#smallest priest ever

[mashed4077]

[carisisrolledupsleeves]

“there is no way anyone is that innocent” with sonny? also can you include overstim + multiple orgasms for reader? thank you!! ❤️❤️❤️

..........

ooops this turned out to be really long hehe but i hope you like it! thanks for the request!

It’s been years since you had seen Sonny. After college, you had left to study abroad, and ended up staying. You had met someone, and had started your first serious relationship. Apart from visiting for Christmas, you had not been back home. 

But the break-up had been horrendous and so you packed up your stuff and returned to New York, to the comfort of your loved ones, to lick your wounds. 

The occasion was less than ideal. Your sister’s nuptials. For her sake, you kept a brave face, did everything to help her with the fairytale wedding she had always dreamed of. Your family being devout catholics as well as Italian, it had to be proper and perfect down to the smallest detail. 

And it ended up being exactly that. Although Sonny’s presence, and the fact that he looked incredibly handsome in his suit, was threatening to distract you for the entire ceremony. The priest hadn’t even gotten to the opening prayer yet and your eyes wandered, meeting his gaze as you stood by your sister’s side. He smiled in a way that made you blush, and remember all the things you had done with each other as teenagers, things your parents would probably disown you for if they ever found out. 

Following the ceremony, you had been too busy to even sit down, let alone think further about the way his lips had lingered on your upper jaw as he had kissed you on the cheek. Or the way he had whispered ‘You look so beautiful’ before your aunt pulled you away towards the car waiting to take you to the estate your family had booked for the celebrations.

But now that most of the formalities are over and the guests are eating, drinking, and dancing, you have snuck away to take some much needed drags from your vape pen, the kind filled with something other than nicotine. 

‘If you don’t share, I’ll tell.’ a male voice says behind you and you smile, turning around to see Sonny.

He looks even sexier now. He had lost the tie, and his shirt is unbuttoned just right, a bit of chest hair is peeking out. His hair no longer in its perfectly gelled state, having played with the kids in attendance all afternoon, giving countless of piggy-back rides. You catch yourself staring once more. 

‘Our parents would literally kill us.’ you hand him the vape.

‘Our parents would kill us for a lot of things, even fifteen years later.’ Sonny smirks as he takes a drag.

‘I’ll just say you seduced me.’ you shrug, reveling in the way he flirts with you.

‘And now? Seems you’re the one seducing me.’ he waves the pen at you and you snatch it from his hand.

‘I would never. All the naughty stuff? You taught me. I’d probably still be a virgin if it wasn’t for you, Sonny.’ you joke and he laughs out loud. 

‘Ohhhhh. Right. So that ex-boyfriend of yours was gonna wait ‘til marriage, huh?’ Sonny chuckles and you continue to tease.

‘Hmmm. Now I’m almost thirty and single and no one wants me because you ruined me.’ 

Sonny steps closer. ‘I want you.’ he whispers. ‘I’ve always wanted you.’

You take a deep breath. He isn’t joking around any longer. And the smug grin disappears from your face as you take in the serious implications of his words, and his actions as he lifts his hand to cup your cheek, your lips suddenly only inches apart. 

‘Sonny, I-’ you’re about to lean in when someone shouts your name. It’s your mom. Fuck. 

He sighs as you pull away, and you give him an apologetic look as you rush back towards the wedding party before your mother catches you with him, and the weed. Adult or not, you’re still a child and probably always will be when it comes to your parents, especially as the youngest daughter. 

You hate to leave him, the urge to be near him even more compelling now after his confession. There’s always been something between you. Yes, you had been kids back then; exploring, being curious, with a decent amount of teenage rebellion on top of it. Still, you would have never done this with just any boy. Sonny and you had always been each other’s first crushes, and there had always been a level of trust and intimacy with him you had not been able to find with anyone that came after. The joking, the teasing, even now it seemed you picked up right where you had left off. 

Being the younger sister of the bride aka running the errands and doing the things the maid of honor is too important to do, you are sent to get the lash glue they forgot in your room earlier. As you rummage through the mess you left behind when getting ready, there’s a knock on the door. 

‘Ugh, hang on!’ you grumble, opening this and that bag to search.

Another knock. God, fake lashes falling off can’t be that much of an emergency. 

‘Wait!’ you yell, getting annoyed.

‘Waited long enough.’ you hear Sonny’s voice say outside the door.

Oh. Oh. You drop the makeup bag back on the table and more or less leap for the door. The moment you open it, Sonny pushes into the room, pressing a heated kiss onto your lips, and you wrap your arms around his neck. You aren’t even surprised that he followed you, and that this is happening right now. In all honesty, you had hoped for it, even dreamed about it, from the second you found out he was coming to the wedding. Now, as his hands wander over your body, it’s more than obvious that he had been too. Reaching back behind him between kisses, you lock the door, and he smiles against your lips. 

‘Hmmm, guess I was right.’ he mumbles, his voice low.

‘Right about what?’ you ask sheepishly, pushing his suit jacket off his shoulders. 

‘That there’s no way anyone is that innocent.’ Sonny starts fumbling with the zipper of your dress and you turn around, making it easier for him. 

‘What do you mean? I’m a good catholic girl.’ his warm hands glide down your back as he pulls it down, revealing your dark red lace underwear. 

‘Good catholic girl, huh?’ his fingers trace along the fabric, underneath the waistband of your thong, pulling it before letting it snap back. ‘Did you put this on hoping I would take it off? I know you did. So innocent.’ 

You turn back to face him, your dress falling to the floor. Sonny draws in a sharp breath, taking in the sight of you, and you can feel the heat spreading throughout your entire body. The look in his eyes is a mixture of that boyish gleam of anticipation and the confidence of a man who knows exactly what he wants.

‘I have no idea what you’re talking about.’ you taunt, making him laugh, but you kiss him again, with more force this time, turning his laugh into a moan. 

Truth is, nothing has ever been innocent about you when it came to him. And yet it feels so different now that you aren’t kids anymore. Even with your ex you hadn’t felt like this. It does scare you, even though it excites you at the same time. You start unbuttoning his shirt, your hands on his body like magnets, discovering just how much he has grown from an awkward, lanky boy into a man. Not that you didn’t love the awkward, lanky boy just as much. 

Your fingers wrap around his erection as your hands reach down his pants and he hisses, walking you backwards to the bed, unhooking your bra in the process. 

‘I really…have no idea…what you’re talking about.’ you repeat as you begin to pump him, endlessly thrilled by how you can already feel him leaking pre-cum, and dying to have him inside you. 

But it seems Sonny has other plans. Pushing you down on the mattress he forces you to withdraw from him, and he gets down on his knees, pulling your hips toward him, and all of a sudden his face is merely inches away from your lace-covered center. He’s so close you can feel his breath, making you shiver. 

‘Lie down.’ Sonny orders softly and you do as he asks. ‘Good girl.’ he whispers in response, and you just about soak your panties at his words.

Not that it matters, since he grabs the piece of clothing and pulls them off with one swift motion, tossing them aside. And there you are now, naked on the bed in front of him, and his long fingers slip over your clit, down your folds, playing with your wetness. Your moan is louder than you had anticipated as it leaves your mouth, and your body trembles at the prospect of what’s to come. You look down at him as Sonny spreads your legs open, his eyes staring into yours as his tongue darts out to taste you.

‘Fuck baby, you taste even more delicious than I remember.’ he purrs, again letting his tongue roll over your pussy, again making you moan. 

‘Sonny…oh my God!’ you whimper, and he grabs your thighs, settling between your legs. 

You nearly pass out. All you can do is lie there and hold on to the sheets as his adept mouth continues to work on your cunt. His tongue delves into you, drawing more slick, fucking into you softly before he’s back on your clit, and you can feel him spread your lips some more to get better access. Applying just the right amount of pressure he massages your nub, and you can’t help but reach down to run your fingers through his hair, pulling ever so slightly as he makes you shudder with every flick of his tongue. 

‘Mmm I could spend all day between your legs. I missed you.’ he groans, and you can hear his own arousal in his voice.    

You swallow hard, your pulse quickening as he keeps going, sucking on your clit while he plunges two fingers into you. 

‘Ugh, shit! Sonny! Please…’ you beg, arching your back as he starts pumping his fingers in and out, curling over your gspot.

‘What, my love?’ he asks, looking up at you curiously but you know he knows what it is you want.

‘Please…’ your voice getting more and more shaky as he picks up the pace.

‘Please, what?’ Sonny grins, licking your slit up and down, his face already wet with your juices. Oh, what a sight.

‘Please, fuck me.’ your flushed face turning even more red. You’ve never said this to a man out loud. 

‘I’m not done here yet. Not by a long shot. You gotta be patient. Can you do that for me, sweetheart?’ Sonny mumbles, his fingers pulling back a little to toy with your wet opening before shoving them back in, making you cry out in pleasure. 

You’re getting close. And you know he can feel it, in the way you grip at his hair, in the way you grind yourself against him, in the way you can’t help but clench around his fingers. 

‘It f-feels so g-good, Sonny.’ you breathe, as he mouths at your pussy, his tongue flat against you, licking from bottom to top, seemingly not getting enough of your taste. 

His fingers fuck into you harder and faster, as he focuses on your most sensitive spots. The feeling of his tongue on you paired with his pretty moans, the way he is getting so much pleasure from satisfying you, it’s all too much. You can feel the wave rolling in, your thighs beginning to shake. He had given you your first orgasm ever, and it had been so unexpected, you’d had no idea what was happening. Even the ones after had taken you by surprise, and you had mostly been shy about it. For some reason, you had always held back, especially with your other lovers, or they just hadn’t been as good at getting you there. Now back with Sonny, it was different. You are losing control and truth be told, you don’t know if you’re ready for it. 

However, you can’t stop it. The spring that’s been coiling tightly in your stomach from the second he started touching you, releases and you shake, trying your best to stifle a loud moan. You whimper and attempt to get away from Sonny’s mouth, his fingers that are still sliding in and out of you. It’s too much. It’s all too much. You sigh and finally push him away, closing your legs as you shiver. 

‘Hey…’ he exhales softly, grabbing your waist as you look at him shyly. ‘What’s that?’

‘Nothing…I just…can we just…’ you stammer, slightly overwhelmed. He looks at you confused. 

‘Oh, no. Wait. We gotta try this again. And this time you gotta relax.’ he slips his hand back between your legs, and you want to protest, being so sensitive after your climax.

He starts rubbing your clit again and you can’t help but open your legs once more, giving him access. Sonny is back on you, his tongue licking up your first release, and within seconds he is eliciting another. You close your eyes and your hands grab the sheets for hold, feeling yourself topple over again. It’s even more intense this time, your pussy and clit still swollen from your previous orgasm, having been denied to even come down from it. You spasm around his fingers again, your back arching, and this time, his name escapes your mouth in a moan, and he watches you intently as you ride out those waves of pleasure. 

But no, he still doesn’t withdraw his fingers.

‘Again.’ he whispers, circling your clit, pressing his fingers into your glistening heat as he spreads your thighs wider, and you feel like blacking out. ‘Let go, my love. Don’t think of anything else.’ 

You come. Again. And even if you tried to think of anything, you can’t. His free hand holds down your hips as your third climax crashes over you with a gush and it’s only then he pulls out of you, letting your pussy convulse and release a stream of moisture. Fuck. You don’t know what is happening but his mouth is on you again, tasting every last drop coming out of you, sloppily licking up and down your folds.

‘Good girl. Making such a pretty mess for me.’ he praises, and it finally registers in your brain. He had just made you squirt. And that definitely hadn’t happened to you before. Ever. 

‘Sonny, what the fuck?’ you choke, almost breathlessly. 

‘Language!’ he smiles as he gets rid of his pants and underwear, finally crawling up, kissing you deeply as he grabs your hips. 

The taste of you on his lips makes you even more delirious as he thrusts into you, his cock feeling bigger than ever in your overstimulated core. You whine, and you’re already starting to bliss out, again. Sonny is close just from eating you out, you can tell but he’s holding back, burying himself inside you while his thumb finds your clit. 

‘I love seeing you cum.’ he growls into your ear before his lips capture yours once more. 

And yes, you come again. There really is no point of holding back any longer. You fully give yourself over to him, and this blinding ecstasy. He really seems to revel in it, and now that he is inside of you, it is even more intense. Sonny gasps as you squeeze him, your walls beginning to spasm, making it almost difficult to pump into you. You claw at his back, rolling your hips against his as you moan a string of curse words at which he grins. 

‘You gotta stop.’ you cry, as he picks up the pace, pounding into your delicate pussy.

‘I’m not done with you.’ Sonny smirks, biting at your neck as you keep scratching and digging your nails into him.

Oh God. Good Lord. You can’t even think straight anymore. You have lost count of your orgasms, not that it matters because he seems to want to make you come as many times as possible until he can no longer hold back himself. Arching your back you meet his rough thrusts, feeling him smile against your lips as he kisses you passionately. His thumb hasn’t left your clit, keeping pressure there, rubbing to intensify your pleasure if that’s even humanly possible. You are on another plane. You might as well be on another planet. You have lost all sense of time and space, the only things to exist are Sonny and you. With each thrust, his cock hits your gspot in the most delightful way, and your body begins to curl in on itself, pussy throbbing and clenching around him. 

‘I love it when I can feel you burst around me.’ he groans, sending you over the edge to another orgasm. 

‘S-Sonny! Jesus fucking Christ!’ you scream, pressing your head back into the mattress as you desperately cling to him, shaking.

Sonny grins at your profanities; he has you exactly where he wanted you -  completely undone. He pushes up your legs, positioning them over his shoulders, fucking into you, even deeper than before. 

‘Fuck, baby, fuck, you’re so wet! Fuck!’ he’s close now, you can feel it. 

‘I want you to cum inside me.’ you purr into his ear, your words driving him crazy.

He growls, ramming into you as he plays with your clit. You know he’s going to make you come again but you want to hold back, want to feel him come with you. Crying out his name you hold on to him, purposely clenching your walls to squeeze him and he bites your lip in response, the slight pain adding to your pleasure even more. Just as you feel yourself topple over again he tenses, and as your pussy pulses, pulling him in even deeper, he finally lets go, spilling inside of you. He moans your name, pumping his cum into you, the sensation too much for your overwrought cunt. You can’t stop shaking, and he’s hugging you tightly, the two of you collapsing together. 

You don’t know how long you stay like this, breathing heavily, your bodies tangled in soaked sheets. Messy, crazy, wild, out of control; just how sex is supposed to be, and it took you reuniting with your first true love to unleash this feral side of you. 

‘What are you thinking about?’ Sonny asks, pushing back a strand of hair from your face.

‘That you were my first. And you should be my last. Because fuck, I don’t think anyone will ever make me cum like this ever again.’ you smile, kissing him.

