only hoped your thighs were as parted as his were. One of the sides of his knees knocked gently against the wall of the confessional.

So wrong. So shameful, so blasphemous, to do this, to please you and please himself to the thought of you, and then exit the church as if it had never happened. As if he wasn’t trapped fucking his palm like a mutt in heat, unable to control the panting and the incessant whispers of groans that escaped his lips.

Cum beaded at his slit, sticky and dribbling down to the base of his tip.

He wanted nothing more than to heave the door open, taste the slick that ran down your legs, and then bend you over the nearby podium and–

“So wet,” he murmured through the window. The only response you formed was a whimper. “So shameless. Do you feel guilty?”

“O-of course,” you tried. It was pathetic between the hot coiling in your stomach, like a deadly serpent curling around its prey and squeezing. “Do you?”

Sunday tried to imagine a hot tongue cleaning the mess of his cock, tracing the cum pooling at the base and flattening against his tip, angling just right to press into his slit flushed an angry scarlet, like wine and blood.

He could imagine ruining you for any other man. To slam his hips up against yours, to drag the head of his cock along those plush velvety insides until you were sobbing, struggling to accommodate him. He imagined you’d be perfect.

If only he could do all of those things without repercussions.

Tracing the swollen veins of his cock while you played with yourself with wet fingers was already too far. He could foresee punishment on his behalf and yours. Perhaps death, though neither of you deserved such luxury.

He did not answer.

Instead, he asked, “will you return?” His voice was shaky at best, and filthy at worst.

There was a hopeful twinge to his tone. He prayed you did not hear it.

You hesitated. There was a waver in your tone. “I shouldn’t.”

Your voice sent his mind reeling. He was thumbing at his slit while his thighs trembled. When his palm was coated in enough of his cum, he continued dragging his hand up and down the head of his cock.

He was growing dizzy. “But?”

“But I will.”

“This shouldn’t happen again,” Sunday heaved. His hand grew desperate, wetter, and the urge to pull the door of the confessional off its hinges and take you on the floor and away from the stained glass windows where the sun peered through was filling his senses. He yearned to know what you felt like squeezing around him. “You should not let this happen again.”

“I need you, Reverend,” you confessed. “If I am honest, my sins will be atoned for. As will yours.”

“You will not touch me tonight, and I will not touch you.” It was final. Without room for argument, though he sounded somewhat disappointed.

“But what about tomorrow night?”

Sunday breathed against the wood, tugging at his collar and rolling his hips into his hand. “If you return, I will punish you for it.”

“You tempt me, Reverend,” you said through a moan. “I will think of you tonight.” Your fingers had returned to your hole. He’d recognised the noise, somehow more obscene than it had been before.

His cock ached with hatred. How you would feel dripping down him like an unsatiated whore, trying so desperately to ask for his forgiveness, to try and seduce Godhood.

He hoped you felt empty. He hoped you hungered for his cock through the wall, breathing erratic and loud as his palm dragged along the length of hot skin over and over again.

Ecstasy filled his throat and every vein in his body. Goodness, the edge was glorious. He pilfered off the side for a moment before he stopped his hand.

His cock twitched in agony and he let out a groan that tapered off.

“Don’t you dare cum,” he snapped through the box.

You whined, but your hand obediently stilled

“I would imagine you’re filthy now.” He pressed his forehead to the cool wood. The surface heated up along with his skin almost instantly. It was so hot here. “Use your fingers again.”

“How many?”

So obedient. He almost purred at your behaviour. “Two.”

Oh, he spoiled you. That familiar sound again, so wet and warm and inviting, and you were moaning and shivering around your own hand. He could imagine slippery slick pooling along your palm now, lathering your fingers like a thin paste.

His own fingers found the flushed swollen tip of his cock again. It twitched in his palm. There was a greedy puddle of cum forming at the base of his cock now, and he quickly wiped drool from his lip.

Already frazzled from the orgasm he’d denied just mere minutes ago, your breathing grew louder and louder, though not alarming enough.

“Touch yourself again,” he rasped out. His halo was now a liability, too ironic. His wings were cramped against the interior walls, desperate to be let out. Wet fingers rubbed along his tip in rhythm with the sound of your own moving against yourself, drawing wet slippery rings around that adorable swollen bundle of nerves between your legs.

He hopes you struggle to cum tonight without his guidance. It’s a fleeting thought, but it makes his thighs lock and freeze against the seat.

He hopes you never find any satisfaction in another man. Wouldn’t that be a spectacle? A mindless bumbling whore stumbling after a High Priest, another Bronze Melodia.

You were murmuring his name now in a never ending chant of prayer.

Saliva caught in his throat as he breathed.

“Rub that pretty clit harder, will you?” Still in tune with your second hand that had finally pulled off of the bars to trace around the rim of your hole. He tried his best to keep up with the noise, eyes still wound shut.

You were hopeless. Struggling at the ministrations like a squirming worm caught on a hook. Your knuckles knocked against the confessional before your fingers slid into yourself.

This was heaven.

He knew it so, no matter how wrong it felt. It was a feeling, not the real thing; never the real thing. Not after tonight, but he could live with himself, if he ended up buried inside of you.

His tip bubbled and drooled at the thought of it.

You taught him self indulgence. And as sinful as it was, as wicked as it felt to buck his hips into his own palm, slick with need and sweat and dribbles of saliva that had fallen from his lips, he loved every pull of his skin.

Oh, it was awful. And it was so good. So treacherous, so disgustingly unholy, so blasphemous and insulting to do this in the very place he’d learned to be sacrificial and sanctified. Where he’d sit on the confessional with a heavy halo and a light heart and try to feel for the heathen on the other side of the window.

Spills of moans and moans left your lips, fingers working at that pace he had commanded of you. Your palms must have been soaked in your own slick now, the delicate flesh between your legs swollen and dark with blood.

He wanted to touch you.

It took everything at this point to keep the door shut. Like a woman being tempted by a serpent to bite into a forbidden fruit off of a large tree. He was sure you would have also indulged, had he offered you a slice of the fruit.

“I’m–” You couldn’t finish the sentence. The wood of the box groaned beneath the shared weight. “I need to–”

Oh. The scent was delicious. The hissing of a snake in his ears, the watchful eyes of a nightingale from somewhere far away, the taste of a sweet fruit running along his tongue.

He hoped you returned.

“Go on. Isn’t that what you came for?” He dared to say more, but instead bit down on his lip.

You bit down first on the fruit.

You came much more broken than he would have expected, and his hands paused around his cock to listen to that gorgeous melody. The drawn out whine came out more as a sob, fingers still drawing tight and hard circles around your clit as your hole clenched around weakened fingers.

Such a beautiful noise. You sounded as though you were struggling through wet heaves, filthy soaked fleshed between your thighs, skin tattered in sweat and bathed in the sunlight just barely peeking above the horizon from out of the window.

You whispered his name like a prayer. A pitiful drone, as if you’d become fully aware of your transgressions.

Wet fingers returned to the window.

His hot breath cooled the slick stuck to your skin, but Sunday kept his tongue pulled behind his teeth. Did you feel empty? Did you want more? Did you also want to pull open the door to the confessional and take him in the seat?

Your voice was weak. “Sire…”

Your tone rippled beneath his skin. His face was on fire. His hand sped up.

“How close are you?”

A whine ripped from his throat. “So close.”

He heard you breathe a hoarse laugh and his feathers raised behind his ears, and it was still one of the most ethereal tunes he’d ever had the honour to listen to.

His wrist grew tired, but he pressed on, thumbing at the overtly sensitive tip and his bubbling slit that wept in tandem. He watched your fingers against the window closely, imagining the heat of your flesh curled around his cock instead.

His cock twitched and twitched in his palm, and his hips raised off the seat for a moment.

Sunday heard you swallow. A hum rumbled in your throat, low and pretty.

He was sure you could hear how slick he was. It was humiliating how hard he’d grown just from the sound of you.

The wings below his ears were crushed against the wooden wall. The bones ached, but he ignored everything in favour of the sound of your breathing so close to his ear.

The sun had now drowned below the horizon.

“Cum, sir.” What a pretty plea. Your fingers tightened around the bars of the window. “Please.”

Sunday gasped, his own knuckles pulling back and knocking the other wall of the confessional as his hips twitched and twitched and he squirmed and his cock felt as though it was going to burst.

He came then, almost weeping as his teeth sunk into his sore knuckles. The sharp vertices of his halo felt weightless and warm, and his shirt felt just as constricting as it had before he’d come undone.

It was like fire oozing from him. Cum dribbled from his tip and painted his palms impossibly stickier than before. What fell from his hands pooled into a puddle on the seat and he grimaced.

An angry and raw garble escaped his throat at your words; who were you to do this to him? How could you do this to him—his cock twitched again, this time violently, as if aching for another round. His palm pressed heavy to his tip, still flushed that beautiful scarlet, and fattened with blood, experimentally giving it another drag along his palm.

Sunday’s hips jutted forward into his hand again. A discomforting chill ran up his spine and remained at the nape of his neck.

Viciously, he tore his hand away from his cock, staring at his sullied hand as if it had betrayed him. Maybe it had, you see, for he had no foresight his body would succumb to such temptations.

His body should not have succumbed. He should not have succumbed.

This was beyond his teachings; cardinal sin and disloyalty to Xipe, whom he praised every night with withering and wavering hands.

And now they were tainted.

“Just a taste, Reverend.”

Sunday’s spine stiffened as if a hot metal rod had replaced the bone.

His skin ached and his teeth vibrated with disgust. Sacrilege. That’s what it was. Vengeful and spiteful, much unlike sweetened delectable fruits off of a tree in the Garden of Eden. This should not have happened. You shouldn’t have ever come here.

He had an inkling of a feeling, as fleeting and dull as it was, that you did not feel guilty for your actions.

His teeth gritted, and his jaw ached in accordance.

Wretched thing.

Sunday, disgusted in his actions, ignoring the beads of sweat pooling down his neck like pearls, held out the degloved hand tainted in his cum through the gap in the window.

A tongue curled around his fingers, hot and heavy, and dragged up from the tip of his nails to his knuckles.

He resisted the urge to make a noise, instead catching his tongue in his teeth and biting down enough to draw blood.

His cock was swelling with blood again, tip flushed and leaking once more. He refused to touch himself again. He had already ruined the tranquillity of the church. He had already ruined you.

Sunday’s fingers twitched in your mouth before they dragged down your tongue.

When he was sure you were done, and his hand was covered in your spit, he grabbed your chin and drew you as close to the window as he could.

There, he managed to catch a glimpse of your face.

Sweaty, mangled, ruined, and so imperfect that his cheeks fill with blood at the sight of you. Your image is ruined by the light from the still burning votive candles from the completed service hours ago that shines behind you, branding the crown of your head like a halo.

Sunday assumed he looked worse.

“You will speak of this to no one,” he rasped. “Not ever.”

“No, sir,” you whispered. There was an impervious grin stretched into your lips. “It’ll be our little secret.”

“The second I hear wind that you’ve been sharing this night with those undeserving, I’ll rip your tongue from your filthy throat.”

You exhaled shakily. There were stars in your eyes.

Sunday’s eyes narrowed, and his lips pressed into a thin line.

“Of course.”

He let go of your chin and tossed you as far as he could backwards through the window of the confessional. You teetered, wobbly in your position of kneeling, before you briskly stood up.

He couldn’t bear the sight of bare legs, so he looked away and shrunk down into the corner of the box, out of view of the sunlight, and the barred window.

Sunday did catch a glimpse of those expensive shoes. Too expensive, too fancy for a church setting. Your clothes were the same, too form fitting to be dubbed appropriate in such a sacred place.

How could you appease to THEM if you were dressed to seduce their messengers?

He said nothing, did nothing, silently wallowing in pitiful hatred as white hot pin pricks of one thousand needles formed behind his eyes. His wings curled around his waist.

He let out a breath that caught in his throat.

“Goodnight, Reverend,” was all you murmured to him.

Your fingers retreated from the window.

Sunday attentively listened to the sound of your footsteps. He hoped he could be forgiven for this. He watched the ceiling with disdain.

When he heard you leave, and the telltale slam of the door shutting behind you, he retracted his hand still coated in your saliva and thumbed at the tip of his cock.

Your spit slid so easily against him.

He shuddered, and then he moaned. It echoed along the walls.

Silently praying for forgiveness, and covering his eyes with his other hand in the process, he drowned once more in solitude.

[atzloverr]

Bite me - vampire bf!Seonghwa x reader

warnings! includes cutting skin and biting, blood, starvation, vampire themes, mentions of mature content, fluff and angst

Seonghwa had promised both you and himself to never drink from you. As much as his underlying desires begged him to, he wanted to prove that he wasn’t the monster everyone thought he was.

“You can do it if you want to,” you mumbled once, seeing your boyfriend tense up at the subject. He whined slightly. “No way… I can’t do that do you,” he sighed.

You knew his words were genuine, but you could also tell that he wanted to, deep down.

Seonghwa admitted his lifestyle before you, drinking from almost anyone, being a ruthless monster with no self control. For years, he had been hooking up with people, draining them dry and leaving them an empty husk.

That was, until he met you. You made him want to change and become a better man.

He still looked back fondly at your early dating days, back when you didn’t know his secret. You were so cute, being worried about him when he got a small cut, wondering why he was so cold all the time.

He was so scared that you would be afraid of him after you found out, but you could tell that his intentions were pure, especially when he made that promise.

“I’ll never drink from you. Never. If I ever do such a thing, I don’t want you to forgive me.”

As of right now, you practically begged him to break that promise once and for all.

“Seonghwa, my love,” you whispered, gently caressing his pale skin that was now paler than usual. “You’re starving, it kills me to see you like this.”

It pained Seonghwa so much to hear the grief in your voice, so he wasn’t shocked when a tear silently fell down his cheek.

He hadn’t fed for weeks.

Every moment he spent with you, he hated his nature more. He didn’t want to hurt people anymore. He couldn’t. When he drank the blood of others, he couldn’t help but think of your beautiful, pure smile, and how mortified you would look if you saw him like this.

You were aware of what he did, and you never objected when he was going out to feed. You had to try your best to understand him, and his nature. What he was doing now was what made you feel sick. Starving himself in the name of “good”.

“Look at me,” you commanded, still holding his tender face in your hands, slowly stroking your thumbs over his cold and wet cheeks as he weeped. “Please, drink from me.”

“You know I can’t do that,” he answered sternly, voice not wavering despite the tears pooling in his eyes.

“Then go out and feed, you have to,” you begged, searching for a look of approval in his eyes. “Please…”

This wasn’t the first time you held this type of conversation. The past week, he had only looked weaker and weaker for every day that passed, a dark shadow forming under his beautiful eyes.

Seonghwa’s lips found yours, perhaps in an attempt to comfort you, or perhaps to comfort himself. A deep sound of desperation escaped him as his hands started roaming your body.

This again.

Trying to satisfy his natural needs by having sex with you, as if that would be enough to save him. He broke the kiss and analyzed your face slowly. You wore a deep frown, unsatisfied by his tactics.

“I’ll be fine,” he smiled. You hated that. He could alway make up some shit about vampires being ‘stronger than humans’ to try and avoid your accusations. “You’re torturing yourself,” you deadpanned, looking him dead in the eye. His gaze softened and he let out an airy, weak laugh.

“I love you.”

'*•.¸♡ ♡¸.•*'

Tonight was a big night for Seonghwa.

After a long time of not meeting them, he was going to visit his family. You weren’t surprised when Seonghwa told you that you couldn’t come with him. You weren’t sure if you even wanted to meet his family, after what your boyfriend had told you.

They hated those like you.

Humans.

Therefore, you found yourself waiting idly for Seonghwa to come back, lying on your side on the couch, watching the clock tick agonizingly slow. It was 4 am, and you never expected him to be gone for as long as he had been.

As you almost found yourself dozing off at the endless wait, the door was suddenly opened quite harshly.

You shot up from your spot as you saw your boyfriend almost stumble into your apartment. He had gotten even weaker, still refusing to drink blood.

You rushed to his side, seeing as he could barely stand. “Oh my god,” you breathed out.

He had barely any energy left. He almost collapsed in your arms, still wearing his coat and shoes. You slowly sat him down on the couch, taking off his outerwear for him and them immediately rushing to his side once again.

With his head hung low he mumbled out some words only you could understand right now.

“Love,” he called out. His small voice brought tears to your eyes. “Yes?” you sounded out, voice coming out in barely a whisper. He didn’t say anything more, instead he just took your hands in his.

Your breath hitched at the touch. You lifted your other hand to raise his head. Your eyes widened at the sight of him.

His eyes were dull and distant as they stared into the void, and his cheeks looked particularly sunken in.

You couldn’t bear to see him like this anymore.

You rose to your feet, slowly walking to the kitchen. You knew exactly what you had to do.

You scrambled through the cabinets to grab the biggest knife you could find. At this point, you didn’t care if Seonghwa knew what you were going to do. In his current state, there was no way he could stop you.

You walked over to the couch again, plopping down next to his slouching form.

“Look at me, Seonghwa.”

You could see him twitch at the use of his name. You never called him by his name if you weren’t serious.

His gaze slowly met yours, and then traveled to the large kitchen knife in your right hand.

You didn’t miss the way his pupils dilated in panic, as he was about to protest, but he was too slow.

You cut into your left wrist, wincing at the pain before making him face his biggest fear.

You shoved your wrist to his mouth, and pushed his head even closer even as he tried to struggle. You didn’t care about the voice inside of you telling you to stop, you knew that this was the right thing to do.

After fighting it for a few seconds, Seonghwa finally felt your taste on his tongue. He suddenly froze.

He blinked, and finally gave in.

His eyes rolled back in his skull as a deep sound escaped his lips. He took a hold of your wrist and held it closer to him, growling and moaning as he hungrily lapped up your red blood.

You watched him closely as his eyes turned a deep shade of crimson and you could feel his sharp fangs against your skin.

What Seonghwa didn’t know, was that you had done your research on vampires. You knew that there was nothing quite like biting the neck. That was the best source of blood.

You braced yourself and took a deep breath.

Seonghwa gasped when you harshly pulled his head away from your bleeding wrist. He let out all kinds of feral sounds and looked almost angry at the loss of contact.

You tilted your head slightly, and pulled him in.

“Do it,” you ordered, trying your best to not let your voice waver. “Bite me.”

Without any time going to waste, you felt a sharp pain in your neck. You couldn’t help but shriek in pain at the piercing sensation. Seonghwa desperately sucked on your neck, seemingly snaking his hands around your waist. Whimpers and whines were heard from the both of you, mainly from him, as he finally let himself do what he had been aching to do ever since he met you.

Seonghwa tried to stop himself, even as his fangs were deep in your neck. There was still that part of him that had promised you, promised himself. For the first time in a long time, he had let his primal instincts take over.

He hated it.

But the taste of you, oh, the taste of your sweet blood, it felt like drugs running through his veins, making him more and more addicted for every second he spent with your blood on his tongue.

You felt yourself starting to become lightheaded, and as much as you wanted to feed him, you also knew your boyfriend. You knew how he would punish himself for this if you got hurt. You knew how he would tell you to leave him, that he broke his promise, so you had to stop him.

“Seonghwa,” you urged. You tapped his shoulder, hoping he would back away from you before you lost consciousness, but it was like he wasn’t there. He was in his own zone, and he couldn’t stop. You tapped his shoulder harder and faster, calling out his name again and again, but with no reaction.

Seonghwa could hear every word you said. He could feel every time you tapped his shoulder. He noticed the way you writhed underneath him, trying to squirm away from him. He noticed when you slowly grew more limp in his arms. It was torture.

He wanted to stop, but he couldn’t. All those weeks of starving, they made him a desperate monster. The one thing he had promised you not to be.

After what felt like an agonizing eternity for him, he finally snapped out of it and ripped his mouth away from you. He felt his eyes immediately water.

There you were, unconscious and bloody, and it was all his fault. He could hear your heartbeat still being there, but he noticed your faint breathing.

You could still see Seonghwa’s figure hovering over you, until you finally succumbed to the sweet sleep awaiting you.

'*•.¸♡ ♡¸.•*'

You woke up to the sound of a voice. It was singing. You knew this voice. It was one that you loved listening to.

Your eyes fluttered opened slowly, to reveal the sight of your beloved boyfriend, humming a tune as he held your hand tightly in his. His head snapped up at an incredible speed at the sound of your changed breathing.

Without uttering a single word, he immediately wrapped his arms around you. He was shivering slightly, and you could hear him mumble into your shoulder. You were wrapped in cozy blankets, and as you spotted the bandage on your left wrist, it all came back to you.

“I’m sorry, my love,” Seonghwa said as he let go of you. You looked at his face with satisfaction. He already looked healthier. You tried to open your mouth to tell him something, but a finger to your lips shut you up.

“Please, I just need to say these things,” he started. “Never do that again,” he spat. He sounded angry, but you knew that he actually wasn’t angry with you, just at the situation.

“And also,” he continued, sighing deeply. “Thank you.”

Your eyes widened in shock.

Out of all the things he could’ve said, you never expected that to come out of his mouth.

“As much as I hate to admit it, you saved my life, and I just can’t punish you for such a thing.”

You felt your lips forming a small smile. Seonghwa crouched down and gave you a deep kiss. He pulled away involuntarily, and said the last things he wanted to have said.

“I love you.”

You took his hand and squeezed it.

“I love you too,” you confessed, smiling at his unusually warm touch against you.

“And..?” you started, making your boyfriend’s eyebrow raise in confusion. “Did you like my blood or what!?” you smiled.

Seonghwa couldn’t help but burst out in a hearty laughter at your sudden comment, and you joined him shortly after.