‘Well…that was my plan all along, I’m glad I succeeded.’ he admits, pulling you even closer.

request a prompt from the smut prompt list 🔥

[makethatelevenrings]

Royalty AU - Simon Riley x f!reader

A/N: 9,335 words (20 pages) all in one sitting. I'm unwell. My mother became increasingly concerned as I didn't move from one spot. This is unedited. I'm sorry but I'm not.

Warnings: period(?) typical misogyny, allusions to sexual assault/rape (reader thinks she will be forced to perform her marital duties), illness, fever, violence, light smut so 18+, Simon being emotionally constipated, pregnancy (at the end)

This is part of my 5k Follower Celebration! Check it out to see if any prompts are still open to claim!

The first time you met your husband was your wedding day.

Crowds of people lined the dirt roads as the carriage lurched across the hills and valleys. Their faces peered carefully into the windows in an attempt to see past the velveteen curtains that obscured you from view. Your dress was a heavy combination of silk and a golden brocade that clung to your skin. The veils of your unmarried status hung around your face, giving the appearance that your face was something precious to behold.

Beside you, mother sat silently. Father was in the carriage ahead of you so he could escort you out once the time came. This was supposed to be a happy day, a blessed day, but all you could feel was dread as the wheels crept closer to the looming castle at the center of the village. Hushed whispers permeated the air and you couldn’t tell if the townspeople were looking at you in pity, anger, or disgust. Who were you? Some princess who was now going to be their queen despite never having stepped foot on their land.

You shut your eyes against the shame that burned at your cheeks. You didn’t open them until the carriage stopped.

“Let’s go,” Father said gruffly. He stood at the door of the carriage with his hand extended. Your mother exited first and then you did, only to be greeted by more hushed whispers and judgmental stares. You sucked in a deep breath and straightened your shoulders, raising your head to focus solely on the doors before you. One step. Two steps. You let the mantra guide you through the hall, past the people seated on the sides of the aisle, and to the raised dais before everyone and the gods.

Your betrothed stood on the opposite side of you. King Riley was as big as a mountain, a maid whispered to you as they dressed you that morning. His cruelty knew no bounds, another said. He killed without mercy on the battlefield. He was violent and vicious. No one had ever seen his face. He was incapable of loving anything but blood. His people were the same. Violent and rude, unrefined and uncivilized. Children left feral in the streets. Men and women who wrought vengeance for the smallest infractions. A kingdom ruled by fear and bloodlust.

When the rider came to the gates of your town with a treaty and alliance written out with the stipulation that the princess would marry King Simon Riley, you knew that you would have to accept. Your people were starving from the famine in your lands. Your parents had raised you for this.

Stepping onto the dais, your hand left your fathers and instead slipped into the larger, gloved palm of the king. Your head raised and you could see through the veils that he truly did wear a mask, something awful with a skull painted across the front of it. He couldn’t have gone without it for his wedding? You averted your gaze and instead focused on the priest. The words reverberated through your ears, but you hardly paid attention to the vows. You knew when to say the right words and how to say it.

And then the priest was announcing your marriage finalized and those gloved hands released yours to lift the edge of your veils. The lower half of his mask was raised to reveal his lips and the kiss was short, perfunctory, and colder than ice. Perhaps your maids were right, you thought to yourself. Fear gripped your heart for the rest of the night. Through the reception, the dances, and the dinner, you waited for this hulking mass of a man to take you to his bedchambers and force you to do your duty.

But he never did.

King Riley, your husband, merely sat back in his chair and watched the dancing couples on the floor. He occasionally spoke to the men seated beside him, but he never once glanced your way. When a maid approached you to take you to your new room, you glanced back at him, but he didn’t spare you a glance. She undressed you without saying a word, so unlike your friend and compatriot Lucy who had accompanied you but was probably packing the carriage for the return home. You would be all alone in this foreign place with no friends, no allies.

The maid left you in your thin nightgown and you sat in the big, empty bed and waited for your husband to come so you could perform your marriage duties.

The door lay untouched. As did you.

When the fire began to dim in its hearth and you realized that he wasn’t coming, you pressed your face into the soft, goose down pillow below your head, and wept, both in relief and out of despair. This was your life now.

The next morning, you awoke to someone gently touching your shoulder. Turning, you expected to see the same stone-faced maid from last night but was surprised to find Lucy standing over you.

“The king asked your father last night if he could retain me on his staff,” she explained. Hope filled your heart at the realization that you weren’t truly alone. One of your closest friends and allies would be here. She dressed you quickly as you picked at the tray of breakfast she had brought. As the bells chimed the arrival of seven in the morning, a knock sounded on your door. You settled yourself primly in a chair by the fire as Lucy went to answer.

“Your Majesty,” a knight greeted you as he stepped inside the room. He was tall, but not as tall as your husband, and his kind smile betrayed the intimidating broadsword that was strapped to his back. His hair was cropped short aside from a mohawk that split down the middle. All in all, he didn’t look like any of the stuffy, dignified knights of your parents' court.

“Good morning,” you greeted stiffly. His smile dimmed slightly and he inclined his head to you and then Lucy.

“My name is Sir John MacTavish, Your Majesty. I was sent to provide you both with a tour of the castle and the grounds.”

“Am I in any danger?” you asked. It was unusual that a knight would be sent to do a simple tour, but this whole court seemed entirely different from the way you were raised.

“No, my lady. It’s His Majesty’s version of a punishment, I’m afraid. He didn’t take too kindly to Sir Garrick and I stealing his sword for a day.” His crooked grin grew. “But if my punishment is to escort two beautiful women, then I fear I will find myself in more trouble.”

You exhaled a huff of laughter as Lucy’s cheeks flushed. This MacTavish was trouble, but he was the kindest person you had met so far in this country. Lucy grabbed a cloak for you and you thanked her for grabbing one without all the ornamentation that your mother insisted was fit for a queen. How on earth were you supposed to get your hands dirty if you were weighed down by jewels?

Sir MacTavish opted to show you the grounds first. The village bustled with activity and no one seemed to pay you any mind, which you preferred. Vendors stood at booths and bartered with tradesmen. Knights patrolled the edges of the market to keep an eye out for anyone with an intent to steal or deceive. Mothers with babies swaddled to their backs and chests carried laundry baskets on their hips. Men headed for the great doors implanted in the walls. They were open now, enabling the farmers, shepherds, and tradesmen to come and go.

Oh, it was delightful.

You were rarely allowed to step out into the village of your home because your mother insisted it was a dirty, loud, disease-filled place. Sure, it was full of voices and raucous laughter, and dirt and dust swirled into your hair and skirts, but it was full of people.

“Now, your main export is wheat, correct?” you asked over the din of the crowd. Sir MacTavish’s large stature and imposing sword made the crowds part, giving you a chance to examine the houses and buildings on either side of you. Lucy slipped her hand in yours in an attempt to stay close and not get swept up in the crowds.

“Aye,” he replied in his thick brogue. “How’d you know that?”

“When I first learned of the proposed alliance, I made an effort to learn about the country,” you admitted. “The orchards are your second greatest export, but I was told that you have to import medicinal herbs from other countries. Is the ground not suitable for those kinds of plants?”

He looked at you with something akin to surprise and then shrugged. “Alex, our main healer, has been trying to grow herbs for a while but they never last. He’s tried damn near everything. We try to stock up before the winter months when the fevers typically arise, but we’ve lost quite a few people to sickness.”

You pursed your lips in thought. “Your land should have the nutrients for the plants to survive. Their must be something else stunting them. Could you set up a meeting with the healer, if that’s allowed?”

The knight scoffed at your question and you felt, for a brief moment, that you overstepped. But he quickly dissuaded that thought. “You’re the Queen, m’lady. Of course that’s allowed.”

Hours later, MacTavish watched you talk with Alex, head bent over a book and finger pressed against the lines of text. Lucy stood next to him, rocking back and forth on her heels. You gestured to something outside and Alex lit up, your talking increasing in speed and volume.

“Is she always like that?” he asked the maid. Pride effused from her veins and she grinned brightly at him.

“Oh yes, she’s always been focused on caring for her people. The King and Queen…” Lucy faltered. “They were not as conscientious.”

When Soap first heard about the impending marriage, he thought Simon was off his rocker, well and truly. Price said it would strengthen their trade and provide protection from the west, but his king was the exact opposite of a touchy-feely love kind of person. But Soap also forgot that they were no longer a bunch of soldiers playing hero on the battlefield, but knights turned politicians. Gaz had nearly laughed himself out of the council chambers when Simon announced his intent to marry, especially to a princess of a small country. All they knew about you was from your parents. Your mother was a known court gossip and cared more about the latest dress trends than the status of her citizens. Your father was known for his callous nature and manipulation of his court.

All in all, they hadn’t heard good things about you.

Simon intended for it to be a purely political marriage. At some point, an heir would need to be produced, but Soap realized pretty quickly that Simon was betting on you producing some sort of bastard heir. Well, he thought to himself, Ghost’ll be surprised to hear about this.

That night, long after Lucy left you to sleep, you found yourself unable to fall into that state of semi-unconsciousness. The bed was too large, too empty for you. Sighing, you got up and pulled on a dressing gown over your thin nightdress and grabbed one of the candlesticks from the mantle. You used the dying light of the fireplace to ignite the wick and used the light to guide your steps out of the room and down the hall to where Sir MacTavish had shown you the library. This was your house too, now. Right?

Carefully, you eased open the doors and slipped into the library to find that a decent fire warmed the seating area. A maid must have left it going on accident and you made a mental note to smother it before you left. 

Shelves full of books lined the room and you tentatively approached the closest one, lifting your candle higher to see the titles inscribed on the spines. It seemed like every book in the world filled this room. You wanted to know more about this country and its culture, economy, everything. Three shelves down, you hit a jackpot and started to acquire a small stack of books that you could carry back to your room.

Until something tugged at the edge of your gown.

A startled shriek escaped you and you looked down to find a little kitten playing with one of the tassels of your dressing gown. You laughed at your own foolishness and bent down to set the candlestick on the ground and offer your hand to the kitten. It chirped and butted its head against your palm.

“Well hello,” you cooed. “You’re just a baby, aren’t you? Where’s your mama?”

“They stay in the library to kill any rats that get in.”

This time, you nearly jumped out of your skin. You didn’t even hear another person approach and certainly not the huge man that stood before you. A gasp escaped you as you pulled your dressing gown closer around your body. You were fully aware of how improper this was. You were a married woman. You were the Queen. You could not be seen half-dressed in the library with a strange man.

His dark eyes tracked your movements and he turned to look at the books beside him. “My apologies, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“No, by all means, sneak up on a woman at night, all alone,” you huffed. You gave the kitten one more scritch under the chin and then gathered up the books and pressed them against your chest to hide yourself better. Your other hand scooped up the candlestick and you stood to face him. Well. As best as you could. He towered over you easily and you swallowed past the lump in your throat. He was beautiful, in a haunted sort of way. His nose was crooked, as if it had been broken before, and a thick scar ran across his cheek and through his lips. Messy blond hair fell across his forehead and some strands into his dark brown eyes. You had never seen him before, but you assumed by his ease of movement in the library and the muscles that rippled under his shirt that he was a knight.

“If you will excuse me now,” you said tersely. He stepped back to give you space and you practically stormed past him and out of the library. No way in hell would you be accused of impropriety.

Simon watched you leave with an amused smile pulling at his lips. He bent down to offer the kitten a gentle pet and noticed that you had left a book behind. Scooping it up, he assumed it would be some frivolous thing but found himself surprised when he read the title. What the hell were you doing reading last years tax collections?

Two months passed and you were settling into your new life quite well. You rarely saw your husband and, when you did, the two of you barely exchanged more than a stilted greeting and farewell. You didn’t mind. Sure, the court and the villagers were starting to whisper about your lack of body changes, but you didn’t give a shit. King Simon hadn’t darkened the doorstep of your bedroom and you preferred it that way. 

Despite the fact that villagers turned their backs to you, for once in your life, you didn’t feel pressured to exist by the constraints of others' expectations. For once, you felt like you could truly just…be.

The winter was beginning to creep up on the land. You could feel it in the mornings when your joints were a bit stiffer and the bed a little more inviting than it typically was. A new fur pelt blanket appeared on the edge of your bed after the first cold front pushed through and you accepted it gratefully. Lucy denied having acquired it, but you figured she was just being demure. King Simon and Sir MacTavish were off hunting with a few men before the winter finally closed the city walls for the season. It allowed you a chance to breathe just a little easier without wondering what your so-called husband was up to.

Despite the cold, you were in the garden plots on the far side of the castle wall. After talking with Alex, you had realized the old garden plot was too close to the castle and absorbed extra heat off of the sun’s reflection from the windows. The new garden spot provided the perfect amount of shade and light in equal turn and the herbs were growing beautifully. Alex had been called to help with a scythe injury in the fields, so you volunteered to gather the last of the herbs before the first frost. Lucy sat nearby with a basket of darning next to her. Your ever faithful friend rarely left your side and you were eternally grateful. Even if you knew she made sure to change out her dress and apron if Sir MacTavish came by to chat.

“Your Majesty!” a shrill voice shrieked in the distance. You glanced up and saw a young boy rushing towards you with two knights hot on his tail. The child’s face was stained with tears and his breaths choked off with the occasional hiccuping sob, but he still outpaced the two knights. You stood and wiped the dirt on your hands onto your skirt and kneeled in time to catch the boy by the shoulders before he bowled you over. The knights drew their weapons, but you raised your hand to stall them.

“What is it?” you urged the boy to explain. “What’s wrong?”

“My mother. She’s ill. Healer Keller is in the fields and Lady Karim went to get him, but she’s getting worse a-and I don’t know what to do,” he sobbed.

“Put your weapons away,” you ordered the knights. The older one left, presumably to fetch help, and the younger one sheathed his sword.

“Your Majesty, it’s the fever,” the knight explained. His soft eyes cast a worried glance at your hands that held the boy, but you brushed aside that concern. He was a child and he needed comfort. He needed to feel as though his mother had a fighting chance.

“Lucy, I need feverfew, ginger, and echinacea. Sir…” You turned to face the knight and he tipped his head in a formal greeting.

“Garrick, Your Majesty.”

“Sir Garrick will lead you to the house. Come, show me to your mother.” The boy grabbed your hand and you used your other free hand to gather your skirts and run. His house was on the opposite end of the village and the braying of cattle and sheep filled the air along with the clanking of their bells. When you stepped into the house, the earthy richness of the soil was overwrought with the pervasive scent of sick. A woman on the bed curled in on herself and let out a violent cough into the rag loosely clutched in her hand. Next to the bed, a baby wailed in its cradle.