You found yourself more at peace than you had ever felt for the past few weeks, finally seeing that beautiful smile coat your true love’s face again. Oh, how you had missed that wonderful sight.

Y’all idek why I wrote this I was bored I guess💀 Hope you enjoyed and please leave requests if you have any! (part 2????)

my masterlist

[sailoryooons]

Request: Alpha Yoongi x omega reader. Werewolves. Smut and fluff. Dom Yoongi and sub reader. Starting with non-sexual dominance like her kneeling at his feet. Then, kind of a fear/primal chase in the woods as foreplay. Smut. And then aftercare with nesting.

❀ Pairing: Alpha Werewolf!Yoongi x Omega werewolf! F. reader

❀ Summary: Your alpha wants to go on a hunt through the woods. Who are you to deny him?

❀ Word Count: 8,727

❀ Genre: A/b/o, werewolves, supernatural, established relationship

❀ Rating: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately. 

❀ Warnings: I have never used the word scent and smells this much in my life please forgive me for I have used it a million times, alpha/omega dynamics, Yoongi chasing through the reader for fun, light predator/prey play, sexually explicit content including unprotected sex (f. receiving), breeding kink, mention of ruts, oral sex (f. receiving) not a lot of foreplay, a ton of being in subspace and hormone drunk, reader is pretty much a pillow princess/borderline free use for Yoongi, a lot of slick and soft dom Yoongi/sub reader, hint at aftercare and nesting

❀ Published: April 11, 2023

❀ A/N: Hi okay so I re-wrote this like three times because every time I did it, I wasn’t getting what I wanted out of filling this request, but I think I finally have something that I am happy with! It went in a little bit of a different place, but I hope that you like it! I am super unused to writing werewolves and a/b/o and I had such a good time dipping my toe in - it’s something I want to write in the future where I have some room to world build and go crazy on word count hehehe. Enjoy!

❀ Disclaimer: All members of BTS are faces and name claims for this story. This is entirely a work of fiction and by no means is meant to be a projection, judgment or representation of real-life people. Any scenarios or representations of the people and places mentioned in works are not representative of real-life scenarios.

Masterlist | Ask | Milestone Event Request Fill |

Trees flash by you as you run, hands pumping at your sides, heart thundering in your chest. A pack of rabbits startle as you run by, bolting into their little dens. The earth is damp beneath your feet, still saturated with morning rain. You almost loose your footing more than once as you spring over a fallen tree, dry-rotted and full of ants.

The pine trees are packed tight, shafts of moonlight painting the forest floor in spotlights of silver as you run. The low-hanging branches catch you on your flight, needles stinging your skin but not drawing blood. Still, you snarl as a branch cracks under your barefoot, sending a sharp pang through your sole. 

You don’t stop, moving blindly toward the south of your territory. You don’t look over your shoulder to see where he is - you don’t need to. Even with a small head start, Yoongi is far faster than you are, and you swear the land changes at his command, putting tangled vines where you don’t remember them being, adding a hole to trip you up as you sprint through the trees. 

Yoongi isn’t magic, of course. He cannot change the lay of the land any more than you can, but he walks among these trees and hills every night. Plus, you’re frantic in your runaway, your human instincts bluring, somewhere between wolf and person. 

Run, little omega, Yoongi had whispered, pupils blown out, scent heady and hypnotizing. You’d only just come through the door to find him standing in the living room on the edge of pre-rut. Run and don’t let me catch you. 

Except Yoongi is going to catch you. You can hear the squirrels in the trees chattering angrily at him as he crashes through the woods behind you. He doesn’t have to be quiet - he is the top of the food chain here, he has nothing to fear. And neither do you, really. You’re a predator too, a wolf born and bred in these woods.

There is only a single thing you are prey to and he is laughing manically behind you as he hunts you down. 

Movement to your right catches your eye. Yoongi’s trying to cut you off, coming from the west of the woods to intercept you as you scramble south. You snarl and change direction, swerving southeast to put distance between the two of you. 

“Ah, come on, omega!” he hollers behind you, voice closer than you expect. You move faster, desperate to outrun him.

This far south of your house is a ravine. You know that if you slide down the side and run east, you’ll end up in Jungkook’s territory. A place your’e definitely not allowed to go, especially right now. You throw caution to the wind anyways, making a line for the ravine, singularly focused on making the slide down. 

You never make it, Yoongi slamming into your side and knocking you off your feet. You scream as you go down hard, but not hard enough to do more than jar your bones. Yoongi takes the brunt of your fall; you pressed against his chest, his back hitting the ground hard before he rolls. 

Gasping for breath, you claw at him, scraping to move from where he has you pinned. He laughs, catching your hands in one fist and slamming them above your head. His grip and the sound of him snarling your name has you snap to attention, going boneless. 

Yoongi is panting heavily against you, filling your space with his scent. Your eyes flutter as your chest heaves, trying to catch your breath. Every inhale has your sense flooding with Yoongi’s scent: pine and sage, edged with something heaver and muskier. 

Alpha near rut. 

It makes your head spine and for a second, your vision of him goes a little blurry. He lets go of your hands but you don’t move. He knows you won’t, pinned under the heavy weight of him as he straddles your waist, sitting on you. 

Blinking the heaviness from your eyes, you look up at him and it feels like the world stops. 

Yoongi’s round face is framed by dark, black hair. It’s a little damp with sweat, clinging to his brow bone. His feline eyes are sharp and wild, pupils dilated with the frenzy of the hunt. A single, dark scar mars his right eye. You used to feel a pang of guilt looking at it, a reminder of what being an alpha had cost him. 

Now, though, you think of it fondly. You’ve traced it hundreds of times with your fingers, know every smooth and knotted surface of the injury. Yoongi is beautiful with and without it, lips glossy as his tongue darts out to wet them.

“You smell so good,” Yoongi growls, leaning down. You hold your breath as he leans toward your neck, nosing the scent gland there. Stars burst behind your eyes and you shiver underneath him, let out a whimper. He laughs, the sound low and scratchy in your ear. “Could smell you all the way from the house.” Yoong’s hands runs down your hips, skirts your thigh, and slips between your legs. He presses his fingers against your jeans. “Could smell this perfect little cunt for miles.”

A high-pitched whine leaves you as Yoongi presses harder, fingers providing the barest amount of friction. The ache between your legs is growing painful, your stomach twisting in arousal in response to the smell of him, the touch of him. An omega responding to their alpha in pre-rut, nearly on the brink of instrictual frenzy. 

Forming coherent thoughts is difficult, especially when you’re mind is in a state that’s more wolf than human. That’s the struggle with werewolves, toeing the line between human and animal. Instinct and choice. Your body does not choose to respond to him on a chemical level, but you don’t mind. It’s Yoongi. Your Yoongi. Your mate. 

“I told you not to get caught.”

You huff, irritation stoking you. He mouths at your throat over your gland, making you nearly pass out. “You’re faster than I am.”

“That isn’t true.”

Yoongi distracts you with a wet, hot lick over your mating mark. You let out a loud moan, not even trying to hide it this time. He laughs as you squirm under him, silenced when he growls your name. “Is that true, omega?” He asks, mouthing at your jaw. You can hardly understand his line of questioning as your thoughts and feelings blur. “Am I really faster than you?”

For a few moments, you don’t respond. Everything feels heightened, the sound of Yoongi’s voice buzzing against the corner of your mouth as he brushes his lips across your skin, not kissing you exactly. You’re hyper-aware of the smell of him, threatening to drive you into madness. Feel the way his hips press to against yours. 

“Omega.” Yoongi’s voice is final. 

“No,” you admit. “You’re not faster than me.” 

“So you let me catch you?” 

“I thought about it.” Yoongi nose bumps yours. Your eyes flutter shut as his mouth barely touches yours and you speak against his lips, “But then I decided I wanted to win.”

“And you were running to Jungkook’s hmm?” You wince and he hums, knowing he’s right. “Bad omega. Little wolves running into another alphas territory while they’re being hunted isn’t a very good idea, huh?”

“Would you have followed?”

“Of course I would. You’re mine. I would follow you into a fucking fire. Little Jungkookie’s territory is nothing.”

It’s a simple declaration, but you know what it means for an alpha to boldly claim he would enter another wolf’s territory, to break a line of demarcation. You can’t help but smile, leaning your head upward to press a kiss to his lips, hungry and tired of running from him. 

Yoongi lets you, though you feel the shape of a smirk through the sweet taste of his mouth, warm against yours. Yoongi sinks his hips heavily against yours and you moan into his mouth, spurring him further. Your hands remain where he left them, outstretched above your head as he licks into you, no longer content to let you kiss him the way you want. 

His kisses consume you. He takes your breath away, hand leaving the apex of your thighs to snake up your front, loosely gripping your throat. You feel dizzy. He doesn’t squeeze, doesn’t do anything but rest his hand at the base of your neck, fingers pressed lightly to the sides of your throat. 

It’s comforting, having him smother you like this. You get lost in the wet tangle of his tongue, your skin burning up from the inside out. He rolls his hips into you, but it’s not enough. You need him, a fire sparking to life that burns hotter than you can manage.

A feverish need comes over you. Yoongi senses the shift. His kisses turn to bites, teething gently at your skin as he works you out of your clothes. You still haven’t moved your hands and when he glances at them, he grins. 

Your eyes are only for him, shrouded in darkness as he pulls your pants down, then your shirt. Your eyes are sharp in the dark, able to see the rippling muscle of his arms and shoulders. The dusty nipples, the swells and planes of his chest and stomach. See the way his gaze is fucked out when he’s barely touched you, shuffling down your legs, hands skimming and grabbing the soft meat of your thighs. 

“Look at you,” he murmurs, eyes dragging from the wet smear down your thighs, to your hands above your head. You whine under his gaze and he grins, feral and sharp. “So obedient for me.”

“You like hands above head until you say so.”

“I do.” Yoongi bows low, grabbing your legs and hiking them over his shoulders. Your world spins, feeling his breath on your cunt as he makes a low sound in his throat. “Fucking wet, just how I like it.” 

Yoongi licks a sloppy path up your pussy and you gasp, head digging back into the grass. It’s almost painful, the need for him pulsing between your legs. He hums, sucking at your clit hungrily. Your toes curl and you hide your face in your arm, the urge to squirm away from the stimulation strong.  

You’re an exposed wire under Yoongi’s tongue as he eats you out, messy and wet. He laps at your hole, eager to taste you, nose pressed against your clit, teasing. You whimper his name, thighs clenching, fisting your hands together as you fight to remain still. It’s nearly impossible, this stillness he’s asked of you. You want to reach down and thread your fingers through his hair, want to dig your nails in and scratch, want to pull him close and shove him away.

The sounds he makes are obscene, alternating between sucking loudly and flicking his tongue against your throbbing clit. It’s pleasure-laced pain. You want him to fuck you, to sink into you as deep as he can until you can’t do anything but take it. But you like this too, the way Yoongi’s tongue works your clenching hole.

A high-pitched keen leaves your mouth. He looks up at you, eyes half-lidded as he sticks his tongue out, making a show of licking your cunt top to bottom. Your tongue is heavy in your mouth as you mumble his name, speech slurred. 

“Hmm?” he asks, grunting against you as he works you closer to an orgasm, which hovers in the distance. He looks up at you again, sees the tears lining your eyes. “You can touch me,” he murmurs, saying the world between lush licks between your folds. “Greedy omega.”

And so what if you are greedy. Yoongi gives you everything you want. He makes a grumble about it, rolling his eyes and sometimes acting like it’s a little inconvenience, but you know he loves it- loves this. Loves letting you get away with things when you ask sweetly.

Yoongi’s hair is silky and a little sweaty as you run your fingers through it, nails scratching at his scalp the way he likes. His moan is muffled against your pussy and you wriggle beneath him. It feels so good, your stomach in knots. Your limbs begin to tingle and you feel that tight, squeezing feeling in your core, clenching hard. 

You squeeze your eyes shut. Dig your nails into Yoongi’s scalp and he growls at the pain. You think your breaking skin, nails turned into claws, limbs shaking as your orgasm tightens and tightens until it feels like you can’t breath, like the world is going to crack in half. 

And then it breaks. Your orgasm floods out of you in a rush, your muscle spasming so hard that you scream. Heels digging into the dirt, fingers tangled in Yoongi’s hair, head whipped to the side, cheek pressed into the ground and eyes squeezed shut so hard you see colors exploded behind your eyelids. 

Heavy-limbed and feeling drunk, you drop your legs open a bit. Yoongi’s hands are on your hips, flipping you over. You don’t have the strength to hold yourself up, hands buckling under you, face pressed to the back of your palms. He says something that you can’t hear, your head still swimming in the clouds. 

Every one of your joints feels melted, unable to lock together to support your weight. It doesn’t matter. Yoongi does it for you, lifting you up so that you’re on your knees, thighs spread wide. Air cools the wet mess on your legs. You realize you’re dripping past your knees. 

Yoongi’s palms feel like fire on your flushed skin. He wraps and arm around your waist, pulling you back to his chest, the other looping under your arm so he can grab your neck firmly. This time, he does squeeze, fingers placed perfectly on the sides of your throat. 

Everything around you feels like cotton candy fuzz, fluffy and sweet. Your head lolls back, resting on his shoulder as his teeth find your shoulder, nipping your skin. Behind you, his cock slides gently between your folds, making you hiss. 

“Gonna fill up this pussy,” Yoongi murmurs. “Gonna fuck you full, yeah?”

You nod your head. “Yeah.” The word slurs on your tongue. “Please, want it.”

“You’re already fucked out from just my mouth, omega.” 

“So?” 

He chuckles darkly. His cockhead catches your clenching hole and you whine, hands going to clutch the arm on your waist and holding your throat. “Have you no decency, hm?”

“No. Yoongi please, it hurts. Please just - please.”

“Shhh.” Yoongi places a warm, wet kiss on your jaw. “I’ve got you. You know I’ve got you?”

Words are too hard, so you nod. Yoongi places another sweet kiss on your cheek before he shuffles and thrusts into you, smooth on the upstroke. You gasp, breath knocked out of you as he slides to the hilt. Yoongi’s cock is thick and though you’re soaked, the stretch is intense, your walls clinging to him in a vice grip.

Behind you, Yoongi curses. His hand tightens, and it gets just a little bit harder to breath. Slowly, he retracts before snapping forward again, stroke slow but hard. He groans, focused on setting a leisurely and smooth pace. Every thrust of his hips makes his cock hit deep, punching the air from your lungs. With his fingers pressing against your throat, it gets harder to take in more air, making you light-headed, the forest spinning. 

It feels so good, this blooming pleasure inside of you. Every time he hits your soft spot just right, you feel closer to madness. Yoongi squeezes your throat tighter. His skin is warm and sweaty, sliding against yours, the friction making your eyes roll back.

Yoongi’s teeth scrape your shoulder. Sink in just a little, not enough to draw blood, but you feel the sting. It’s good, pleasure-laced pain. And then he’s telling you to let go, to come around him. You deny your alpha nothing, eyes fluttering shut as you squeeze tight tight tight. 

“Fuck,” Yoongi snarls. You come so hard he has to stop thrusting, your pussy clenching around him with everything you’ve got. You’re not breathing, air stuck in your lungs, blood rushing in your eyes, stars behind your eyes. “Breathe,” Yoongi pants, letting go of your throat. You suck in a sharp breath of air, flooding your lungs. “That’s it. You can take it, yeah? Can take it til I fill you up?”

“Yes, alpha.”

It’s a mumble of words. You’re not even sure if it comes out right. Yoongi holds you to him, doesn’t mind that you're boneless. Your fingers thread his where his hands grip you, squeezing as your head cradles against his neck. You nose him there, drawing all sorts of feral sounds from him as he chases his orgasm, driven to the edge while you scent him. He comes with a loud sound, maybe your name or something else. You’re not sure. 

Yoongi smells like home. Well - smells like earth and come and sweat and trees and pheremones. But his smell is there, pine and sage. Wild and gentle. Earth and cleansing. You love the smell of him, you have since you met him. 

“Rest.” Yoongi’s voice sounds faraway. “I’ve got you.” 

Weightlessness takes over. You don’t remember moving and you don’t remember Yoongi pulling out of you and picking you up. You’re drunk off his scent, hormones throwing you over the cliff and into a deep lake, where you float aimlessly. Comforted. 

Soft sheets slide against your skin. You turn your face and breathe in, smelling Yoongi everywhere. It’s warm and you smell you too. Rosemary and mint. Your scents linger together, making you feel at home. Loved. Safe. 

Something jostles you a little. You slow-blink an eye open, realizing you’re at home, tucked into the corner of your room you like to use for nesting. Blankets of Yoongi’s are piled eye and there are shirts and hoodies that belong to him. Some shirts that belong to you. Things that remind you of the two of you, that feel like you both. 

Yoongi is tucked behind you, breath puffing against your ear. His eyes are closed when you curve your head to look at him. “Sleep,” he rasps, not opening his eyes. “And thank you for the hunt. I’m not done with you. But I’m tired.” 

You smile and close your eyes, drifting to sleep in the safety of Yoongi’s arms.

[most-datable-datable-bracket]

ROUND 5 MATCH 3

Elliott propaganda:

“Just look at him. Pure hunk energy.”

“I will punch anyone who dislikes him. He’s like a fire emblem character in the modern day. He’s so flamboyant and handsome, he can play the piano and he’s best friends with the old fishing man!”

“dramatic writer man with sexy hair”

"Since I like elliott. I will state some reasons why I like him

Imagine if Mr. Darcy didn’t insult your family first time you met him, that’s Elliott. The man who’s basically the hallmark romance love interest. He’s a writer who moves to the small town in the country side to find inspiration for his writing. Then he finds the farmer.

He has a crab living in his pocket

He can play the piano (hopefully it isn’t the river flows in you however)

His fans sometimes hc him as a merman and that’s just a major plus IMO

He genre of the book he writes is dependent on what genre you say you like.

He also sends letters to you if you marry him

Okay and also some things I dislike

His liked gifts, the easiest one is pomegranates, which cost like 6000g to grow a tree if you don’t pick the fruit cave. I AM NOT GETTING SQUID INK IN YEAR ONE FOR YOU.

he might be British /j

The fact he has no kitchen but still likes food like lobster, like he is just a mystery. Lives in a cabin, with no kitchen, no washroom (okay no character has a washroom), but still likes the most fancy food out there and has luscious hair worthy of a L’Oréal ad.

Gifting him on rainy days when you don’t have two hearts"

Dimitri propaganda:

“He's chivalrous, he's blood thirsty, all rolled up into one package and calling you "his beloved". Get you a man who can do both.”

“My husband <3 He's schizophrenic just like me and I love him for that.”

"First, look at him. No disrespect to the monster lovers, but even if blonde, blue-eyed hunks aren't your thing, you can't deny that Dimitri is very pretty.

Second, one of the things I love most about Dimitri is how self aware he is of his privilege as a prince (or king) and how seriously he treats the gravity of his position. He has a strong sense of duty and wants to be a good leader who listens to and provides for the needs of all of his people. This includes the citizens of Duscur, who were nearly wiped out by his own countrymen in (mistaken) retaliation for his father's murder. His commitment to righting this wrong is one of his primary goals in life.

Third, while he is more than capable of crushing a man's skull with his bare hands, under normal circumstances he absolutely wouldn't. A large part of the reason why his fall is so shocking and devastating to witness is because by the time he snaps, we know that Dimitri is actually a kind and gentle soul who hates violence and understands that even his enemies are human. Even at his worst point he still recognizes this, which feeds into his extreme self loathing. He extends compassion and forgiveness to others but struggles mightily to allow himself any forbearance for his own mistakes. He's kind quite literally to a fault, as his empathy is both his greatest strength AND his biggest flaw and I find that as heartwarming as it is heartbreaking."

"Okay first for all the "he needs therapy haha funny" (and its annoying corollary "I can fix him") comments, 1) don't we all? And 2) you can't romance him til end game when he is in a much healthier place due to his own choice to change his priorities and the support of you and his friends. He battles daily with severe mental illness in a repressed society that doesn't talk about it. And on multiple occasions tells people that it is okay to feel your feelings and offers support despite his own struggles (I include that bc that is a date able trait to me). If he's not your fave that's cool, but leave the ableist language out of it pretty please 💙💙 Okay reasons he should be your boyfriend now!!

He calls you his beloved and wants to hold your hand 🥺

His happiest moments in game are when you smile

And in conclusion, he is shaped like a dorito and has a huge cloak to snuggle you up in"

[goatyuuji]

itfs week was ages ago I KNOW PLEASE FORGIVE ME...anyways itfs week fic rec list 🩷💙🩷

solar flare by HamsterQinghua (G, 3.8k)

“You…” Fushiguro starts slowly, and the hair on Yuuji’s arm raises at his low tone. “You’re… Sukuna’s vessel.” Yuuji wonders for a brief second if he’s been the one slapped with the way Fushiguro’s words tunnel into his gut and burn in his throat. He swallows. Even Kugisaki, next to him, has her brows drawn together in confusion. “What?” Yuuji asks, and his voice is small, even to his own ears. “No, I’m not—” He cuts himself off. He couldn’t say he wasn’t Sukuna’s vessel, right? --- or, Megumi forgets only Yuuji after an unfortunate encounter, and Yuuji's handling it well. really. Check out their entire itfs week fics: here

lovesick by xiaoscribbles (G, 2.5k)

“You say that so easily,” Megumi’s frown deepens, the hurt in his chest growing with every word she says. She doesn’t mean any harm by it, but sometimes, she’s too blunt. “I know,” Nobara sits up again. She leans into his space, brown eyes twinkling with mischief. “I’m not saying you need to get over it. I’m saying that this doesn’t have to hurt.” “And if I lose him again?” He snaps, his aura no longer light and airy, but deathly serious. “It happened once. I don't think I can deal with it if it happens again.” Or, Junpei exists. Megumi is jealous. Nobara is overworked and underpaid.