“What’s your name?” you asked the boy gently.

“Tommy, m’lady.” Tears lined his eyes once more and you smoothed his hair down, offering him a reassuring smile.

“Alright, Tommy. Can you do me a favor? If I move your sister outside, can you take care of her until Sir Garrick and Lucy arrive?” He nodded his head so quickly, you thought he might injure himself.

You scooped up the baby and placed her in her brother’s arms before you grabbed the cradle and carried it outside, the children following close behind. The cold winter air nipped at your nose and you quickly discarded your fur-lined cloak. You wrapped it around Tommy and the cradle and instructed him to stay outside.

Once back in the house, you rolled up the sleeves of your gown and washed your hands in a basin set up by the door. Approaching the woman, you pressed the back of your hand to her forehead and cursed under your breath.

“Tommy?” she whimpered. You brushed your hand over her brow and shushed her.

“Rest. It’s alright. I’m here to help.”

Lucy came only a few minutes later with the supplies you ordered and a few other things she thought you would need. She then took Tommy and his sister, Eleanor, to the castle to stay at for the time being. The mother, Fiona, wasn’t too far gone in your estimate. You had helped the healers back home during the fever, slipping out when your mother wasn’t looking. The study of herbs and medicine fascinated you, even if it wasn’t a ladylike pursuit. Despite Sir Garrick’s protest at it being too dangerous, you stayed with Fiona even when Alex returned from the fields with her husband in tow. Instead, you banished the two men to find somewhere else to stay to lower their risk of infection. It would be no use if the children lost both parents and the country lost its best healer.

“Inhale, you’re doing great,” you coaxed Fiona through a steam treatment. The echinacea helped relieve some of her cough and the feverfew was bringing her temperature down. You had been at it for hours now and even though your mind ached for rest, you needed to see this through. Sir Garrick posted himself outside of the door and refused to leave until you did, so you weren’t the only one with a sleepless night.

As dawn broke on the second day, so did her fever. You must have dozed off at some point in the early hours and you rose to stoke the fire to keep the small cabin warm. Fiona stirred on her bed and let out a slight cough that sounded much better compared to the first time you saw her. A little bit of color returned to her face and you knew that you were past the point of the illness being lethal.

“Your Majesty,” she breathed. The woman tried to rise from her bed, but you shook your head and motioned for her to stay seated. You poured her a cup of ginger tea and settled yourself on the edge of the bed, helping her drink it in long, slow sips.

“How do you feel?” you asked.

“Better, m’lady. So much better. How did you…?”

A quiet laugh escaped you. “An old healer in my home village taught me all she knew. She was accused of being a witch, but she was really just smart.”

“Tommy and Eleanor? Are they alright?”

“Being doted on by the castle chef’s, I believe,” you assured her. “And your husband is with them. They’re all well.”

Fiona inhaled deeply for the first time in days and then blinked back tears. Her hands grasped yours and she bowed her head. “I’m so sorry, Your Majesty. We thought you were some foolish girl. We’re so protective of the king that we just assumed… oh, my Queen, please forgive me for the contempt I felt towards you.”

A wave of both sorrow and adoration washed over you and you hugged the woman close. “You need not apologize. What’s done is done and let us move past it.”

On the third day, with her fever down and the risk of contagion passed, you granted the family to return to the cabin and accepted Sir Garrick’s offer of an escort back to the castle. You were sure you made a right sight, with your dress dirty with soot from mending the fire and spills of both tea and sick staining the fabric. You kept your chin up and shoulders back as you walked through the village. You didn’t want to look at the faces peering through their windows and open doors. You didn’t want to see their judgment at the sight of their Queen in such a disarray.

As you approached the castle, you asked Sir Garrick the question that had brewed in your mind since you left the cabin. “Has the king returned yet?”

“No, m’lady. We expect him back tomorrow.”

Good, you told yourself. He won’t see you looking like this. He won’t be present for what happens next.

Lucy heated bathwater for you and had it ready when you stepped through the doors of your suite. You refused to let her help you undress and bundled your dress into a bag before instructing her to burn it to ensure that contamination didn’t affect anyone else. The scent of rose petals lingered in your nose and you let your head loll back against the rim of the tub. 

“You should go,” you instructed your maid. “I will fall ill in a day, maybe earlier.”

“Is that an order?” You had never used rank on her. It was unheard of between the two of you and the thought of it made you cringe.

“Never.”

“Then I shall stay.”

Through the fog of sleep, you heard the doors shudder against the force of something. Sunlight was streaming through the windows and you could guess from the position of the rays on the bed, it was near noon, far past your usual wake time. You willed your body to rise from the bed, but all you were capable of doing was releasing a violent cough that rattled your lungs and made your bones ache.

The door rattled again and you concluded that it had to be a dream. Another cough escaped you and you looked at the fabric below your cheek to see a small splatter of blood on the fabric. Yes, a dream. You were still at home. You had fallen asleep in a bed of wildflowers in the garden, a book on your chest and a bird perched on your shoulder. The warmth that flowed over your body was simply the sun bathing you in its gentle light.

Footsteps pounded against your eardrums in the steady thudthudthud that matched your heart and you shut your eyes to ward off the ache that accompanied it. A wheezing breath passed through your lips just as two hands grabbed your cheeks.

“Your Majesty!” Lucy cried from somewhere to your left.

“How long has she been ill?” a voice growled above you. You tried to place it to a face, but all you could see was what appeared to be a skull. You couldn’t be that far along in the fever, right?

“This is the second day,” Lucy explained. “It’s only going to get worse tomorrow and, if we can stymie the fever, it will abate and she will make it.”

“Soap, alert Keller now. Bring me rags and a fresh pitcher of water.” You turned your head towards the voice and tried to see past your swimming vision. A delicate touch stilled you and you let out a slow, rattling exhale.

“My lord, if you stay, you risk the security of this nation,” Lucy said quietly. What? What on earth did she mean by that? A calloused thumb rubbed along your cheekbone and you let your eyes fall shut as exhaustion began to claim you once more. You nestled closer to the comforting touch and it stilled for just a moment before resuming.

“I had the fever as a child,” Simon explained to your maid. “And if my wife is brave enough to sit with the sick, then I must be too. Go rest. I will watch her for a bit.”

She meant to protest, but one look at her king made her change her mind. He wasn’t even looking at her, but rather his entire focus was on you. He had charged into the room looking like something fresh out of war when he saw your weakened from sprawled out on the bed. Lucy had been doing her best to provide symptom relief and to lower your fever, but she was exhausted too. Sir MacTavish took hold of the maid’s arm and gently led her to a spare room on the floor so she could rest, quarantine, and regain her strength.

When the fever broke three days later, you opened your eyes to find the hulking form of your husband crushed into the tiny chair he had drawn up next to your bed. One of his rough, calloused hands wrapped around your wrist and you realized with a start that he was checking your pulse. As your heart race increased, his eyes opened. He wore a different mask than usual, just a simple black fabric that bridged across his nose and hid the lower half of his face. It revealed a few scars that marred his temple and you couldn’t stop yourself from reaching out and smoothing the tips of your fingers over the puffy skin. He caught your wrist and you quickly realized your place and started to pull away, but he shook his head and merely drew your hand up to touch the silky blond hair he usually kept hidden from you.

It should be laughable to you. The first time your husband saw you in your nightclothes, in your bed, unmade and unraveled, and it was because you fell ill. This was the first time he had been in your room and it wasn’t for the expected production of an heir.

One of his hands came up to cradle your cheek and the other wet a cloth before dabbing it against your brow. You found that there were no words to say anything. Instead, you merely shut your eyes and let him care for you.

Things changed after that. Gone were the days spent in the company of only Lucy. Now you couldn’t make your way through the castle or the village without someone accompanying you. The villagers greeted you warmly and offered you fresh baked bread or holiday treats. When the first snow fell, you and Lucy found yourself ganged up on by some of the village kids in what turned into an all-out snowball war. Laughter rang out in the courtyard as you dashed around the bend of one of the stables to avoid a well-aimed snowball. Lucy had been tackled by some of the smaller kids and succumbed to them piling on her with shrieks of laughter and giggles echoing off the stone. You could hear some of the older kids coming towards your hiding location and you quickly turned around the corner only to land against a firm, unyielding chest.

Before you could say anything, a hand came up to cover your mouth and your husband raised a finger to his lips. He stepped away from you and bent down to scoop up a handful of snow and pack it into a perfect sphere. By the time the kids emerged from their hiding places, the two of you had a nice pile of ammo growing.

“You dare threaten the Queen?” Simon boomed in an overly exaggerated voice. As you pelted the kids with snow, Simon lunged and scooped up one of the smaller children who erupted into shrieks and giggles. Your heart seized at the sight of one of the world’s strongest warriors gently carrying this child. In all of your time here, you had never seen one of the rumors of the Riley clan come true. They were not vicious or cruel. They were good, kind people. They were as good as their king.

The parents came to collect their children and haul them back inside to warm up. It sounded like a good idea to you as snow dripped down the back of your cloak and soaked your dress. Lucy was off talking to Sir MacTavish, or Soap as he asked to be called, so you started to head inside alone. As you stepped out from the stable, a shiver wracked through your body and then a heavy fabric draped over your shoulder and settled across your body. You looked up to find your husband in a staring contest with one of the horses and you looked down at his cloak that now graced your body. A shy smile bloomed across your lips and you slipped your hand out of the bundle of fabric to seek out his.

“Would you like to join me in the library for some hot tea after we get out of these wet clothes?” His eyes darkened at your words and, afraid you overstepped, you started to draw your hand back when his fingers entwined with yours.

“I’ll have the cooks make hot cocoa,” he said in that rough, rich voice of his.

After a quick change into something dry and comfortable, you made your way down the hall to the library. You hadn’t been in here for at least a week due to being inundated with preparation for the solstice celebrations. Holly hung from shelves and crevices. Warm fur and soft knitted blankets lined the seating area. A tray of sweets and cocoa sat on the low table between the two sofas. A crackling fire jumped and danced within the hearth and beside it, a momma cat with her (now) adolescent kittens slumbered lazily by the warmth.

And standing by the window, watching the snow fall down, was your husband. He turned when he heard the door open and offered you a small smile.

Oh.

A smile.

He wore no mask.

“You were the one that scared me half to death that night,” you blurted out. He ducked his head, almost bashful, and nodded.

“My apologies, once again.”

You stepped closer to him and took a solid look at him in the light of day. You reached up and touched the edge of his lip, right where that nasty scar bisected his smile. There were stories of the old king of this land, stories that you wished desperately weren’t true, but you were afraid of their veracity. This scar wasn’t obtained from battle, you figured. But rather his father.

“You’re so handsome,” you breathed, truth in your words. His eyes watched you carefully as you ran your fingers along every one of his features, as though you could commit the touch of him to memory. When you first learned you would be marrying the King of the Riley lands, you were scared. Was he some snarling beast of a man? Would he take and take and take until there was nothing left of you?

No, you whispered to your past self. He was nothing like the rumors and everything like the man you dreamed you would marry. He was kind and gentle. He cared deeply, so deeply that it etched into every fiber of his being. He read literature, he took care of cats, he loved seeing his people experience joy, and he-

He kissed you as though he was a drowning man taking his first breath in a long time. You raised your chin to beckon him closer and curled yourself into his large frame. There was no fear in your mind or body, not when Simon was here. His large palm settled low on your back and pulled you flush against him, eliciting a tiny moan from you. You could feel his desire grow against you and you pulled away with a gasp.

“I have been a terrible husband,” he murmured and pressed his forehead against yours. You breathed him in and slid your hands up and over his broad, strong chest, his biceps, his shoulders, and into his hair. You tugged the strands gently and he groaned, his lips leaving open mouthed kisses along your jaw.

“I misjudged you, dear wife.” His hands slid down to grasp your ass and you whimpered, your heated fleshing erupting with desire. “I had no idea how precious you would be to me, to my people.”

“I fear we were both wrong about each other,” you gasped out. He picked you up with ease and left the library, turning right instead of left towards your room. For the first time, you were entering his room.

“Let me make it up to you, my love. Let me atone for every day I have left you without knowing how truly worthy you are.”

The maids and ladies of the court had gossiped about how it hurts, but they didn’t speak of what pleasure it could bring. He practically drove you mad from the way he drew you apart and made you snap. He took you apart over and over again only to bring you back together with such a gentle touch that you couldn’t believe that he was yours.

Four months after your nuptials, your husband finally laid you to bed and claimed you as his. But he waited until you breathed your assent against his lips, until you begged him to take you, until you claimed him as yours too. And when you finally collapsed against his sweaty, heaving chest, you waited for him to get up and walk out as so many women told you that their husbands do. But he merely slid his arm around your waist and drew you into his chest, his hand settling over the soft skin of your stomach.

“I have always been scared at the prospect of being a father,” he admitted. His words were stilted and slow, as if he had to consider each one carefully before he said them. You stroked your fingers through his hair and drew his knuckles to your lips so you could pepper kisses along the calluses of war that remained there.

“I’m not,” you said.

“Not what?”

Your eyes met his and he curled his fingers around your jaw, guiding you to meet his lips in a sweet kiss. When you broke apart, merely a hairbreadth away, you spoke. “I’m not afraid. I can be brave for the both of us.”

You nestled your face against his bare chest and hummed softly. His hand stroked along your bare waist, not in desire, but solely as a means to touch you in pure devotion. Your words seemed to stun him, but he regained his wits and leaned down to kiss your temple.

“If you don’t bring me those cookies, dear husband, I’m afraid I will never speak to you again,” you said, cracking one eye open to look at him. A brilliant smile spread across his lips and he hopped up, throwing on some pants so he didn’t scar any guards walking down the hall. You sat up to watch his toned body disappear through the door and bit your lip as want pulsed through your veins.

That night, you didn’t return to your bedroom. You wouldn’t have been able to, you mused, not with the sheer weight and muscle of your husband wrapped around you. But you didn’t mind. Here, in his bed, you didn’t feel the same emptiness or cold that seeped into your bones when you were alone in yours.

Spring brought new life to the world. You sat out in the gardens and plucked some weeds that threatened to overtake your herbs. The kitten from the library, now a full grown cat but definitely still a kitten in your eyes, lounged lazily at your feet. Lucy worked on embroidering something that you pointedly didn’t ask if it was for her wedding night. Because she and Soap refused to announce that they were betrothed even though you all had bets on it. That is precisely why they wouldn’t say, you figured. Brats.

Soap and Simon and Sir Garrick (Gaz, you reminded yourself) were off with a few other knights on a hunting party and also a reconnaissance mission. Word had it that a faction from a neighboring country was looking to cause trouble. Shadows, they were called, due to their ability to just appear and disappear into the forests.

The captain of his guard, John Price, stayed behind to protect the castle. John was a nice man, older than both you and Simon, but he was a good leader and an even better fighter. The knights listened to him and there were times that Simon went to him for advice on matters of state. You trusted John.

So when he approached you that day in the garden with a troubled look on his face, you knew to listen.

“Your Majesty, I have reports of movement on the western quadrant. I’ve dispatched a rider to inform the King, but I am about to place us on lockdown. I need you to come with me.”

Lucy was up before you could even begin to stand and she quickly helped you to your feet and guided you towards the castle. You knew that you needed to keep a serene, calm expression on your face so as not to incite panic. You hated that you were going into hiding when your people would be caught in the crossfire.

“How far is Simon?”

“About two hours away.”

A lot could happen in two hours. A siege could last days or the walls could fall within minutes. You inhaled deeply as you followed him through the winding maze of the castle halls. Time and experience had made you quick to learn the routes through here and hopefully, it would confuse an intruder.

John led you to a small room hidden under the stairs in the servants quarters and offered a reassuring smile. “It’s nothing but a precaution, my lady. But do not leave this room unless the King or I come for you.”

He overestimated your ability to sit quietly and listen to your people die. These so-called Shadows felt no remorse in taking down innocent people. Lucy had to practically sit on you and cover your mouth as you trembled with rage. Hurried footsteps sounded all around you as servants rushed about and knights set up barriers and mounted defenses.

It wasn’t enough.

They attacked at the beginning of spring, when people were lax from the winter feasts and lack of physical work due to being kept inside by the cold and snow. They knew this was when you would be weakest and that’s why they exploited it. 

Fear lapped at your stomach and you shut your eyes as a pained cry ripped through the servants quarters. No, you couldn’t do this. The Shadows weren’t after them. They were after you.

You shoved Lucy back and forced open the door, coming face to face with a knight in black armor. He raised his blade but hesitated when he took in the sight of the circlet that adorned your head. With a chuckle, he raised his helmet and revealed his smarmy face.

“How do you do, Your Majesty? Name’s Graves.”

“Go to hell,” you spat.

The knight dragged you out of the castle with little protest on your end. Servants peered around the corner of walls and furniture as you strode past, but they were safe. Now that the Shadows had their hands on one of the monarchs, they no longer needed to target the people. More of the Shadows fell in behind the two of you and you were glad to pull them away from terrorizing your family. Your friends. Your citizens.

“Your Majesty,” an older man greeted. “I wish we met under better circumstances. Herschel Shepherd.”

“Fuck you,” was your simple reply. The man chuckled and then backhanded you hard enough to split your lip thanks to his thick signet ring. The Shadows spread out in a circle around the three of you, blocking anyone from rushing to your rescue.

“You know why we’re here then,” Shepherd said. Graves yanked you back into a standing position and forced your chin up so you had to look the man in the eye. You simply rolled your eyes and glared at him, your hands bunching in the fabric of your skirt.

“I know you’re a coward. And pathetic.” Another smack to the other side of the face had you tasting blood.

“I know the King probably likes your pretty mouth, but I’m getting tired of it. You know what I want.”

“I won’t do it.”

“Then I’ll slaughter your entire village.”

Your chest tightened because it wasn’t an empty threat and you knew it. You had heard the reports of other villages and countries. You had heard the stories of what they had done to women and children and men.

“Will you do it yourself? Or make your men do it so you can go to bed every night lying to yourself that your a good man?”

His eyes flashed with something dangerous but you didn’t flinch. Rather, you curled your lips into a sneer and spat directly into his face. He grabbed your jaw, hard enough to force your teeth together with a painful clack, and dragged you to face him. His grip shifted down and around your throat, cutting off your air.

“I should kill you. I should. But once I get you to submit and renounce the crown, I’ll keep you around. Looks like Riley hasn’t laid his seed yet so I’ll let Graves do it. I’ll make sure that no matter how hard you try, you’ll have the heir to the Shadows. You’ll be our whore. Our bitch.”

You struggled against his hold and kicked out, connecting with his shin. He released you but Graves grabbed your arms and pinned them back, securing them with rope, before he pressed on the back of your knees.

“Kneel,” Graves hissed.

“Make me,” you snarled. You just needed to buy some more time. You just needed to-

No. Lucy was thrown into the mud next to you, her hands bound behind her back. She was breathing deeply and you could see her wince with every movement. Broken rib, maybe two, you cataloged. Those bastards.

“Kneel and I won’t kill her,” Shepherd commanded. Your heart pounded painfully against your chest as you slowly, slowly knelt down in the mud. He grinned, an awful and predatory smile, and yanked the circlet out of your hair.

“Look at your queen!” Shepherd boomed. “Come out and see how she prostrates herself before her new ruler. It’s alright now. You all are saved.”

Villagers peeked out of their houses and saw the spectacle before them. The Shadows parted to reveal you to the crowds in a mud-stained dress, crown gone, and bruises already forming on your face. A noise rang out in the village, some kind of holler. Shepherd’s smile widened.

“Yes, yes. Gone are the days of eating scraps while your ruler lives in riches,” he called. “Come see for yourself. She’s merely human.”

You bowed your head to look at Lucy and check over her. That’s what you told yourself, at least. You didn’t want to see the truth. You waited for the derision, the sneers, for the anger they surely felt at your failure to keep them safe. You waited for the rage to rain down upon you.

It never came.

A roar, no, a battle cry swept through the village and then they were descending en masse. No amount of armor or training could save the Shadows from the pure, violent rage of your people. You raised your head to see Fiona jab a pitchfork through a knight’s neck and let out a breathless laugh.

Chaos reigned. You wrenched yourself over Lucy’s body and pressed your cheek against your dear friends, listening to her labored breathing below and the sounds of war above. What if a horse struck you? Or a blade stabbed you in the back? What if a Shadow grabbed you and made for the forest? What if, what if, what if?

Someone grabbed your bicep and you kicked back, but a familiar voice calmed you instantly. “It’s me, m’lady!” John shouted. He sliced through your bonds and did the same for Lucy. You turned and saw that he was in a dreadful fucking state. Blood practically caked every inch of his armor and exposed skin.

“We need to get you out of here,” he ordered.

“And go where?” you retorted. “Give me a knife, sir, and watch me cut out every tongue of the men who dare harm my people.”

“Where is my wife?” Simon’s roaring voice erupted over the din. The villagers stopped their rabid attacks as the King’s Guard swept into the walls of the city. You nearly wept in relief at the sight of the masked figure atop the pure black horse. He looked as thought he were the Grim Reaper himself, but death would not touch you today.

Rage filled his very veins when he saw you, battered and bleeding and standing in the middle of carnage. He jumped down from his steed and pushed through the crowd to you. Blood caked your hair and dripped down your forehead and for a moment, he was terrified it was yours.

“Are you hurt?” His armor was cold where it touched your cheek and you shook your head, reconsidered, and then nodded.

“But not as bad as Lucy or others. I need to get to the healers room. I need to help them,” you pleaded. Soap had dismounted and rushed to join you when he saw Lucy and he knelt next to her now, gentle hands probing against her broken ribs.

“Where is he?” Simon snarled. “Where is Shepherd?”

“Right here, sir,” Fiona announced. He turned to find the farmer’s wife with her foot planted on the man’s chest and her pitchfork digging into the exposed skin of his neck. “Lou’s got the slimy bastard too. No one hurts our queen. No one.”

Affection squeezed your heart so tightly you feared you would break down and weep right there. These people, this nation, had adopted you and loved you unlike any other. You were a mere princess married to their king for an alliance but to them, you were their queen by merit alone.

“Round up any of the Shadows that remain,” Ghost ordered. “Leave Shepherd to me.”

You knew he would kill him. In fact, you knew he would torture him. But that didn’t scare you. Simon’s hands didn’t leave you until you were finally pulled away to aid with healing. There were bodies to prepare for burial, items to repair, people to hold as they grieved.

A queen’s job was never done. You wouldn’t give it up for anything.

In the quiet of the night, when the injured were sleeping peacefully thanks to droughts and pain relief, you slipped out of the healer’s quarters and found Simon leaning against the wall. He raised his head when he heard you step out and his tired eyes shut in relief.

“You should be sleeping,” you chastised. He shook his head and removed his mask, baring himself to you.

“I close my eyes and I see your corpse,” he admitted. “John informed me as to what you did. Sacrifice yourself.”

“I did what I had to do to keep them safe.”

He tipped his head back against the wall, exposing the smooth column of his throat and the way his throat bobbed with every labored breath. “I know. Fuck, I know. But I am a selfish enough man to admit that I would have rather you remained untouched.”

“I can be replaced. Our people cannot.”

He screwed his eyes shut and covered his mouth with his hand. Simon inhaled deeply, as if calming himself, and shook his head. “Don’t say that. Don’t ever fucking say that.”

“Say what?”

“That you can be replaced. You are not some expendable object. You are not some figurehead I can stuff a new body into. You are…you are exquisite. You are magnificent. Our people would rather die than ever lose you, do you understand that?” His armor creaked and groaned in protest but this man, this king, kneeled before you and fisted the fabric of your dirty, blood-stained gown in his hands and pressed his face against your stomach.

“Never say that,” he begged. “Please, I cannot bear to hear you say that in my presence again.”

“Simon.” Was that tears you saw in his eyes? “Look at me.” Truly, it was tears that lined his honey brown eyes. You swept your thumb across his lashes and gathered the salty tear on your skin. Leaning down, you pressed your forehead to his and breathed him in.

“What can I do to make you understand?” His voice was hoarse and thick with emotion.

“Nothing. I understand.” Exhaustion sank into your bones and dragged you down into his arms. He cradled you against him and hauled you up with ease. The day’s events were catching up to you quickly and you wished for the sun to rise again, simply so you could move past the blood that was caked on your skin.

He carried you all the way to his -- your shared -- room and set you on the ground before a bath of steaming water. Simon undressed you carefully, peeling off each layer as if you would dissolve once he reached your chemise, and then settled you into the tub. He stripped off his armor, his underclothes, and settled in behind you. His fingers etched their devotion with every gentle pass of soap against your skin and he took your hand in his to scrub the blood out from under your nails.

“Lucy?” Your tired voice sounded foreign to you, like another person was speaking.

“Soap’s with her. She’ll make a full recovery, just in time for the wedding.” A soft smile curled at his lips and you tilted your head back to rest against his shoulder. His lips traced along the cuts that Shepherd’s hands left and he removed the pain with a simple kiss.

“I’m sorry,” you finally said. You could feel his frown against the skin of your neck and he took a deep breath before asking what you meant.

“I lied to you. I’m afraid.”

“Oh my love.” He kissed your shoulder. “I was afraid too.”

“No, Simon, I wasn’t afraid before. I knew you would come. I knew that, whatever happened to me, you would avenge me. That didn’t scare me. It’s what is to come.”

You drew one of his hands away from the side of the tub and rested it on your stomach, above the slight swell that Alex confirmed earlier was indeed the next heir to the Riley throne. Simon’s breath hitched against your neck and then he fell silent. You shut your eyes and waited for his condemnation at your foolish actions today. You could threaten your own life all you wanted, but the heir?

“Simon?” Fear laced your voice and he hated that he put it here. He pressed his cheek to your hair and stroked his thumb against your stomach.

“I was content to rip out one of his lungs,” Simon murmured in your ear. “But now I have two reasons to remove both entirely. He threatened the life of my queen, my love, and he threatened the life of my heir.”

You exhaled a shaky breath and felt a smile grow on your face. He tapped your hip and you stood, letting the water slough off of you and back into the water that was now a mix of mud and blood. Simon took his time drying you off, leaving lingering kisses on every part of your body. Your shoulders, breasts, stomach, hips, even your calves received an equal measure of love. As he knelt at your feet once more, you cupped his face in your hands and pulled his gaze up to meet yours. He settled his chin on your stomach and looked at you with so much adoration.

“Are you afraid?”

His smile grew. “No, for I know you will be brave enough for both of us. And you, my little wife, have the bravery of a lioness.”

[rockingrobin69]

of mice and man and man

“It’ll be a little crammed,” Draco said, hearing the apology and stopping the wince before it showed, “but I think we could—”

“It’s perfect,” Harry said, the smile in his voice thick enough for Draco to dare a look. He barely managed one, panting into his palm, tinier even than the space, smaller-smallest. But he did, and—Harry was indeed smiling, beaming, even, brighter than the fluorescent light. In a fight between Harry and the sun, Draco often thought, and stopped himself with quite a bit of force, because truly, what. What. What?

Cleared his throat. Harry was still holding onto his bag with both hands. It looked heavy; Draco developed a light sweat just from staring.

He said, “You can put that down if you’d like.”

Harry blinked in surprise. “I—oh. Yes. Here?”

“You can, ah, put it in the, bedroom? If you prefer? Of course you’ll take the bed; I changed the sheets and, ah.” Stopped at what was now clearly bafflement. “Is something the matter?”

“No,” Harry frowned, an obvious lie. “I just thought—never mind.”

“What?”

“Nothing. Which way to the bedroom?”

“Down the—”

“Actually, no, don’t be ridiculous. I’ll take the sofa. I’m the guest.”

Draco refrained from smacking his own forehead. “No, no, I won’t hear of it. You just escaped possible mould poisoning; you’re taking the bed.”

“I would have,” Harry grumbled into his elbow in the world’s least-convincing cough, “if—anyway, I need some space for Rufus. The living room would do best.”

To call it a living room was either generous or offensive, Draco didn’t yet decide. It was barely a room, and not entirely designed for the living. It had been a crypt, after all, but renting a place in the city was ridiculously expensive and it did make for a neat party theme. If Draco had ever thrown a party in his life. If he had the slightest inclination to do ever do so. And the neighbours were not terrible either, once the old priest finally left. Very into cheese, which Draco could respect.

Blinking until he near-blinded himself: “You’re being silly. You and Rufus would have a great time in the bedroom. It is slightly more spacious and far less—what’s the word I’m looking for—”

“Dead?” Harry offered pleasantly.

“No, not that. Less drafty, maybe. Did you bring the jumper I knitted for Rufus?”

Again with that sun-challenging grin. “Of course. He never leaves the house without it.”

(Harry once said, entirely serious, that if Draco was a vampire, he would battle the sun if it bothered him. He said it in a straight face and a shrug). (He was mad). (And Draco didn’t allow himself to think further into the absurd, not-worth-his-breath concept). (Because, what). (Truly).

“Rufus is a good chap,” Draco said, and earned another smile for his trouble. “It was good of him to discover your flat was infested with black mould.”

“Yes,” Harry said, “it was Rufus who, er, discovered it,” even though he’d already told Draco that, three times over the phone and twice since he arrived. He was so bizarre sometimes.