Lawfully Yours by tamarsilan (M, 18.6k)

He holds up his pinkie, in the way his new fathers had recently taught him meant business, “I promise.” She wraps a small digit around his own, smiling wide with her crooked front teeth. Check out their entire itfs week fics: here

wasteland, baby! by uriekukistan (T, 2.5k)

Fushiguro cupped his face gently, guiding Yuuji’s eyes to meet his own green ones. The look in his eyes brought a fresh wave of tears to Yuuji’s. Yuuji recognized the look on his face, the same one he wore at the detention center as Yuuji bled out on the sidewalk in front of him. His expression was soft, loving even, far too loving for someone like Yuuji. He was a monster, but Fushiguro looked at him like he was so, so human. “What is it?” Fushiguro said softly. “Talk to me.” OR the Culling Game Arc hotel scene we all deserve Check out their entire itfs week fics: here

as all friends do by staromantic (T, 2.6k)

“Wow, wow, wow,” Megumi interrupts her, immediately sitting up as he hears her words. “What boyfriend? I don’t have a boyfriend.” “Are you drunk, Megumi? Or high? What the fuck are you on about?” Nobara exclaims, stressing her words and moving her hands wildly. “Are you fucking with me?” or : Megumi has a boyfriend he doesn’t know about, Nobara is surrounded by idiots and Yuuji teaches Megumi that kissing your homies is actually not platonic behaviour Check out their entire itfs week fics: here

a condition called love by earthtodora (T, 3.3k)

Megumi gets injured, and the whole incident is causing Yuuji the realization that he might, in fact, be in love with his friend. Chaos ensues.

in hindsight, we were fated by getosmanta (G, 3.8k)

“Nah.” Itadori simply says, watching the dogs with a smile. “You know, Geto and I talked about you a lot.” Megumi freezes. “About your technique, how you tried to face Sukuna,” Itadori continues, rambling with pink cheeks and wind-bitten lips. “How I didn’t realize that I’d miss you until I couldn’t see you.” or 5+1 times Megumi wonders about Soulmates

You are my type, and I am yours by Gelafour (T, 3.8k)

Megumi is in love with Yuuji, but his crush has a preferred type of person. And everything changes on the day Yuuji asks, out of nowhere, about Megumi's type... Check out their entire itfs week fics: here

In the public eye by meyers (G, 3.7k)

There was something disgusting about all that stupid theater. He couldn't stand it. What did they know besides nothing? What did they know about Yuuji? He didn't like to look like a superstar, even though people said he would be one someday. He was just like any normal seventeen year old boy and he didn't need anyone to stare at him assuming the most erroneous things that could be assumed. It was something that was killing him inside. They didn't know him as well as he did! ----- Where Yuuji becomes the new sensation of his school after a basketball game, and Megumi can't stand others talking about him. Check out their entire itfs week fics: here

ALSO CHECK OUT THE OFFICIAL ITFS WEEK WORK COLLECTION

PS: lots of love to the mods of this fest and all the artists and the writers that participated, you all are so awesome and it was such a good fest <3

[a-dragons-journal]

Forgive me for showing my fangs a little here instead of being as delicate in phrasing as I usually am, but. Periodic reminder:

sweeping "humans suck, humans are evil, the world would be better off if humans disappeared/had never evolved" statements may be cathartic but they're thoroughly inaccurate (ie, the vast majority of uniquely bad effects of humans on the planet are a) extremely recent, like within the last couple centuries, b) the fault of an extremely small minority not the entire fucking species, and c) fixable)

hating being human isn't the same as hating humans. I get species dysphoria is a thing. I get that it's often hard to fit in as a nonhuman in human social groups and that can make it easy to slip into hating everyone around you. Please fight that instinct

villainizing people for traits they didn't choose, such as the species they were born into, is neither cute nor fair. No species is inherently good or bad

misanthropy is cathartic in short term vents or whatever but genuinely embracing it wholesale as a philosophy is liable to lead to you hating humans, human society, and being in a human body more and more over time and thus make your life worse by constantly reinforcing a thought pattern that makes you angry and upset

you are not immune to being part of human society (translation: just because you're nonhuman doesn't mean you're not included in statements about the effects of the human population on the world, ie "humans are killing the planet")

related, you are not better than humans for being nonhuman. looking at my fellow dragons in particular on this one. I get it, draconic pride is a thing, dragon brain probably says you're the supreme being and all else is beneath you especially anyone who annoys you. Mine does too. Please recognize that is an instinct you are supposed to FIGHT, not something that's TRUE AND THAT YOU SHOULD EMBRACE. Good fucking gods.

some nonhumans are also human (it's me, I'm some nonhumans) and you are making sweeping "humans suck, why would I ever want to be human, all humans do is kill the planet" statements in the presence of people included in those statements, which is insanely rude (and no, you don't get to "but you're different because you're nonhuman" me! you do not get to decide to ignore half of who I am because you don't like it, you do not get to decide I'm not "really" human, and also see the previous bullet point). this goes doubly if you're in a space like a DIscord server where people have expressly stated they're not comfortable being tacitly included in statements like that

saying "but I don't REALLY mean all humans, I just mean the specific ones at fault!" after the fact does not actually change anything if every other thing you say is constantly "humans humans humans" and not the group you're actually referring to, or at the very least doesn't change how it reads to everyone around you

[unknownperson246]

Why Didn’t You Tell Me? Chapter 4: Red Hair

words: 882

warnings: *angst* *fluff* *rehab* *mentions of alcohol* *mentions of drugs* *cussing* *pregnancy*

It's around 5:00 pm you're supposed to be in group meetings or group therapy to talk about why you drank and did drugs. You wake up at ease and you feel better. Your headache isn't as bad as before and it's been 27 hours since you were in rehab with your husband Nikki—or at least that's what the doctors think. You both aren't married. Nikki is your boyfriend of 7 months. Nikki interrupts your thoughts.

“Good Afternoon babe” Nikki smirks.

“Good afternoon,” You reply kind of annoyed.

“Honey Dr.Kelly was worried. She didn't see you in group therapy today. I had to tell them you were knocked out.” Nikki says. 

“Good” you respond to Nikki's words.

“Dr.Kelly said you have to show up as soon as you wake up.”

“Tell her I don't want to” You respond to Nikki’s words.

“Honey, you're not going to get better if you don't at least try,” Nikki says gently.

“Nikki I am fucking trying I have been trying this whole time for all three of us. Fuck I hate this I am trying I will go but I feel sick right now so please just stop.” You lash out from your hormones. 

A couple of minutes pass by and you feel bad for yelling at Nikki. You find that you aren't sick as much anymore. You are feeling a bit achy from being pregnant. You spot Nikki talking to Dr. Kelly. After he's done talking to her you go up to him.

“Nikki I am sorry for being pissed earlier. I don't know what happened but I promise I will try for our little family.” You say holding Nikki's hands.

Nikki is still mad but he decides to forgive you knowing you are in a vulnerable position right now.

“Babe, just try to be more relaxed. It's not good for you right now, especially with everything going on. You will over-exert yourself emotionally and physically.” He looks at you with gentle eyes while he cups your face with his hands with his tender touch. You love how his warm hands feel against your flushed face. It's the only thing that is comforting you in this frightful time.

“Nikki, I will try to be more careful.” You respond softly.

“Nikki, what were you talking to Dr. Kelly about?” You ask out of curiosity.

“Your little outburst,” Nikki says quietly.

“She said it was normal for what you are going through,” He says wording it carefully so he does not offend you.

It's now 5:20  you realize that you need to try hard to fix all of the things you've done. You need to be better and healthy for Nikki and your unborn daughter.

“Okay, I am going to get ready for the group meeting. I need to change my clothes and fix my hair.” You smile softly while looking into his softened eyes. 

Nikki watches you as you change into a black V-neck that flawlessly grasps your body. He saw you pull up your Juicy Couture jeans that surprisingly still fit you. He is praising your body and how beautiful you are while carrying his baby. He is amazed at how you could do it. You're in rehab and going through detox while doing something that was already so exhausting. You were making a whole other human inside of you and that takes up so much energy physically and mentally. He appreciates you and is fascinated by you.  He watched you play with your hair and brush through your dark brown locks that had platinum strikes. 

You walk out of your room with Nikki and you just notice that Nikki has eyebrow piercings and strokes of red in his jet-black hair. 

“Nikki, when did you get the eyebrow piercings and red hair?.” You ask randomly.

“Y/N I’ve had the piercings for 3 months.” He is genuinely concerned.

You realize you were always so strung out and drunk that you never noticed the small things about your boyfriend. 

“Oh, Nikki I'm so sorry I'm so sorry god damn it” You sob. Your hormones and overwhelming emotions were getting to you.

Nikki wraps his tattooed covered arms on your shivering body. He holds you in his arms tenderly. You feel his warm body up against you and you never want him to let you go. He pets your neatly brushed hair.

“Baby it’s okay You are safe,” Nikki says quietly.

“Ughhh I hate this. I am sorry for not noticing anything. I was always too high or drunk to have any feelings or observe anything. I hated that. I hated that I never felt; it feels so different now that I can feel and observe. I feel so connected to you and our baby right now. It feels so different but it's a good difference” You sob as you're on a plethora of how you feel now that you're on your way to being clean of any substances.

“Hey, it's okay you got out of it before it was too late. You have made an effort to get better for all three of us. You're going to be okay now, just focus on me and our daughter and you will be better in no time.” Nikki says gently while still clinging to you.

[a-crumb-of-whump]

Content: Whumper-turned-whumpee, begging, bad caretaker, near death experience, restraints.

"After all they've done to you, you still wish to save them?"

"Yes," Whumpee whispered. They glanced over at Whumper; the pathetic excuse of a human curled up at Caretaker's feet and made another attempt to release themself from their restraints. "Please! They're doing better. They're not hurting anyone anymore. Please let them go."

Caretaker thought for a moment, using the toe of their shoe to tilt Whumper's head up so they were looking at each other more directly. "People like this don't change, Whumpee. If they did it once, they sure as hell can do it again."

"Whumper is living proof that they can change," Whumpee insisted with a small sob. "I know you've had your share of bad experiences, but this is mine and I should get to choose how to handle it! Please! Let them go!"

Their heart practically shattered when Whumper struggled to grasp a decent breath of air. "I'm okay with dying," they rasped. "Somehow, I have earned Whumpee's forgiveness and proven that I am very, truly sorry for the pain I've caused. That is all I wanted. If this really is my fate, then I am ready. Just... please be kind to Whumpee."

"I will never forgive you if you kill them," Whumpee hissed, their voice seeping with desperation. "You- you're the one who has me chained while you threaten to kill someone I care about! You're the only person here who is causing me pain! Not them!"

For a moment, Whumpee thought Caretaker wasn't listening to them. They saw them dig the heel of their boot into Whumper's head, pressing their face into the ground, before they gave them a rough kick and groaned irritably.