“Mice have an incredible sense of smell,” Draco conceded, eyebrow raised, and Harry gulped a few times in a guilty sort of way, still clutching onto his bag. “Oh, come on, we can—share the bedroom. All three of us. It isn’t huge, but not made in miniature either, and Rufus doesn’t take that much space.”

Oh, the sun was ruined; no source of light could ever compare. “Great! Yes. Let’s do that. Yes. Did I tell you I love your place? It’s so strange and Rufus feels right at home and it’s great.”

Unable to look at him, “All right. Stop rambling. If they can’t get rid of the mould you’re more than welcome to move in, both of you.” As a joke, obviously.

Harry said, “Okay,” in a slightly-too-enthusiastic tone, and Draco, weakened already by smiles and close quarters, the smell of Harry’s appley shampoo, by how he was—there, in his space and terrific and so awful about it, Draco who had given up entirely said, “Okay,” right back.

They stood there for another moment in dead silence. Draco’s flat never felt less eerie.

Then he took man and mouse to his bedroom and hoped, against all hope, not to expire from sheer—that.

*

He didn’t expire. It was a close call, but not quite enough to push him over the edge. Harry was… so, so close and so, so himself and it was heady and wonderful and absolutely unbearable.

*

They went to bed early, both a little jittery, rustling covers and soft sheets. ‘Crammed’ was not a word that could describe the situation in any sense; Draco must have forgotten how small his bed actually was. Rufus, at least, had his own space on the dresser. Harry was right at his elbow.

When Draco found enough courage to look at him, he was… smiling. Of course.

Surrendered: “Good night, Harry.”

The bastard took his hand.

“Good night, Draco.”

“Good night, Rufus.”

“Night, Ruf.”

He still held it. His hand. Harry was holding his hand and smiling about it like some—Draco hid his own terrible grin in the pillow, heart hammering in his chest, horribly, spookily, beautifully alive.

@short666bread, my dear friend, here's your treat!

[hawkinsmafia]

day 01: firsts

featuring Eugene, Jeff & Gareth

summary: Eugene gets fan mail! from a girl!

rating: general

wc: 824

cw: one use of the f-slur, unsanitary postal practices

an: written for the first day of @corrodedcoffinfest! I’ve been so excited for this event, it’s my first time ever participating in one of these!

“Mail call!”

Jeff turned around to gawk as Gareth walked through the door of their dressing room. “Mail call?”

“What, am I speaking Swahili? Mail call, motherfucker.” He sifted through the sheaf of envelopes and loose papers in his hand, pulling out a few addressed to Jeff and passing them over.

Eugene watched as Gareth plucked out a couple more pieces, taking them when he handed them over. “How’d we get mail here?”

“Security guard said girls were coming by all day and begging anyone they met to deliver a letter to us for them.” Gareth deposited a thick stack on Eddie’s makeup case before taking the rest to his dressing table and beginning the task of opening them. Eddie always got more fan mail than the other three combined. Jeff said it was because of his slutty waist and snake hips, and Gareth grumbled that if the audience could see his bubble butt from behind the drum kit, his mail stack would rival Eddie’s.

Eugene’s stack was always the smallest, if he got anything at all. They all tried to make light of it, joking that bassists never have fans. But Eugene was used to being overlooked anyway. It had served him well in high school, keeping him out of the line of fire when the assholes were looking for someone to torment.

Of course it also meant that no one had ever taken an interest in him either and, of the four of them, he was the only one to walk the graduation stage still a virgin. But whatever.

(And he still was. But whatever.)

He tore open the first envelope and started reading. It was from a guy—it was always from a guy—who also played bass—they always also played bass—and really liked the freestyle bass line Eugene had improvised at their show in Marietta during the song Bloody Body Bag, and he knew band life was crazy hectic but if Eugene had any free time after the show tonight, and was interested, maybe they could meet up for a beer and to talk shop. It made him smile, and he made a mental note to check the stage door after the show for this ‘Darren’ guy wearing a Zeppelin shirt if he had time.

“Augh, fucking Christ!” Gareth suddenly cried, and Eugene looked up to find him holding a pair of panties on the end of one of his drumsticks, looking at it with disgust.

“Another pair for the panty pile?” Jeff asked, laughing. “Are they used?”

“They’re sure as fuck not clean! Ugh!” Gareth flung them toward Eddie’s things. “Tell Ed they fell out of one of his letters instead.”

“Man, why don’t you just come out and say you’ve got a boyfriend?”

Gareth gave Jeff a withering look. “Yeah, sure, I’ll tell Rolling Stone I take dick when Sebastian Bach makes a public apology for wearing that ‘AIDS kills fags dead’ shirt onstage.”

“I’m just saying, it didn’t even slow Judas Priest down.”

“Yeah, well, we’re not Judas Priest…”

They both went back to reading their fan mail, so Eugene did too. Tucking Darren’s letter into his pocket, he lifted the unglued flap on the second letter and slipped the paper out. It was a sheet of lined notebook paper, complete with the ragged remains of spiral-bound edging down the left side. And it was covered in neat, round cursive written in purple gel pen.

Dear Eugene,

I’ve been C.C.’s biggest fan for two years, and even got to follow you guys for part of the Midwest Metal tour last spring. I’ve always had a thing for bassists and you’re my most favorite ever! I read your interview with B-Side, and I had to tear it out and keep it in my purse. I was really fat growing up too, and your words in that interview bring me a lot of peace. I pull it out and read them again any time I have to relive those high school memories of being The Fat Girl, and it always makes me feel better.

I really like that black leather jacket with the red stripes on the sleeves that you wear sometimes. If you have it with you now, could you wear it tonight, for me? Pretty please?

Break a leg tonight! (But not my heart!)

~ P.

There was a heart drawn at the bottom of the page, and a little doodle of a hand holding up devil horns. For some reason, Eugene couldn’t stop smiling at them.

“Hey, Earth to Genie!” Jeff called too loudly. Eugene’s head shot up, inexplicably feeling guilty, like he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t. “Jesus, finally. What the hell’s got you grinning like a lunatic over there?”

“Oh, uh… I got a letter. From a girl.”

Gareth snorted. “What, is it your first one or something?”

“Yeah. Hey, can you grab my leather jacket off the rack? The one with the red stripes.”

(Btw, Sebastian Bach did apologize for that fucking shirt in 2003, and has raised money for and made donations to organizations dedicated to fighting HIV/AIDS. We stan character growth and learning to be better in this house.)

[moxiebustion]

Anakin Skywalker was a great Jedi.

He was not a good Jedi. Not even remotely.

Same thing you say? No, not really.

It's a bit like the difference between being rich and being wealthy. They sound like they're the same thing, involving the same quantifier (money) but they're not.

Rich is when you have enough. Your job pays well, you own a nice house, a couple of cars, you and your family can save a nest egg and go on some nice holidays and stuff. Your kids have their college tuition paid, you can afford to support an elderly or disabled family member relatively well. Life is good.

But you still have to work. Your partner still has to work. Your kids, while they will be very well educated and have all the advantages, will still need to get a job to survive on their own. You make your money by the sweat of your labours - maybe more than you need, but it's still down to the work of your hands.

Wealthy? Wealthy is where you own such an enormous portfolio of properties, have such a collection of heirloom artefacts, have so many bloated trust funds that you could spend every single one of your living days do nothing and you'd still have enough money to live on and then some. So would your children. And your grandchildren.

The surgeon making six figures a year is rich. They guy that has the entire wing of the hospital the surgeon works in named after him is wealthy.

Which brings us back to Great Jedi versus Good Jedi. They sound the same, with the same quantifier (Jedi), but they're not.

Anakin Skywalker was a Great Jedi in the sense that his deeds would get written about in history books. Helped win a planet's freedom at nine. Mastered a saber at nineteen, in half the time any of his peers took. Apprenticed to the Order's premier negotiator. Was knighted after one-on-one combat with a Sith. Pilot, Warrior, Hero Without Fear - he talked the talk, he walked the walk. He was everything people thought a Jedi should be and was therefore a Great Jedi in the eyes on minds of the galaxy.

He was a complete failure at being a Good Jedi.

The smallest, weakest and most fumble fingered member of the creche was a better Good Jedi than he could even dream of being. The Archivist who had never passed a single saber test ever given to her was a better Good Jedi than him and all his prowess. The elderly old farmer who had spent their entire lives up to their neck in dirt and hadn't been involved in a single galactically vital peace treaty was a better Good Jedi than Anakin Skywalker could even begin to comprehend.

They all wanted it.

They wanted it.

They wanted to be Jedi.

That's not to say they never wanted other things; marriage, or children, or life outside of service. People want things. Even Jedi want things.

But they never wanted anything in the galaxy more than they wanted to be a Jedi. Being a Jedi was the one thing they were willing to give up everything else for. They understood that it was a big commitment, that it would ask a lot of them, and they looked at that choice with their eyes wide open, fully trained and educated onto what it would entail and said yes, this is what I want to be.

(And that's not unhealthy! That's not "repression". Is a priest or a nun repressed? Is an asexual or aromantic repressed? Is anyone who ever got a dream job that took them away from home, kin and country repressed, wrongheaded, brainwashed? Or have they looked at their options, have they been fully informed and educated on what the life they choose will mean for them and everyone around them and decided yes, this lifestyle, which is not like everyone else's, which may even separate me irrevocable from the mainstream, suits me. I don't need or want the rest of it as much as this. This is what I want).

Anakin Skywalker wanted to be a Jedi.

But he didn't want to be a Jedi more than he wanted anything else.

He could swing a lightsaber, he could quote esoteric tenets and philosophies, he could pilot a ship, he could perform a variety of Force techniques, he could more than hold his own in a fight.

None of these make a person a Good Jedi.

You have to want it. You have to want to be a Jedi, above all other things. The talent might make you Great but it's the wanting, the choice, that makes you Good. You have to look at it, all of it, clear eyed, and decide you want it.

And he... didn't.

He just lied and said he did. At first to himself.

And then, knowingly and willfully, to everyone else.

Until he wasn't even a Great Jedi anymore. He wasn't a Jedi at all.

And he still didn't get anything else he wanted either.

[momentsbeforemass]

Contradiction

(for someone who didn’t realize that was a vocation)

Should I get married? Or should I become a priest, or a friar, or a nun?

The Church’s answer is “Yes. If that’s what God is calling you to.” Today’s Gospel is the reason for that answer.

Looking in from the outside, a lot of people see this as a contradiction at the heart of the Church.

   You’re for marriage and families?

Yes, the Church answers.

   But you’re for consecrated lives of holiness that forgo marriage?

Actually, they’re all lives of holiness. And yes.

   That makes no sense. Aren’t those mutually exclusive?

No, they’re both positive goods. And both mutually supportive.

In its healthy, holy form, the vocation to marriage supports the priesthood and the religious life. Likewise, a healthy, holy vocation to religious life or holy orders supports marriage. How?

At their best, they are both practical schools of a living Faith. Both of them show us power of love in action, one that can only be had at the price of commitment. The only way any that any vocation can be healthy, can be holy.

Because of this, they lead us to, and support us in, deeper relationships with other people. When they are grounded in a deeper relationship with God.

Sometimes that grounding is not obvious looking in from the outside. Because some of the greatest vocations you will ever meet are seemingly built on the smallest things.

Smallest things done as if they were the greatest things.

This is the secret to a healthy, holy vocation. Including the vocation to the single life.

In the words of Brother Lawrence, “We ought not to be weary of doing little things for the love of God, who regards not the greatness of the work, but the love with which it is performed.”

Today’s Readings

[stardust-for-your-soul]

how beautiful did he look, as he sat amidst the lilies, maidens bedecked in gold bathing him in milk and rose petals as he accepted them graciously. lashes fluttered shut with golden orbs hiding behind serenity bathed eyes, calm despite the repetitive chant of his noble name.

'long live deus auri!'

priests chanted the holy name of the mighty god whose blessing seemed to have livened the nation with plenty joy, smiles rising on the face of every citizen. the city was bathed in lights and lamps bright as every gust of wind sang melody of the ardour.

music and incense had filled every nook and cranny, and travellers had gathered from the corners of the world to behold witness to the occasion; and to have their own hands filled with the generous king's gold—who was as gleeful as a father could be at the occasion of his eldest son's coronation.

he stands once the ceremony is completed, long brown hair open as they fall over his defined shoulders. to call him beautiful would've been both accurate and laughable, for he was more aptly compared with the sun than any petty word that could be used for anything else. the priests gather around him as he bows, a graciously swift movement as they slip the silks on his chest and the gold jewellery fitting of a crowned prince—enhancing his beauty a million times.

and had you blinked for even a moment, you would have missed the way his gaze fluttered ever so softly in your direction, atop the balcony which provided a view to the multitude of princesses who had been invited to the ceremony, as the garland of lotuses was slipped on him—the most silent gesture that very loudly said one thing—he would look forward to the day he can do that to you, and claim you his.

he turns back though, as quickly as he had looked, and then greets all with the most pleasant of smiles. all cheered loudly, but none's heart would've known the turmoil of anticipation that yours did. you understood very well the undertones of this coronation—it was his request from the king, who had been more than happy to oblige, so that he would have the right to ask your hand from your father who would only be willing to hand over his daughter to the noblest of men.

you have to prevent even a slip in gesture or airs to make for the sudden attention that you garner then, and your father smiles in the distance, old eyes gleaming with great understanding of his loveliest daughter's visage.

its a lovely affair then—the crowned prince and you sitting together near the lake of lotuses as he smiles at you with the smallest of desire in his gaze, as though trying not to let his composure slip—

'tell me, lotus-eyed, would your father allow me to take your hand in mine now?'

but your father knows the answer as he listens vaguely from near the rose bushes, even more than both of you who remain oblivious to his watchful gaze as he secretively smiles.

all that awaited now was the marriage ceremony and the rituals that follow with it—the best man wins the hand of his divine daughter. he knows he won't have to be partial, though. quite vain then would be his long wait of four years; looking for the valiant man who could dare to woo his daughter, the lady known for her very beauty and immaculate character in the land of wealth and trade.

he takes no worries when he smiles gleefully though, allowing the love birds to engage in peaceful conversation, fully trusting that his daughter would never do anything to make him bow his head low in shame. his eyes gleam in joy as he internally rejoices.

deus auri is the most competent of all in the seven continents, after all.

header credits: @cafekitsune !

[sisitrip]

"As Sweet and Soft"

Gallavich A.U.gust 2024

Smell her. She makes an event deadline on time lol.

For Gallavich A.U.gust @gallavichthings 'free week', I'm pulling out something a little different.

A/N and TW: The title of this story is a misnomer of sorts. This is a story that deals with themes of loss, regret, a retelling of an unaliving attempt, abandonment, and unburdening of harmful secrets. But, it also includes, above all, love of family, reconnection and the humorous ways we all try to overcome massive pain because there’s just no right way to do that. Here, there be comedy too (I hope) and moments so special (hoping again), I smiled the entire time I wrote it. 

So, lovely readers, the both of you lol, if the themes I mentioned will bring you harm in any way, feel free to skip this one and peruse other works that will keep you safe. Besides AO3, check out some other Tumblr accounts in the Gallavich fandom that might have offerings for you. This fandom is jammed with phenomenal creatives and I’m so happy they let me say “I go here.” 

With that, please enjoy "As Sweet and Soft."

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

Ian walked him to the front and sat him down carefully as if settling a delicate piece of rice paper. With a kiss and a promise to be back after his ‘errand’, Ian left him alone and reeling.

Mickey sat in the loudest quiet he’s ever been unlucky enough to sit in. Churches, somehow more massive inside than out, always seem to bestow their attendees the power to hear the smallest sound; an apologetic peace offering for its chilly welcome.

Mickey flexed that bestowed power to catch a tiny sniffle. The scritch of nails on stockinged legs. A softly sobbed “42 is so young.” He hid behind this cataloging of sounds, all while wrinkling the most threadbare eulogy ever crafted. Panic rising, he stalled, cataloging absences too. His brothers were here, but his father was not. An aunt he’d never met was here, but Ian was not. 

His mother would never be anywhere again.  

“I’m sorry Mr. Milkovich, but we’ll need to get started. We have a wedding scheduled for later,” the priest murmured regretfully, having materialized like a ghost. He should be regretful. The celebration of death shouldn’t be rushed. 

At the lectern, he looked for Ian’s face in the small crowd, but he still wasn’t back. He needed Ian to keep the world from caving in. What errand could be more important than that? 

He smoothed out his speech on the polished, lemon scented wood. But, tears, fat and blinding, made it impossible to read. At sea, he crumpled the eulogy, struggling to articulate this tectonic cut into his life. He cleared his throat, blinking hard, and gave up on doing this justice. He’ll just do it his way.

“I don’t have a lifetime of memories with her to tell you about,” he began, talking to a pillar instead of the people watching him. 

“She left-” He swallowed hard. “She escaped when I was five. It wasn't as dramatic as that sounds. Her disappearance was actually kind of unremarkable, at first.” He gave a short, bitter laugh. “For something that rocked us hard, I somehow managed to miss it.”

He pressed his fingers into the wood, grounding himself. 

“It wasn’t until I hurt myself that it finally sank in. Like a lot of five year olds, I thought she’d feel it if I got hurt. Like physically feel my pain. Dumb, I know. But, she always used to magically appear to comfort me and bandage me up whenever I got hurt.”

He cleared his throat, fighting against the drain of tears building up. 

“When my cut went on bleeding and she didn't show up, I knew. I knew without a doubt that she wasn’t coming back. She couldn’t feel me anymore, I told my five year old self. So, I put a paper towel around the cut and I broke every toy car I had. That’s how I was able to let her go. I didn't know it would be harder to let her go this time.” 

A door opened somewhere and footsteps approached softly behind him. He refused to give the priest the benefit of his attention. He was almost done anyway.

“But, I didn’t let go of what I remembered about her. How she always smelled like dryer sheets and mercurochrome. How her blue eyes dilated to near black whenever she laughed too hard, which wasn’t often.”

He couldn’t see the pillar now and the soft sobbing from the attendees was wrecking his ability to get through this. He went on, nearly whispering as he fought his own sobs. 

“I didn’t let go of the memory of her sneaking up behind me, when I was drawing or coloring, and blowing kisses into the back of my neck to make me laugh. To make me feel like … somebody loved me.”

His eyes were streaming freely now and the pillar was a shapeless waterfall of gray. He doesn’t think he can finish. But, a small hand, bearing chipped, black nail polish squeezed his arm. 

Mandy. Beautiful, and here and here and here, filling the crater of his grief with her light and love. She gave him a curved smile through her tears. 

Weakened by surprise and gratitude, he leaned into her, pressing his forehead to hers. A pressing warmth on his other side was unmistakably Ian who held him up with an arm around his back. He could finish now. He could do anything. But, more than anything, he wanted to honor his mother. He took a deep breath.

“Like I said when I started, I don’t have a lifetime of memories to share with you about my mother. But, I have the ones I just told you about and I will treasure them until I die. When she could be m-my mother, she was everything.” 

He broke. His harsh, raw sobs escaped unchecked and the church saw fit to amplify them with heartbreaking clarity. Mandy and Ian pressed in close and helped him back to his seat where he couldn’t let go of their hands. Not even long enough to wipe his face of tears. Mandy took care of that. Face just as wet, she cleaned his cheeks without bothering to clean her own. That hadn’t changed in all the years they grew up together. Ian held his other hand between his own, sleeving it in safety and warmth.

The awful, anxiety ridden part is over. He did what he could to honor someone he’d lost a long time ago and he’s at peace with it. As at peace as anyone could be whose mother died. It’s a fitful kind of peace that settles uneasily like a misshapen shroud you never wanted to wear.

The rest of the service was quick and when Mandy inclined her head to the side door, he and Ian followed her, leaving the receiving line of strangers for the small, grassy graveyard out back. They sat amongst the sunshine and crooked tombstones, faces upturned to a cloudless sky the color of his mother’s eyes. 

“How’d you know?” he asked Mandy, taking in her shaggy black hair and pierced septum.

“Your hubby tracked me down a few days ago, bought me a ticket. Got me here to the church in record time.” She threw grass at Ian who just smiled softly at her. “He drives like a criminal.”

He caught Ian’s gaze, heart burning inside him. 

“Errand, huh?” he asked, chin trembling. He will never do anything better than marrying this man. 

Ian winked at him then turned to Mandy.

“You’re staying with us for a few days,” Ian said, cleaning grass off his pants. 

He and Mandy exchanged amused looks. Ian had used his “argue with me and find out” voice. 

“Eww, on the Westside? Do I need to get my shots before they let me in?” Mandy teased. 

Ian stood and yanked her to her feet with a smile. “No shots required for family,” he said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. His mother’s dark hair.

They laughed, easy and comfortable, as if no time had passed. He wished his mother could see this enduring friendship between his sister and the man she wouldn’t let him give up on. 

Ian and Mandy held out their hands to him and he squinted against the sun and their openly loving expressions, blinded by both. He’s going to remember this moment forever. His favorite people are smiling down at him and it was as sweet and soft as a kiss to the back of the neck. 

When he’s pulled to his feet, he can’t help the impulsive kiss to each of their cheeks, surprising them. He shrugs. It’s that kind of day. 

“You want to go to the repass?” Ian asked, arms around the both of them as they walk through the shrines of people who will keep his mother company. 

“No,” he said, looking at Mandy. “You?” 

She gave the graveyard a sad, final look. “No. Let’s just get out of here. We’re disturbing the sleepers.”

They found Iggy and Colin shuffling around in front of the church, looking uncomfortable in their ill fitting suits. He’d told them not to bother dressing up, and was touched that they hadn’t listened. When his brothers saw Mandy, they broke into twin grins. 

“Dickhead 1 and 2, what’s good?” Mandy called, grinning too. Before they answered, she dropped her purse and took a run at them, arms wide. If there was anything good to be had from this awful day, it was his brothers happiness at seeing their sister. 

Iggy and Colin caught her and lifted her between them in a hug that at first was full of smiles then descended into tears. Mandy wiped their faces with the sleeve of her jacket and they touched her hair, trying to smile through their tears. Another moment as sweet and soft as a kiss to the back of the neck.

“What’s this shag shit?” Iggy husked as she cleaned his face.  

“Wolf cut. Easier to take care of.” Mandy cleaned Colin’s face next as he flipped a hank of her hair. 

“Call it whatever you want. It’s a mullet,” Colin said fondly while very gently cleaning her face with his tie and pressing a kiss into her cheek. “You look butch. I like it.”

“Ian,” Mandy called, smiling at Colin. “Can I bring these two weepy little bitches?” 

Ian picked up Mandy’s bag and looked at him with a soft, questioning smile. He shrugged. It would feel good to have his siblings in the house tonight. 

“Alright, listen up. Anyone of you fart, and I mean one damn fart, and everybody is getting kicked out except Mickey and Mandy,” Ian warned with a smile, linking hands with him. 

At their place, Colin ordered a ton of UberEats from every restaurant within a mile and they got comfortable down to their t-shirts and boxers. He knows the circumstances are different, but it felt like it did when Terry left for long stretches and they’d buy fast food with the money they pooled together. It’s how they celebrated the gift of peaceful days and no fresh bruises.

He smiled when Mandy padded out of their bathroom wearing one of Ian’s shirts, looking adorable and small. With a burger in her mouth, she whipped out a bottle of black nail polish and shook it while eyeing her brothers meaningfully. He knows what’s coming and her habit, born out of a need to self soothe, is exactly what they need.

He and his brothers took off their socks and while they ate, laughed and drank, Mandy painted their toes. It broke his heart a little to see her shoulders relax with each painted toe, a reminder of how she used to cope.

Ian bounced questioning eyebrows at him while Mandy painted Iggy’s toes.

“Mandy would paint our toes when she was upset,” he explained. “Been doing it since she was like what, Col?

“Four?” Colin answered. 

“Three,” Iggy chimed in, pointing a drumstick at Mandy. “I had more paint in between my toes than my actual fucking toenails.”

Mandy threw a french fry at him.

“Better than what you got between your goblin toes now. Was that dryer lint in there?” she asked, moving on to start on Colin’s toes.

“Could be. Or it could be cat hair. I like the mystery.” Iggy wiggled his now black-painted toenails. “Speaking of mystery, what’s up with your bare toes? Never saw you go one day without painted toes when you were home.”

Mandy smiled. “Stopped needing to do it. That should tell you something about my level of peace, yeah?” She started painting Mickey’s toes next. “Who wants to play Dead Body?” 

Ian swallowed his bite of cheeseburger, eyes popped wide. “Dead body?” he parroted weakly.

“Yeah. When we were little, we used to compare the times we all saw a dead body,” Iggy said, eating a slice of pizza. 

“You did this, why?” Ian asked. 

“Because, it was better than comparing bruises,” Mickey murmured, forking into his burrito bowl, toenails painted coffin black now. He doesn’t hate it.

Ian gave him such a soft, sad look, Colin scoffed.

“Of all the brutal shit we endured, seeing a dead body was like getting hit in the face with a pillow. Don’t sweat it, Ian,” Colin dismissed. “I’m going first. Mattara, alley. Gut stuck.”

“My turn,” Iggy said. “Lipotzik, train tracks. Froze to death. They had to crack his ass in half.”

“Don’t know her name,” Mandy said, “But, the girl who OD’d in the massage parlor. I saw them taking her out.”

He wasn’t going to join this game, especially because he’d never told anyone about it. But, now that his mother was truly gone, it didn’t feel like telling someone else’s secret. Not anymore.

“I saw Mom dead once. I mean before this time. She died twice.” 

His quiet comment silenced the room. Poor Ian. His face crumpled when he realized that Mickey wasn’t joking. 

“What are you talking about?” Mandy asked, sticking the nail polish brush back in the bottle. 

He looked at his painted toes while he spoke. 

“I got up one night. Had to pee real bad. I used to hold it because even a toilet flushing would set off Terry if he was trying to outsleep a hangover.”

Mandy scooted closer. Iggy and Colin did the same, food forgotten. He went on, speaking from a place of surreal memory. 

“I couldn’t hold it though, so I went into the bathroom. The first thing I saw were her feet. They were pruney and blue looking. Wet too. She was all wet.”

Ian got up and sat behind him, tucking him into the vee of his legs. 

“She wasn’t moving and Terry was kissing her. Or, I thought it was kissing at the time. I realized later he was giving her, you know, mouth to mouth or whatever. See, he’d … he’d pulled her out of the tub where she’d drowned herself.” 

Of all the heavy things he’d wanted to lay to rest today, this secret had to be heaviest.

“Terry kept giving her mouth-to-mouth. He didn’t even notice me standing there. I … I pissed myself when I saw her face.” He inhaled shakily. “Her eyes were open and she wasn’t blinking. She was just … blue.”

Colin and Iggy exchanged grim looks, but said nothing. 

“I must’ve said something. Maybe called her name. Terry kept pressing on her chest and snarled at me to get out. I couldn’t leave so I kind of squatted down and grabbed her cold foot thinking I could help him. Maybe help her.” 

Ian entwined his arms around his waist, and leaned him back into his chest while he finished in a rush, wanting it out and over. 

“She eventually blinked, coughed up a shit ton of water and started breathing again. She saw me and the first thing she did was shove Terry away, told him to get out. When he did, she put me in the same water that she’d drowned herself in, crying the entire time she washed me. Later, Terry told me if I said anything about what happened, everyone would know it was my fault. I knew that wasn’t true, but it felt like it was. At the time. Eventually I didn’t have to say anything because she left a month after that.”

He didn’t cry with the memory. Maybe because it hadn’t felt like a memory at all. It was more like a dream. Blue, cold and unreal in all its horrible detail. 

Colin broke the hold the memory had on him. “Christ, if I could bring Terry back to beat him to death, I would.” 

Iggy took an emotional swig of the Jack Daniels he was clutching, face red and working. “Me first, you second. That fucking fuck.” 

Mandy tossed back the rest of her wine. “Me first and the two of you can hold him.” 

“I’m calling the roster,” Ian interrupted, squeezing Mickey tight. “Mickey gets the first punch, then Iggy and Colin can hold him after they’re done so Mandy can kick him in those two shriveled things he used to call his nuts.” Ian gave his temple a hard kiss. “Me last so I can be the one to wiggle my big, gay dick at him in farewell.”

His brothers and sister held their silence for a single beat before falling into wild laughter. But, instead of laughing himself, he gave Ian a soft, sad kiss of understanding. Ian looked a little pale despite his effort to joke. The story had affected him too. He can see it in the tightness around Ian’s eyes. His story was one of the horrible things they had in common - children of mothers who got a second chance after giving up completely, but who had to leave their children to survive.

“You okay?” he asked Ian, cupping his face. “I probably shouldn’t have brought that up. I wasn’t trying to trigger whatev-” 

Ian pulled him closer and kissed his forehead, his eyes and his mouth last. 

“There. That worry right there. That’s how I know I couldn’t have picked a better husband.” Ian kissed his nose. “I’m good, baby.”

The Milkovich siblings watched this exchange silently, but exploded into gagging noises when Mickey kissed Ian three times in succession, surprising him. Again, today was that kind of day.