"Fuck's sake," they muttered. "Fine. If this is truly what you want, then I won't stop you."

They dropped the key to the chains by Whumper's side crouched down to be closer to them. "Here. If I find out that you've hurt them in any way, so help me God, I will kill you. Do you understand me?"

"Yes, sir," Whumper practically wheezed, still hunched over due to the pain radiating from their stomach. "I wouldn't ever hurt them. A-again, I mean."

[g0dwat3rwritings]

Please take your time!!

-----------------------------

Can I have headcanons of the 7 princes + databables(Raphael, solomon, thirteen etc) reacting when MC expresses their filipino culture? (Like telling stories about the events, cooking their favorite sultural dish, etc)

-----------------------------

Feel free to delete it, and please take your time!!

Hello! I am not Filipino myself, so I didn't go much into detail. Forgive me for that!

I sadly couldn't think of anything for the dateables (idk why, my mind just drew a blank)

The only dateable I could truly think of a scenario with was Barbatos, but for some reason I couldn't figure out how to write it.

This takes place in the original timeline

Warnings ;; None

Relationship ;; I wrote this in a romantic sense, but can be interpreted however!

Type ;; Headcanons

LUCIFER ;; THE PRIDEFUL ELDEST

Lucifer is very much intrigued. He would love to learn more, but he would never outright ask you.

Lucifer is far too prideful to come out and say it, so you'd have to look at his body language.

The very slight twinkle in his eye when you explain, the small but noticable genuine smile that crosses his lips.

He very much enjoys your cooking, and will compliment you subtly.

He's particularly fond of the times you'll come into his private study and sit by the fireplace while you tell him all sorts of stories.

MAMMON ;; THE SCUMMY SECOND-BORN

Oh, Mammon is all for it. He's asking you for recipes, stories, and recommending you sell both throughout the Devildom.

He's listening intently, and getting excited anytime you bring something about your culture up during conversation.

Although, if you bring it up, his face will immediately turn beet-red and he'll say something along the lines of:

"O-Of course it ain't i-interestin'! But I'm ya first man, ain't I? I g-gotta let my human yap ev'ry now 'nd again!'

He is so hopelessly in love with you, it's not even funny.

LEVIATHAN ;; THE OTAKU THIRD-BORN

I actually cannot see Leviathan being too concerned with it at first. He'd probably be more concerned with watching anime with you, reading manga with you, or playing games with you to really care about your ethnicity.

He'd more than likely start to point out characters in separate animes or games that share the same ethnicity as you.

If you were to make different Filipino meals for him, he would be absolutely over the moon. If you bring him the food, make sure you bring tissues with you.

He'd listen to your stories, occasionally making references to TSL, Ruri-Chan, or others, if possible.

All in all, He wouldn't really care at first, but he would become more interested the more time passed.

SATAN ;; THE CYNICAL FOURTH BORN

Knowing Satan, he'd probably already know a lot. And he'd hold it over Lucifer's head that he knows more about your ethnicity than he does

Besides that, he's perfectly willing to listen to your stories, even if he knows them already.

He's particularly fond of your cooking, and he will tell you that. He might point out subtle things that he'd change, but he doesn't really care if you take his advice or not. After all, he's not a chef.

If he finds any sorts of books that have to do with your ethnicity, he'd bring them to you and let you read them, after he reads them first though.

He would also love to sit down and read them with you, or to you, if you asked.

ASMODEUS ;; THE NARCISSISTIC FIFTH-BORN

Asmo just thinks it's so cute! Especially when you're cooking, or telling him stories.

He might watch himself around your food, given his public appearance, but that doesn't mean he dislikes it!

He's truly fond of your cooking, he is. He's just weary of other people's opinions.

He loves listening to your stories while he does your makeup, or his own.

Even during his 26-step skincare routine, he's probably having you come to his room so he can listen to your stories.

BEELZEBUB ;; THE FAMISHED SIXTH-BORN

Marry him. On the spot. Beel absolutely loves Human-World food, and the fact that you're willing to make it for him? Oh, he's in love.

You may have to shove him out of the kitchen because otherwise, he'll eat all of the ingredients before you can even put them together.

If he manages to stay put and not eat any of the ingredients, he's watching you cook albeit while drooling.

He literally looks like an excited puppy when you give him the food.

He chows it down quickly, and asks you for more. Make a shitton, it'll go quickly.

BELPHEGOR ;; THE CATNAPPING SEVENTH-BORN

Belphie probably couldn't care less about your culture. If his twin is happy, he's happy.

The only time he'd more than likely be interested, is if he just so happens to fall asleep to one of your stories.

He'd start to ask to you come back, and eventually he wouldn't be able to fall asleep without your stories.

Obviously, he would, but with some struggle. It's Belphie, the Avatar of Sloth we're talking about here.

He's probably pretty fond of your food, although he much prefers your stories.

[navybrat817]

Hi. The anon here. I am sorry if you felt that I blamed you i assure you I wasn’t blaming you . I have been living in denial of the despair I feel and drowning myself in fics or ao3 or endless reels.. and when there is consistency somewhere.. it feels like a regular shot of medicin.. I promise I wasn’t blaming you.. my sentences or the way I spoke wasn’t coherent and might have upset you.. I am sorry I was t blaming you.. I am just.. lost I guess . Thank you for listening to me. And then about the announcing.. I don’t know why I added that part.. maybe I just wanted someone to know like it mattered.. again I wasn’t blaming you or anything like that I promise I really really promise that to you.. and I apologise if I made you uncomfortable and anyone else uncomfortable… I need to see someone and I was putting it off and somehow a small change just becomes a big jolt that gets you to do things and then you do them.. I was trying to thank you and I messed up.. I am messed up.. I need to .. just please forgive me I didn’t mean to upset you or anything like that

Nonnie, I appreciate you reaching back out. I know it can be extremely difficult to convey our intentions and emotions at times, especially in written word. What we say may mean one thing and can be taken a completely different way on the receiving end. I apologize if my reply read as sensitive. Like I said, as I've been utterly exhausted as of late, I may have taken something in a way that wasn't your intention at all.

It sounds like something that was a comfort to you became a dependent and your intention was to thank me for helping you recognize that you needed to get out of this cycle. I hope I got that right! I'm glad you're putting yourself first. It isn't easy to break the cycle of denial, but you're doing it. Be proud of that.

I also understand the need to feel seen. While I'm not a therapist and can't offer many great words of wisdom, I can send love and good vibes your way and pray that you get to an even better place. I hope they help. I only want what's best for you and any lovely who crosses my blog. And I appreciate each and every one of you and hope I convey that. We're human and things are going to be messy some days. My hope for you is that things continue to look up and each step you take is a bit lighter than the last. ❤️

[elejahfanfic]

Ring of Fire

_fanfiction

_inspired by lotr and rings of power

*

oc: Elara Starfire_

oc: Thorsten Oakland_

a/n: in this long snippet, we find out more about Thorsten and his role in stopping the destruction of Middle-Earth.

*

*

Cuiviénen

Elara walked down to the sea. She stood quietly gazing at the silver horizon.

The sea air brushed her face with a nostalgic and humble majesty. The memories of yesteryear danced in her heart. The happiness of returning to the the alabaster city, rebuilt from ashes, made her kin's soul sing. There was nothing but carefree summers and divine enjoyment of all the beauty that Arda unfurled upon all creatures inhabiting it.

And then in one salty moment she was back right there in the present, to the very smallest fraction in which time may be measured. The sea air has a way of doing that, of anchoring the emotions of Arda's spirit.

Flashback

A fortnight ago

"It takes someone strong to feel the sting of the dark-side and remain steadfast in a will to work only for the light - to see the dagger in hand at the exact moment you feel compelled to use it and still be loving and kind, to let the weapon clatter to the floor, soundless, unnoticed. That's what being a warrior for the light requires, an inner strength, a keen eye for noble and good opportunities to bring peace, health and love - a self-control to avoid doing service for the one who harms." Thorsten said.

"I will go carrying these words in me - we won't falter - ever." Elara took hold of the Northmen's hand as a pledge.

"We won't falter - ever." Thorsten said with a small nod.

"Lady Elara, please forgive my intrusion," Aranthir said as he approached the elfin, "but you have a visitor seeking your audience."

"Who?" Elara looked at the elf puzzled.

"Barri Underhorn" Aranthir replied.

The elfin was slightly taken aback as she had expected anyone from Red Mountain to answer her call to take part in the Great Council that was to take place in two days.

But there in the Emerald Hall, she saw Ulf Silverbeard standing next to the dwarf king. Her heart went clump as the Northman's stern and silent eyes met hers.

"I am unfortunately a bearer of bad news, Lady Elara. Jarl Oakland was taken by the Variags. We believe he is no more."

The words were like daggers running deep into her heart.

"If I may interupt," Nimë, the elf princess walked in from the side balcony,"they might keep him as hostage. They are much changed - for centuries now they do not do Sauron's bidding anymore. And if it is so, the ransom will be high."

"We can only imagine what they would ask for him." Barri now said.

"The Silmaril from Morgoth's Crown" Elara muttered.

"But they are a myth." the dwarf king said.

"They are not." Nimë looked at Elara and then at Barri. "They are hiden deep in Ered Engrin."

"The Iron Mountains" Barri uttered.

"Yes" Elara exhaled softly, hiding her pain and worry under the cloak of calmness.

"This all will be discussed further at the Council at sunset," Nimë said gesturing to the dwarf King and the Northman, "now - we offer you Quarters readied for you to rest until then."

As Barri and Ulf exited the Hall Nimë asked Elara to join her in the Library.

And there, she plucked a book out of the cabinet. "This is something you need to read."

"Parme Melmar (Book of Stars)" Elara muttered as Nimë passed it to her.

"We found this in the foundations of the Old Gate Library after the excavation. There is a section about the Ring of fire. And the magic that draws destruction upon all of Middle-Earth."

"Morgoth's son could wield such magic?" Elara asked.

"He is part Valar." Nimë said. "There's something else you should know - Thorsten is only part human. His mother is Nienna."

Elara looked at the princess astonished at the revelation. "She is a Valar."

"She must have known that Morgoth had a son."Nimë said. "The Valar's needed a courageous nemesis."

"Thorsten does not know this?"

"He does not. It has been revealed to us by the Istar., Palacendo. He is eager to speak to you." Nimë said.

Elara nodded slightly, and looked at the ring Thorsten gave her.

"You said once that his and your soul are the same. I can see that now. He means more to you than you are willing to see."

"Yes, he does. My heart would break if something happened to him."

*

Meanwhile

Ka'lth, Khand

"Nin canó - nin quetë mellynni. (I beseach you - let me see my men.)" Thorsten said in Quenya, as he knew that this was the language the Variags would understand, even though they detested it.

"Savop avalkaumn! (Stop talking!)" the man who held him captive said in Varadjian and turned to one of the wardens. "Puav naj-ri shal avhe zi houuke (Put him in the black house).

And when he was hauled down the river to imprisonment, his thoughts were with his men that would be slain. The Variags were mercenaries. Kept only those hostages that were of value. And he knew that he was spared as they found Elara's charm on his necklace.

His heart was heavy. Reeling. All now seemed to be lost. The quest futile.

"Nothing is in vain. Though it may seem so." Elara's words drummed in his head. "Much sacrifice will come to pass - to stop darkness from falling all over Middle-Earth and beyond. Everything can be taken from you in a second - trust your spirit - it is so strong. Your soul and mine are the same. We endure."

[rottenpumpkin13]

Can we have some more Jenova and Lucretia Yuri?

I felt inspired and needed to put this into an actual scene. Forgive any mistakes please, I didn't edit this aalskshsgskd

-

Lucrecia stood in front of her mirror, practically bare before her own reflection with only a sheer chemise covering her body. She traced her finger over her stomach, visible lines of concern etched on her face.

She was only in her first trimester, and yet, she was overthinking things already. A mixture of guilt and regret already began to sink its teeth into her peace of mind.

She could feel a small, minuscule bump already, a swollen spot that had not been there before. While she was assured that her stomach would only behind to show during her second trimester, this pregnancy was different.

"Fear not. Your body will change, but the discomfort only lasts nine months."

There was that insufferable voice again. Lucrecia rolled her eyes, letting her hand slip from her stomach as she turned toward the bathroom.

"You know full well it's not my body I'm worried about."

The voice hummed. "Is it the baby? Do not worry. I'm keeping our child safe."

Lucrecia snatched her toothbrush from the edge of the sink, glancing up at the mirror with a mix of fear and disdain. Sure enough, she was there again.

Jenova looked her most innocent when she was a hallucination. Her long, silver hair cascaded over one shoulder as she leaned against the doorway, an absolutely wretched smile playing on her lips as she balanced herself on one leg. She wore a chemise that was clearly meant to match Lucrecia's.

Lucrecia tried her best to ignore her, reaching for the toothpaste next. "It won't be your child."

Jenova arched a singular eyebrow. "Of course it will. My son, that is. You are having a boy."

Lucrecia spat out the toothpaste, gagging.

Jenova watched Lucrecia wash her mouth. "It's my first time being a parent too. I'm going to be a mother. Is that not an important title?" She laughed.

When Lucrecia quickly spun around, the apparition was no longer there. She groaned, punching the light switch before making her way back into her room.

But as she entered, she felt her muscles stiffen again as she became paralyzed in place. Her hallucination of Jenova was there, laying casually in her bed, staring up at the ceiling.

"You humans have a custom where you name your offspring." Jenova lifted her leg in the air, tracing circles with her foot. It was an image so innocent that one would've really mistaken her for a young woman. "So what shall we name him? Would you like to go over suggestions? I admit I'm not the most knowledgeable about human names. The Cetra had suitable ones though, from the time I—"

"We are going to do nothing," Lucrecia snapped as she stepped towards the bed. "You're going to go back inside my head where you belong. It isn't good for either of us if you keep showing up like you're....like you're...."

"Real?" Jenova suggested, letting her leg drop.

She smiled softly, in a way that made Lucrecia certain that the creature could read her every thought and decipher emotions that even she was unaware of. It was unsettling.

"I am real," Jenova said. "I am so real, in fact, that I could have impregnated you myself."

Lucrecia shook a chill that made her skin goose-flecked. Great. She was definitely blushing now.

"If only your pathetic excuse of a husband had known to inject you with my cells only and let me do the rest of the work." She hummed pensively, eying Lucrecia up in a way that made the scientist feel utterly naked.

"I've never done it before, of course. But I'm sure it would've been even more pleasurable than the way you humans copulate."

"Are you done?" Lucrecia folded her arms over her chest.

"No." Jenova rolled over on her side, bracing her head on her hand. "Where is your husband? Don't tell me you sleep in different rooms."

Lucrecia sighed, choosing not to respond. "Can we just—" She walked towards the bed, shooing Jenova to the other side, "—go to sleep? Please? If you're going to stay here, at least be quiet. I have work tomorrow."

Jenova's apparition shrugged, burrowing herself under the covers. "My kind does not require sleep to function."

Lucrecia shot her an incredulous look. "Ever?"

"We can choose to sleep, but it's purely a recreational activity."

Lucrecia did her best to push down the desire to prod Jenova more about her race. It was the researcher side of her that formulated a dozen questions she could ask, and it was the rational human side of her that shot down each one before they could reach her tongue.

"Then have fun with that recreational activity and go to sleep." Lucrecia reached over, turning off her lamp.

Jenova hummed. "Is that what you want of me?"

Lucrecia ignored the details that had her senses screaming at her—the weight of the second body vibrating on the bed next to her and Jenova's somehow sweet scent.

She groaned. "Yes."

There was a pause.

"Then I will do it," Jenova said. "For you."

[gay-salt-amber]

breezejay headcannons pretty please *runs away*

Time to go back a few years and crack the breezejay glow stick that is my brain also imma keep this human au hcs probably unless I say otherwise

Lets begin with the start of their relationship

------

Breezepelt fell first but Jayfeather fell harder

Jayfeather realized he had feelings when once, in his dreams (which somehow he thought were reality) Breezepelt was standing by the river and took his shirt off, revealing a lot of scars and muscle but also Breezepelt was thin, clearly slightly malnourished. Jayfeather saw this and blushed bright red.

Little did he know that the Breezepelt in that dream wasn't just Jayfeathers imagination but actual Breezepelt

Ever since then, Breezepelt has been slightly flirty on the off chance they're alone but still an asshole

After some time when Breezepelt started working on himself, he went to the moonpool. Asleep next to it was Jayfeather, in all his beauty with his face relaxed for once instead of in a sarcastic scowl.

Breezepelt thought back to the last time they were at the moonpool, that time was a lot more dangerous, but, this time, both were there for one thing. Guidance from Starclan.

Breezepelt decides to sit beside him, keeping him safe instead. Then, soon, Jayfeather woke up.

Breezepelt gave him a soft greeting and helped him up, they quietly talked as Jayfeather reluctantly agreed to let him walk with him to Thunderclan territory.

There was a bit of anger, tears, disagreements, agreements, forgiveness, apologies....and maybe a purposeful wrong turn to a hidden cabin.

One may think Breezepelt led Jayfeather here to harm him and lied to him about being sorry just a few seconds ago, but Jayfeather was the one who brought them there.

Jayfeather soon explains that this was a cabin he found and slowly was trying his best to restore on his own to make a nice little space for himself to relax.

Why did he bring Breezepelt here? "It's getting late, unless you haven't noticed. I want to get some actual, non-star clan-interrupted sleep and you do too."

"Why would you let me stay with you though? You're not scared I'd kill you in your sleep?"

"You're a cat who, albeit, has done many messed up things, rarely goes back on his words...even if they are about the mouse-brained things you've done."

Breezepelt knows Jayfeather is right, and he also just apologized to Jayfeather so, it'd be a bad idea to go back on his word already to try and ruin that

The two are about ready to sleep, Breezepelt takes a futon-like mattress on the floor and Jayfeather takes the couch. That was until Jayfeather fell asleep and Breezepelt realized he had no blanket. Breezepelt quietly opened his knapsack which was of good size. It carried spare food, a change of clothes, a weapon or two, but most importantly, a small pillow and a surprisingly big blanket that Breezepelt jammed in there like a kid trying to close an overstuffed closet

He struggles to get the blanket out of the bag without spilling out everything else and making a loud noise, but, once he gets the blanket and also the pillow out, he goes up to Jayfeather, lifts his head, places the pillow underneath and puts the blanket onto his body.

Jayfeathers hands hold onto the blanket after a moment and even in his sleeping state, Breezepelt can tell Jayfeather feels slightly better and he goes to lay back down on his mattress.

..." I am still awake, y'know. I don't fall asleep fast like you do."

Breezepelt almost jumped, "Then why didn't you say anything?!"

Jayfeather paused, yawning, curling up into the blanket, "The blanket is nice...it feels like some type of yarn or string...Did you make it yourself?"

Breezepelt blushed with embarrassment, "Yeah. I was bored and decided to learn how to make blankets. Why? Gonna make fun of me for it or something?"

"No, mouse brain. I was going to say keep doing it. The blankets are soft."

Breezepelt said nothing in response, only stammered and blushed. He buried his face into his own pillow and soon went to sleep

When the sun came up, so did Breezepelt. He woke up far earlier than Jayfeather would on an off-day like this. Breezepelt would have let him sleep in but he knew Thunderclan would get annoyed without their medicine cat...and also, Breezepelt is a little shit.

Jayfeather left a small space on the couch, just big enough for Breezepelt to sit on, so, Breezepelt sat down, laid on Jayfeathers chest, and booped his nose, when Jayfeather scrunched up his face as a reaction, Breezepelt smirked

"Good morning sleepy head~"

Jayfeather knew right away what Breezepelt was doing, but also decided to be a little shit, just in the more flustering kind of way

Jayfeather wrapped his arms around Breezepelt and pretended to still be asleep as he held the now strawberry-colored Breezepelt just laid his head on Jayfeathers chest

"I...guess we can sleep a while longer."

The two lay there for what felt like hours which was really about five minutes until Jayfeather spoke up

"Who let you be so nice to hold?" "....Yknow, with how thin and bony I am, I find that hard to believe."

Jayfeather shrugs, "It makes it easier to wrap my arms around you, but I still want you to eat more. You're the size of a twig."

Breezepelt laughed and adjusted to lay by Jayfeathers shoulder. Even if Jayfeather couldn't see him, He knew how intimate this whole day and last night were even if that wasn't the original idea (or maybe it was)

Jayfeather wanted to ask so many questions such as 'What are we?' But, they both knew.

"...So, does this sleepy head not even get a good morning kiss?"

Breezepelt hummed, "Mm...yeah, I suppose so...If you want one, anyway."

Jayfeather said nothing, just turning his head and closing his eyes, waiting patiently. Breezepelt gave him a very shy, hesitant kiss

"Thats a kiss? Really?" Breezepelt stammered, clearly embarrassed, "Oi! I don't do kisses very often!"

Jayfeather snuggled in and gave Breezepelt a kiss that told of more experience, even just a slight bit more.

"Mmh...Your lips feel nice on me.." Breezepelt said softly, letting Jayfeather continue the kisses, leaning in closer

As they shared kisses, Breezepelts voice was careful as he said, "What...is this?"

"What do you mean?" Jayfeather said, a little annoyed that the romance was cut off by the need for serious conversation that they knew they needed

"What are we doing? I mean, we're half-brothers! We can't be kissing like this! The clans will think we're gross....Hell! I tried to kill you!"

Jayfeather touched his cheek gently, "And? I forgave you, mouse-brain," He paused for a moment, "When you look at me what's the first emotion you feel?" Breezepelt blushed softly, hugging him, "Love. I feel love. I feel affection. I feel...Happy."

Jayfeather laughed softly. "Those are a lot of "first emotion"'s..."