“Death makes both of you literal pussies,” Iggy said, laying down to put his head on Mandy’s lap.

“Seeing as how all you do is chase and admire pussy, what you’re really saying is that you want what they have,” Mandy retorted, bouncing Iggy’s head. 

Iggy opened his mouth to argue, but shrugged instead and settled for stealing a fry off Mandy’s plate.

“He definitely wants what they got. But, it takes him twice as long to chase pussy, and when he finally gets some, he’s in that shit for like a minute,” Colin said, slapping Iggy’s foot. “One minute, motherfucker.”

That’s all it takes. Iggy’s up and wrestling Colin while Mandy laughs and picks up her wine to avoid its destruction. Ian calls out a foul hold every now and then, tucking Mickey into his chest to avoid the wild foot swings. 

He smiled, watching it all from the safety of Ian’s arms. This wasn’t a repass that anyone would find dignified and he doesn’t give a shit. This was healing. As healing as any monotone gathering where cookie cutter condolences just made you feel oily and ill at ease.

This was what his mother would’ve wanted. Food, laughter. Love. No eulogy could've honored her more than this.

They stayed up late enough to finish the booze and food. Mandy claimed the couch and the boys curled up on the armchair and floor in front of the fireplace. He checked on them a few times before letting himself be pulled to bed where he lay, eyes hot and unblinking. 

The story he’d told had shaken something loose inside him that he couldn’t quite knit back together. His mother was gone for real. No pruney toes. No gout of coughed up water. No tears as she cleaned him in the water of her death.

She was gone.

Ian settled close to him, and the small lump in his throat became a boulder. It forced him to cry to alleviate the pressure, or so he told his cowardly soul. His tears turned into sniffling. Soft sobs, helplessly cried into Ian’s chest, followed. The quiet crying became harsh barks of pain and he curled into Ian trying to escape it all. Ian took him in his arms and cupped the back of his head to murmur nonsensical sounds of comfort. If only it was as simple as that. Soft words and a firm hug to clear away the pain. God, he wished it was that easy.

A soft knock on their bedroom door preceded Mandy padding in. His crying must’ve called her. It always did. Even when it meant she might catch a beating, Mandy always slipped into his bed  and hugged him until he stopped crying.

She did the same thing now, climbing over Ian to lay on his other side. She put an arm around his waist and he cried harder. For her, for his mother. For all of them.

Another soft knock. Iggy and Colin padded in with pillows and blankets. They settled down on the floor on either side of the bed without saying a word. Ian, God bless him, just smiled into his hair and gave him a squeeze, letting him know it was alright. 

After everyone settled down, the room was quiet and filled with the blue-tinged light of the moon and their collective breathing. 

“I think it goes without saying that we expect y’all not to fuck while we’re in here,” Colin said quietly from the floor. 

Iggy snorted from the other side of the bed. Soon, they were all laughing. 

Ian leaned over, kissed Mandy on the cheek, leaned down over her to slap Iggy on the chest then leaned all the way back to slap Colin on the top of his head. When he settled back down, he gave Mickey the softest, sweetest kiss. It was exactly what he needed. This closeness is what they all needed. 

As he started to fall into sleep, a gentle, almost melodic fart rang out. The bed shook as he, Ian and Mandy struggled not to be the first to laugh aloud.

“I can still stay, right Ian?” Iggy whispered from the floor, his plea a confession. 

They all dissolved into giggles, hissed softly between teeth. It was cleansing, this infantile humor. It was also a way for motherless children to find comfort and laughter in the dark.

“Yeah,” Ian said, breathing soft laughter into Mickey’s hair. “You can stay.”

He hid his face in Ian’s neck to let the warm pulse there soothe him towards sleep. He faded to the sound of the occasional laugh from his family, glad he was surrounded by the people who love him. 

And he can’t be sure, but just as he made his final descent into sleep, he felt something that eased his pain enough for him to sink into unconsciousness. 

A kiss, soft and sweet, pressed into the back of his neck.

[edgessunflower]

"It's nice when someone remembers the smallest details about you, not because you keep reminding them but because they care"

with damian priest x reader where she never had a boyfriend during vday and he makes it special for her

Real angel

Pairing: Damian Priest x Fem reader

Description: You have your very first Valentine's Day with Damian and share it with someone for the very first time ever

You smile turning your head as you get awake while Damian pressed soft kisses on your shoulder "Morning Mi vida" you turn to putty by him speaking Spanish to you sharing a soft kiss as you get up and the smile grows being handed a bouquet of roses and reading the card he got you. "Baby, I'm tearing up" you smile holding the letter he wrote for you sharing another kiss before he brought you breakfast in bed as he opened the card you got him "Thank you mi amor but this day is about you" you shake your head as he kissed your cheek changing into a pink dress stopping when you see damian in a tux making him laugh when he catches you looking at him in the mirror looking you up and down "Un verdadero angel right in front of me" he lifts you in his arms giggling as you wrapped your arms around his shoulders spending the whole day out together looking at your phone when you get a notification looking to see a post damian made on Instagram of you in the flower field the two of you were in earlier laughing looking at him with the caption "My beautiful angel that I never knew would come into my life and has changed it wonderfully, you are the world to me and I love you forever and always Mariposa Happy first of many Valentine's Day together" you tear up looking over at damian as he intertwined your hands using his other to wipe a tear away "Oh bebe don't cry". The two of you have lunch being surprised when the two of you go salsa dancing having an amazing time swooning just how good he was at it enjoying dinner before kissing you sweetly taking you upstairs stripping you down in between paused kisses between each other turning to honey at him kissing up your legs taking his time on pleasuring you with his mouth before kissing up the rest of you body after stripping his pants and boxers off caressing your face before he was holding you against him thrusting and meeting each other's hips turning to jelly as he filled the tub carrying and putting you in the tub washing you slowly noticing how throughout the day of how he remembered what you liked with everything the two of you did kissing his cheek as he drys you off tucking you under the covers joining you a second later kissing your neck "Thank you for today baby" he shakes his head kissing your nose "No need to love" you tangle your fingers in his hair "I do you made this day wonderful and my first Valentine's Day ever with someone, It's nice when someone remembers the smallest details about you, not because you keep reminding them but because they care" his heart melts knowing how much he made the day wonderful for you "I love you bebita" he intertwined your hands as your back presses against his chest having the best and first Valentine's Day with him ever but he smiles more hearing you say "You're my real angel, I love you" sharing a final tender kiss before falling asleep.

[aishangotome]

Elbert Greetia: Chapter 5

Chapter 4 Premium Story

♡———♡

What a beautiful child. Golden hair just like his mother.

Maid: Like an angel. Look at those jewel-like eyes.

Others: Beauty as if born to be happy.

It seemed that being "beautiful" was a condition for happiness.

Everyone praised his beauty and laughed – except for one person.

(With this much, it will surely be alright)

(So, smile–)

–Don't look at me with such sad eyes.

Maid's Voice: Kyaaaah!! Someone, someone come–!!!

–It's not enough yet. I have to collect more, more.

Something that matches the happiness I've taken away.

The most beautiful thing in this world–

Elbert: ……gh, ……ha……ha……

He wakes up in bed, gasping for air like someone surfacing from the depths of the sea.

Elbert: ……ha…………

It's still dark outside the window, and the clock shows that only two hours have passed since he fell asleep.

Elbert: .............

He looks down at his hand, and there it is, unchanged from before he slept, the seashell she gave him.

He's been clutching it in his hand ever since he received it on that beach.

Elbert: .............

He tries to place it on the bedside chest– but after hesitating for several seconds, he pulls out a random box from the chest drawer and puts the seashell inside.

He chooses a pen from among many and scribbles on the back of a postcard with some scenery on it.

Elbert: ……ha……

He gently places the postcard in the box and sinks back into bed.

-

Several days after the day Elbert took me to the sea–

Elbert: Kate…… Are you alright?

Kate: I'm a little nervous…… but I'm alright.

Alfons: That's not very convincing. You're so stiff.

Kate: Wah!?

Alfons: Oh my, I just lightly stroked your back… this is new.

Elbert: Al, don't.

Alfons: Yes, yes.

We were on our way to a party for art collectors to contact the "Bernard Trading Company."

(The "Bernard Trading Company" is the criminal organization that attacked the inn where Daisy worked.)

(It's hard not to be nervous when I think I might come into contact with one of their members...)

Elbert: ...It's alright.

Elbert whispered, glancing at me as I struggled to relax.

Elbert: Even if something happens… I won't let you get hurt.

(Elbert...)

Kate: ...Thank you.

(I can't let myself hinder their mission.)

(I have to be strong.)

Today, Elbert and I were supposed to act as collectors, with Alfons as our attendant.

The goal for today is to become close to the art dealer hosting the event, who seems to be a member of the trading company, through the purchase of goods.

(If we're suspected before we even carry out the plan, it's over.)

Everything I'm wearing today was bought for me by Elbert the other day, and even the smallest accessory is worth more than I could ever earn in my lifetime.

(But... just for today, I'll pretend to be a lady who deserves to wear these things.)

Kate: I'm fine now. Let's go.

Elbert: ..........

Alfons: Hehe... You're quite a gutsy little robin, aren't you?

As I followed the two of them through the entrance, I could feel the eyes of everyone around me focused on us.

Woman with Stars: Oh... There you are. How beautiful...!

Priest with Glasses: I can only sigh... Those sapphire-blue eyes.

Curly Haired Girl: Haa... Surely no artwork I see today can compare to him.

–I can't help but overhear the whispers of the people.

The gazes clinging to Elbert and the sighs of admiration never cease.

Elbert: ..........

With every compliment I hear, with every step we take up the stairs... Elbert's expression clearly starts to darken.

Alfons: You look terrible already. El, want to take a break?

Elbert: No... I'm fine.

(He doesn't look fine at all...)

Kate: Is there... anything you need?

Elbert: ...You.

Kate: Huh?

Elbert: ...Just being here is enough.

(...He really doesn't seem well.)

(It's no wonder he's tired of being treated like a piece of art.)

Elbert's expression was more downcast than I could have imagined.

(I hope he's okay...)

-

–The hall, sparkling with chandeliers, was filled with numerous works of art.

(Wow... It's like a museum.)

Paintings, plaster statues, sculptures... The sheer number of artworks is dazzling.

But knowing that these might have been collected through illegal means, I couldn't simply be impressed.

Elderly Gentleman: Ah, Elbert. I've been waiting for you.

Lady with White Hair: My, my, what a beautiful face as always. I could just put you on display and admire you.

Lady with Green Eyes: I've missed you, Elbert!

Elbert: ..........

Suddenly, people who seemed to be Elbert's acquaintances gathered around us.

Lively conversation immediately broke out, and I distanced myself a little from Elbert.

Kate: He's popular, isn't he?

Alfons: ...Yes.

I exchanged a few words with Alfons in a low voice.

It was a short reply for Alfons, who is usually talkative, which bothered me a little...

(But I'm a little relieved that Elbert has some acquaintances here.)

(I hope he cheers up as he talks to them, even though he seems to be feeling down.)

Relieved, I was watching Elbert and the others when–

Elderly Gentleman: It's been years since I've gazed at you like this. Let me see your face better.

The gentleman, with an air of dignity, cupped Elbert's cheeks with both hands.

They were so close, as if he were about to kiss him–.

(...What...?)

Elbert said nothing. He didn't resist.

He just let the man do as he pleased.

Elderly Gentleman: Oh, don't look away. Look at me, Elbert.

Elbert: ...Yes.

It was clear to me that this was not a normal greeting.

The elderly gentleman moved Elbert's face from side to side, admiring him as if checking the workmanship of a doll.

Elderly Gentleman: As I thought, there is no one else as beautiful as you in this world.

Lady with Green Eyes: Elbert, let me see you too. ...Oh my, are you a little sleep-deprived?

Elbert: ...I'm fine.

Lady with White Hair: Are you sure? There's nothing so scary that you can't sleep? I'll sing you a lullaby again.

Elbert: ...Thank you.

(Is this... "normal"?)

Elbert's body was being touched by everyone in turn, with words of concern for his well-being.

As if to show him off to everyone around.

Even with a badly hurt expression, Elbert didn't try to avoid their hands.

Kate: Um, Alfons...

Alfons: Yes?

I looked up at him for help, but all I got was a calm voice.

Kate: ...I might be overstepping, but shouldn't we stop that?

Alfons: If you wish to do so, feel free. I won't interfere.

Alfons: However, the scene we are witnessing is not new to El.

Kate: ...This is a daily occurrence?

My voice trembled with fear.

Alfons didn't answer, only forming a faint smile with his lips.

Alfons: In any case, don't forget "our position."

Alfons: An attendant cannot interfere unless ordered to do so by their master.

(I see... Alfons is officially in the position of an attendant today.)

(So the only one who can stop this situation is me...?)

Elbert: .............

I looked at Elbert again, and he was still standing there, pale-faced.

(He looks hurt... but why?)

I could hear the voices of the people who had been admiring Elbert from a short distance away.

Woman with a Message: ...What's with those people? Are they trying to show him off to us?

Gentleman with Glasses: Well, I understand the feeling. If I were allowed, I'd love to admire him up close too.

Lady with Curly Hair: If I could touch that skin, I'd pay my entire fortune... I wonder how I could get closer to him.

–My heart chilled.

I was saddened by those words, as if they thought of Elbert as nothing more than a jewel or an accessory.

(If I stay in this place, I'll go crazy–)

(Elbert must be feeling it even more than me...)

Kate: Alfons...

Alfons: Yes?

Kate: I'll try not to interfere with the mission as much as possible, so–

Before I could finish speaking, my feet stepped forward.

I gently touched Elbert's elbow from behind, as if asking for an escort.

Kate: Lord Elbert, the host doesn't seem to be here yet... Would you like to step outside for a bit?

Elbert: ...Kate.

His deep, ocean-like eyes captured mine.

But those eyes were hollow, as if his heart had been dulled.

Kate: Um, well... You look a little pale, so I thought some fresh air might do you good.

Lady with Green Eyes: Excuse me, who are you? Elbert, is she a new maid or something?

Lady with Green Eyes: If so... I'm sorry, but her dress is crying. It doesn't suit her manners.

Elderly Gentleman: Haha, don't be so harsh, you'll make her cry.

Elderly Gentleman: You see, we've known Elbert for a long time. Would you mind not interfering?

I felt piercing gazes from the three people surrounding Elbert and from everyone else around.

(But...)

I couldn't leave Elbert, who was pale, like this.

Elderly Gentleman: Are you listening, girl?

Kate: !

He grabbed my chin and roughly forced my face up.

Elderly Gentleman: It's troubling, you see. When a worthless pebble like you is displayed in the same showcase as a treasure.