Breezepelt kissed his cheek, "It's your fault you're so cute..."

"Love you too..."

------------------

Lmk if you want any other headcanons!

[2346khith]

Hello my name is Fathi, and I am reaching out to you from Gaza 🇵🇸🤍

Please do not disregard my message; I am writing to you during one of the most difficult times of my life. My family and I are desperately trying to find safety after facing life-threatening situations multiple times. I am a father to two beautiful children, Yamen and Boody, and I never imagined I would be in a position where I needed to ask for help.

The circumstances we are facing are beyond anything you could imagine. We are enduring a tremendous trial, struggling to survive each day. Your kindness and generosity are our hope during these terrifying days. Any donation, no matter how small, can make a life-changing difference. Even a $5 contribution can bring us closer to safety and a better future for my children.

Together, we can overcome this hardship, and with your support, I hope to reach our goal and give my kids a chance at a safer, brighter future.

Please consider helping us or simply sharing this link below. Your support and humanity mean everything to us. Thank you from the bottom of my heart. 🤍

Donation link : https://gofund.me/0580344a

For those who see this please, visit their blog and reblog their blog’s posts so they  get more attention and if you have the money to spare please donate.

Also I apologize, but I do not have the ability to donate to you. Trust me if I had the ability I would but I don't and I can't. I have no bank account or credit card to transfer money to and no job to gain any money. Every time I ask my parents to help they shut me down so this is the only way to help you. Please forgive me.

[shmackhaystack]

The Queen and Her Levi: Chapter 2- Say Yes.

King!Levi Ackerman x fem!reader

Description:

"All my life I have never known what it was like to love someone, if anything, really. Until I met you, and everything changed, you brat."

"Reader" has a name, if you don't like it, then change it to your own, the world is your oyster.

Will contain VERY mature and triggering content. Viewer discretion is advised and minors please DNI.

Posted on Tumblr April 2024, also on Wattpad. If you would like to message me please feel free! I would appreciate and encourage any feedback. Hope you enjoy.

read Chapter 1 here and prologue here

[word count: 2k]

Chapter 2: Say Yes.

Erwin was wrong. He didn't know Levi at all. This was the first time since they've met that he was absolutely shocked at his actions. Same went for Hange, her eyes widened and her mouth hung open in shock. It wasn't just them though, the moment he said what he said, about marrying this small village girl who had no royal blood and not considered highborn, to become his wife, and his queen, everyone gasped, nobody had any words. 

"Levi!" Hange shouted. "What are you talking about?" 

He just looked at her with his common, stoic glare, not saying a word, silently looking at her to shut up and not question what he chose to say in front of anyone. She wasn't intimidated though, she trusted his judgment. 

The one who was most shocked was the girl herself, Asuna, who almost collapsed on her feet while the man next to her kept her up right. The man, Harrison, held Asuna tight as she attempted to process what the King just said. She didn't react, she just stood there staring at the ground in complete shock, then looked back up at the King who had just asked for her hand in marriage. Harrison also looked up at Levi, with furious rage and anger, he was going to take her away, he was going to make her his, and it teared him up inside, knowing there was nothing he could do. 

Dan Reiss, was almost as shocked as his daughter. His mouth clinging open as he stood in front of the King with disbelief. He took a second to figure out if this was real or if it was another one of his drunk imaginations getting the best of him, but it wasn't, this was real, this was really happening. 

"I'm sorry, come again, Your Grace?" Dan asked, breaking the silence. 

"You heard me," Levi answered almost immediately. "Do I have to repeat myself? I hate doing that."

"Answer him!" Asuna screamed at Levi in absolute shock. She looked like she was about to break down, with the unknown man still holding her as if she was dying. He felt a tad bit of jealously when he saw Harrison holding her like that, he didn't understand why, he didn't know her, after all. 

Asuna put her hand over her mouth, trying to understand and attempted not to cry. Levi was a king, he was the most powerful man that humanity as we knew it had known. Countless rich and highborn girls were offered to Levi to be his wife, and all of them, he rejected. Angering the higher ups and his advisors, he continued to feast on girls who he didn't feel he needed to ever commit to, even though half of them managed to fall in love with him, despite his sadistic and lustful tendencies. And for the record, most of the girls he fucked were nothing but maids or the rich girls he met during business gatherings. 

For years, it was like this, he refused his advisors at every turn when they prompted him to marry, for years, he constantly refused. Until now, asking a small village girl who was far from rich at this point, who thought she was a nobody and continued to live her simple life caring for her childhood home, is now being asked to be King Levi's wife. 

"Dan Reiss, like I said, I will forgive your crimes. I will pardon all of the money you owe me that you don't have. I will not hold any grudges against you any longer, if you agree to let me have Asuna as my wife." Levi confronts. "I am not giving you an option to think it over, it is a yes or no question, you're smart enough, to know the outcome of both." 

Yep, this is really happening. Dan closes his eyes and looks down. He didn't have much time to think about it. Though, he realized that it was either his life ending or his daughter becoming the Queen of the Walls. If he chose no, then he would be dead and he would not have any idea what would happen to his daughter or her future. He expected the worst, he feels like even if he was killed by Levi at this very second, Levi would take her anyway. He gives it a lot of thought for about a minute which to Asuna felt like hours. He would rather stay alive and pardoned for his crimes rather than not know what would happen to his only daughter. He had decided. 

He turns to his daughter, who has gotten free from the grasp of Harrison and walks towards her dad and waits for his answer, small tears beginning to fall from her beautiful green eyes. He looks at her with sadness, as well as relief.  

He knew Levi was many things, but a liar, he was not. If he was going to take Asuna's hand in marriage, he would do it, she would be his wife, his Queen, he would protect her and keep her safe from harm to the best of his ability. When she becomes Queen, she will almost have just as the same amount of power as him, as well as the same rights as him. He couldn't help but feel, deep down, this seemed like revenge. He felt as if Levi didn't care about his daughter any less than he cared about any of the other girls he led into his bedroom, this was punishment for his crimes. He couldn't shake the feeling that this was the only reason he was truly asking for Asuna. Though, despite all of this, it was an acceptable offer, but, knowing this, he may never see his daughter again, or barely, at all. 

Levi breaks the silence once more and speaks up.

"Say yes." 

This was a shock to everyone, he didn't know her. He didn't feel like he cared for her at all or ever will care for her like a husband is supposed to. She would have a new life, a new start, instead of being the caretaker of this large piece of land he owned, she would be the Queen. And after one short answer he would give to Levi, the Queen is what she would become. 

"Honey..." Dan breaks his silence. "I'm sorry." 

Asuna gasped loudly, tears running down her face as she screamed that perhaps the village next heard her. She felt betrayed, unwanted, but at the same time, she knew deep down that it was either this or her father's execution. She runs up to her father and grabs him by his shoulders. Levi just stands there without moving, continuing to look at this confrontation happening in front of him. He doesn't say a word, and he wasn't going to change his mind. He wanted her all for himself. 

She holds him by his shoulders looking right into his eyes in denial not saying a word. She felt the same way he felt, she knew the outcome if he were to deny Levi's offer. He was either the death of her father or it wasn't. After a couple seconds of processing what was going to happen to her. She looks down and cries silently. 

"Okay." she says in defeat. 

And with that, everything changed. She knew she was about to leave her home and go with King Levi. This felt like a fever dream, she couldn't tell what her future was going to become nor what was in store for her. This world she lived in was huge. The walls she lived within were so unknown that she couldn't tell how large of a world she actually survived in. Wall Sina, Wall Rose, Wall Maria, soon, she would become the Queen of it all, and everyone who lived within them. She began to question everything about what she was going to become. As the Queen, would she just be merely a figurehead who is only known as Levi's wife? Or would she be able to truly make a difference to the kingdom? All of these thoughts continued to roam around her brain as she continued to process her fate. Before she knew it, everyone of Levi's men and guards had realized that they might finally have someone they can call Queen.

"NO!" the man who Levi didn't know the same of yet screamed as loud as he could. Asuna and Dan turned around and prompted him to stop, but he didn't. "You... can't...!" he begins to get emotional. 

"Harrison, don't." Dan responds to him. "It is already done." 

"You're name is Harrison, huh?" Levi intrudes on the feud. "Harrison, did you just say I can't?" 

"Levi, let's not make this a harder situation than it already is." Erwin and Hange stop him. 

Harrison, the man in question, finally realizes he actually couldn't do anything at all. All amount of protest would mean nothing. His boss was right, it was already done. Asuna was taken from his grasp at the blink of one permanent offer. He looks down, not looking at anything but the ground below him. Nodding and sighing in defeat. Though, if this man wasn't the King, Harrison would be grabbing and punching him until he was wheezing and coughing up blood on the ground. Even though in reality, Harrison wouldn't stand a chance against Levi. 

Harrison absolutely hated what was happening, he never admitted it out loud or told anybody, but he loved her. Growing up together on Dan's estate, and him practicing his last name with Asuna's. He was waiting until they were official to ask her to marry him and run off with together to live their life, but now, all of those dreams were thrown out the window in a matter of a second. Asuna wasn't ever going to be his, she belonged to Levi now, the deed was done, it was over, and he had to cough it up. 

Dan turns around and looks back at the King. "Yes, Your Grace, you can have my daughter's hand in marriage." he finally answers officially. 

Levi looks up and sighs while smirking a bit, almost as if he was happy at Dan's answer. He tightly hugs his daughter as she cries on his shoulder, and as they turned around, they saw every one of Levi's acquaintances look at each other and nod, them too slowly realizing that this was really happening as well. With that, they all get down on their knees and kneel, laying their arms at their knees as they bow to their new Queen. 

Asuna is stunned. All her father had to do was say yes, and now suddenly she is treated like a royal. It took one word, and that word was yes. Yet, she herself had no words. Softly wiping her tears away and accepting her new reality. She actually disliked what they were doing, she was no queen, she was just a simple farm girl who had no true line of royal blood, that she knew of, anyway. 

She let go of her father and watched as everyone around her kneeled before her. Dan and Harrison both stepped back behind her with expressionless faces, but secretly, Dan was happy and relieved. Not because he was going to live to see another day, but that his sweet daughter was going to be the most powerful woman within the walls.

There was no point to this, she thought. There was no reason for them to be bowing to her, she didn't do anything,  she didn't prove anything to them. Finally coming to her senses, she looked up, stood tall, and glared at her future husband. 

Levi walked toward her, not losing eye contact with her pretty eyes that he was captivated by from the moment he saw her. He takes her right hand in his, softly smiling at her as he kisses her palm then puts it down. 

"It's truly nice to meet you, Asuna."

She doesn't respond back with a friendly greeting. Instead, she softly speaks. "Why me?" He looks at her and softly responds back, in a way that nobody around them could hear what he was saying to her. 

"Not sure, actually. But we can't change the past now, can we?"

[Chap. 3 coming to Tumblr soon! I am also creating a master list that will most likely be up by chapter 5. Thank you:)]

- Kat