Lady with White Hair: Indeed... It ruins the aesthetic.

Their heartless words grated on my heart.

(I know better than anyone that I don't belong here.)

(But... what these people are doing is even more shameful.)

Elderly Gentleman: What's with that look in your eyes?

The gentleman's voice was filled with anger, sending a shiver down my spine. But–

Elbert: ...Would you please stop?

The room fell silent at Elbert's words.

Elbert: Touching her, criticizing her... Please stop.

.

.

.

.

.

Chapter 6

If you’d like to support my translations, feel free to buy me a coffee here! :)

[ofliterarynature]

TBR TAKEDOWN: Week 9 (July 28)

TLDR: I have too many unread books, and I’m asking tumblr to help me downsize. Pick one or none, and comment if you can - a convincing sentence is worth a dozen votes! You’re also welcome to just choose the one that sounds the worst :D Book descriptions below the cut, see my pinned post for more info.

I Am Princess X by Cherie Priest

Once upon a time, two best friends created a princess together. Libby drew the pictures, May wrote the tales, and their heroine, Princess X, slayed all the dragons and scaled all the mountains their imaginations could conjure.

Once upon a few years later, Libby was in the car with her mom, driving across the Ballard Bridge on a rainy night. When the car went over the side, Libby passed away, and Princess X died with her.

Once upon a now: May is sixteen and lonely, wandering the streets of Seattle, when she sees a sticker slapped in a corner window.

Princess X?

When May looks around, she sees the Princess everywhere: Stickers. Patches. Graffiti. There's an entire underground culture, focused around a webcomic at IAmPrincessX.com. The more May explores the webcomic, the more she sees disturbing similarities between Libby's story and Princess X online. And that means that only one person could have started this phenomenon---her best friend, Libby, who lives.

Tinkerbelle by Robert Manry

This book tells how a dream became a deed: how a middle aged, married and presumably sober copy editor of the Plain Dealer, of Cleveland, Ohio, happened to get the idea of sailing across the Atlantic Ocean in a small boat, how he acquired the boat, and how he executed the voyage that made his idea a reality. It is the story of the 13 1/2 foot sloop Tinkerbelle, believed to be the smallest boat ever to cross the Atlantic nonstop.

The author, having undertaken to explain why he made the voyage, describes his adventures during the 78 days it lasted: being awakened by a submarine, being knocked overboard by big waves, meeting three Russian trawlers, suffering weird hallucinations, repairing a broken rudder in mid-ocean, receiving a feast from a Belgian ship captain, trying to get dry, being interviewed by a Cleveland TV newsman 250 miles from journey’s end, and receiving a welcome from an armada of small boats at his destination, Falmouth, England.

Quite apart from the thrill of the exploits it reports, Robert Manry’s story has the happy effect of persuading the reader that he too could sail a small boat single-handed across the Atlantic… if only he could find the time.

The Cantaloupe Thief by Deb Richardson-Moore

It's ten years since wealthy matriarch Alberta Resnick was found stabbed to death in Georgia. Local reporter Branigan Powers sets out to investigate the city's only unsolved murder.

Branigan knows that the homeless often have information, but are rarely asked. She gets in touch with Liam, a pastor who runs a shelter. As they start to ask questions, secrets begin to surface. Then homeless people start dying.

Clearly the killer won't stop until all tracks are covered. But what the killer doesn't know is that someone is watching, someone who is used to being ignored and unseen…

[arzen9]

no closer could I be to god (or why he would do what he’s done) chapter 2

pairing: Astarion/f!Tav | Astarion/f!OC (Sancti)

18+ MDNI

word count: 2.9k

tags/warnings: mentions of trauma, mentions of sexual trauma, non canon compliant, spoilers

summary: Astarion and Sancti try to navigate the aftermath of their previous encounter.

It has been three days now, and they have not talked about the events of that night.

It doesn’t truly make a difference to Astarion, not really. Or so he tells himself. She still asks him to go with her on their daily excursions in search of a cure; still points out locks to pick and traps to disarm, but never looks him in the eye anymore with those golden gems of hers. Pure sunlight.

He doesn’t know what to make of the memory he witnessed when he forced himself into her mind. What he knows is that it was a terrible mistake- one he would not shy away from slitting a throat for. But she hadn’t done that.

She hadn’t even shared the truth about his nature with the rest of their merry band. Astarion didn’t know what to make of her, and it was driving him to madness.

Ever since that night, on his hunts he had now started to fantasize about Sancti’s blood while he sank his teeth into whatever critter he could find. He closed his eyes and tried to refill his nostrils with that brightness. Sunlight distilled in her veins.

He needs to get a grip.

Especially now that their adventure was taking a darker turn with a new goal- Moonrise Towers. He needed to focus. They had been able to kill the last of the vile goblin leaders that morning; the scary looking hobgoblin had proven himself all bark and no bite. They had found the archdruid Halsin- big hunk of an elf with the wildshape of a bear. Sancti had surprised Astarion by being the only one in their group who didn’t seem absolutely floored by the man in front of her, but the surprises didn’t stop there.

They had had a teeny tiny run in with a priest of Loviatar and Sancti had been far more interested in him and his ministrations than she was in Halsin.  When he suggested that Sancti try some of his… advanced techniques, Astarion was sure their little priest of the Morninglord would have been quick to turn him down. But she had said yes. Had been ecstatic, even.

When he asked Sancti what weapon she wanted him to use, she had pointed her chin to the dagger laid out in front of the Goddess of Pain’s priest. Astarion could swear for a second she had looked at him after making her choice, but it was such a fleeting moment that now he wasn’t so sure.

Sancti hadn’t seemed fazed by the slices of the priest- each one accompanied by a contented sigh or a satisfied whimper from her lips.

“Would you have joined up with her if you’d known she’d be indulging in this sort of thing, Astarion?” Shadowheart had asked, one dark eyebrow raised in his direction. The Sharran was teasing. How fun.

She had put him in a weird position, obviously not aware of the tension between Sancti and him. He had to act just as oblivious.

“I mean, I had my hopes,” he had said in a flirty drawl.

That had seemed to crack at something in Sancti’s otherwise iron demeanor- she had smiled. Smirked, more like. She was nursing the cuts and slices drawn upon her form, and looking at them gave Astarion the smallest pause. Of concern? Surely not. She didn’t seem the least worried about them, so why would he care?

After they finished up in the goblin camp, Sancti had insisted they go and check out this one corner of the forest a little further away from the abandoned village. Said she felt a presence there. Hadn’t clarified.

It was fine by Astarion, as long as he got to put his dagger into something without having to talk about it. His mind was getting festered by a peculiar anxiety caused by Sancti’s avoidance of him and he did not want to dwell on it one second more than he had to.

And as they stood in front of the man who was explaining to Sancti how he was a monster hunter, in the middle of that disgusting swamp, Astarion was sure he could start getting his mind off of Sancti if only he could bury his dagger into this stranger’s eye socket.

But wait a minute.

“So what monster are you hunting?” Sancti asked, arms crossed across her golden armor. Her golden eyes were shining even brighter.

“Something terrifying, no doubt,” Astarion cut in. “Dragon? Cyclops? Kobold?”

“Nothing so dramatic,” the Gur hunter answered. “I’m hunting for a vampire spawn.”

Because of course he was. This had to be one of Cazador’s pawns, no doubt. He had to be smart, and he had to somehow make sure Sancti didn’t do anything stupid.

“I was hoping to make a deal with the hag of these lands, to flush him out, but it seems she is no more,” the hunter continued.

Just as Astarion was about to butt in, he heard Sancti’s voice. “A pity. Not like it’s a real vampire, right?”

Astarion’s chest swelled with a sense of pride, as if he had trained Sancti to give just this sort of answer.

“My friend, vampire spawns are weaker only when compared to their masters,” the hunter smiled. “At night, when they hunt, they still hold the advantage.”

“Interesting,” Sancti turned to Astarion, her arms still crossed over her chest, an air about her as if she couldn’t care less. “What do you think?”

She was giving him an opportunity. He considered for a second if Sancti was inside her mind- through the tadpole or not.

“Excellent,” he said with a low growl and reached for his dagger. The opportunity to bury his dagger in this vile Gur hunter’s eye socket had presented itself after all.

With the deed done, Astarion pulled out his dagger from the corpse and turned to face a group of companions ready to ask way too many questions.

“I believe we’re going to need an explanation, soldier,” Karlach said, looking at Sancti instead of him.

“Why are you asking me?” Sancti said. She was going to leave him alone in this. Great. “Just so you know, though,” she continued, to Astarion’s surprise. “I trust him. He won’t hurt us.”

There was silence among the group for a moment, then exchanged glances.

“So, you’re the vampire spawn?” Shadowheart asked.

“It seems so,” he answered with a smirk. “Although, as our wonderful leader said, you have nothing to worry about. I won’t bite. Unless you ask nicely.”

Shadowheart only rolled her eyes and turned to leave. Karlach gave him a kind smile, as she always did, and followed after her. It seemed that no one actually cared about his affliction after all.

He turned to look at Sancti, who was watching him with impatient eyes.

“If you are finished with the spectacle, I would like to go and check out the hag’s hut together.”

“I-” Astarion stopped himself. He would not let her see how easy it was for her to surprise him. “Want me all to yourself so badly, darling?”

“Hmm. I remember what happened the last time I was alone with you.”

Despite the jab, she started walking in front of him towards the hut down the hill form where they’d found the Gur hunter, and gestured for him to follow along. He obliged.

“You said you trusted me,” Astarion said, more a question than a statement.

Sancti was able to see it as such. “And I do,” she said. “For some reason.”

“I would like to apologize,” Astarion blurted out suddenly. “For-”

“For forcing the tadpole on me without my permission? You’re forgiven.”

He pursed his lips together in a line, not knowing what to say. They approached the hut’s double doors, and Sancti waited for him to pick the lock.

“You never asked me about what you saw,” she said, which caused him to move the lockpick too far left. It broke in two. Astarion grabbed another one, trying to be discreet.

Sancti continued without waiting for him to respond. “I understand if you didn’t care one bit, of course. We don’t really know each other, after all.”

Finally, a click, and the door yielded to his ministrations. He clumsily gestured for Sancti to go in first.

She kept talking.

“You know, you weren’t the only watching from the shadows. I saw how you got up to see the sunrise every day.”  She immediately started walking around the hut, searching for the hag, or maybe just supplies. Astarion couldn’t tell. “The love you have for the sun is admirable. I feel more devotion from you watching the rising sun than I ever did reciting my prayers.”

“Why?”

“Why what?” “Why do you keep praying?” And there it is- the question he has had ever since he saw her memory through the tadpole. After what has happened to her- why? The Morninglord obviously didn’t raise a finger to help her in that moment, however long it transpired for. However many times it occurred before and after that.

“More of a habit, really. It soothes me.”

“Doesn’t seem like your faith is particularly strong these days,” he joked, and immediately regretted it. Maybe it was not exactly the best thing to say.

But she only smiled. “Not really, no.”

“I understand.”

“I won’t ask why, but I believe that you do.”

And they stared at each other, in the hag’s hut that was now empty for whatever reason. The priest trusted the undead. The undead trusted the priest.

Now, as they’re making their way back to the grove to make sure everything is in order before they start their journey to Moonrise Towers, Astarion watches Sancti walk next to Lae’zel. The gith doesn’t seem particularly interested in keeping her voice down lest she is heard by the others- in this case the only other seems to be Astarion, as the rest of the group idle further away at the back, half walking and half playing with their newest addition, Scratch.

Astarion decides to listen in on their conversation, out of sheer boredom and not one bit of curiosity, of course. What he catches up on immediately surprises him- as so many things do, when it comes to Sancti.

“I want to taste you for a second time, and you will let me, now that you have become the source of my bruises,” the gith says. “I have seen the way you look at me, with yearning.”

Sancti takes a deep breath. “I’m sorry, Lae’zel. But you are mistaken.”

For some reason, Astarion feels like he just let go of an unnecessary breath he was holding onto.

“Am I really? Your loss, then. Here I was thinking you had taste, after the night we shared.”

The gith quickens her steps, surely more hurt than she lets on. Sancti keeps walking at the same pace, and Astarion has to force himself from catching up with her. He is a devil for gossip, after all. It is surprising, though. After what he saw in her mind, Astarion was sure that she wanted nothing to do with any of the other companions sexually. Maybe she was not as affected by her trauma as he was. Astarion quickly swats away the thought. What would a naïve little priest know about two hundreds year of not knowing one’s own body?

This does give him an idea, though. Sancti is strong, ferocious and steadfast. She cares a lot, for some reason. If he plays his cards right, he can use that to his advantage. She could protect him against his master- his old master. What else is there for a vampire lord to fear, than pure sunlight?

He only needs to come up with a simple plan.

As soon as they make it to the Emerald Grove, the archdruid Halsin welcomes them and goes on and on to Sancti about how thankful they all are. Astarion doesn’t pay attention until the big elf proposes a celebration at their camp that very night. Now that sounds like he could enjoy. There is the promise of wine, and the initiation of his plan.

If he can seduce Sancti, which, if the gith can, surely, he should be able to as well- if he can do that, he’d guarantee the protection of the Morninglord, in a roundabout sort of way. He’s already looking forward to Cazador’s face when the monster realizes he has the power of the sun to protect him.

But, he has to take things one step at a time, and that involves gaining her trust- fully and completely. Sancti did already say she trusted him, but for what he needs, they need to take it a few steps further.

When they make their way back to camp, Sancti asks for Gale and Karlach’s help to prepare food and drinks, and the inhabitants of the grove pour in one by one, infiltrating their safe haven. No matter. They can celebrate all they want, as long as they leave Astarion well alone.

He snatches some of the best bottles of wine he can find, assuming the little priest drinks wine at all. At the hands of a skilled lover such as himself he has found that there is no limit to the boundaries people are willing to cross- why would Sancti be the exception? Besides, the Sharran is just as corruptly devoted, and she cannot pluck herself away from her goblet filled with wine for even a second.

Although, getting Sancti to spend time with him might be the more difficult task, and not the getting her to share wine with him part.

Astarion watches as she saunters around from one person to the other tiefling to the other druid, thanking them, promising them, being a hero in general. He keeps drinking the wine he plucked for her, tasting nothing but piss, but drinking nonetheless. Sancti spends her precious time with tiefling children, with smelly druids, and doesn’t even turn to spare a glance at him. Is that pain he feels in his undead heart? Surely not. He just tries to focus on the task at hand- drinking, until finally, she stops in front of him, looking absolutely exhausted.

“I swear I thought there wouldn’t be an end to them,” she says and takes a deep breath that shakes her shoulders. Astarion then realizes that she has put her hair down for the first time since he met her- copper softness all around her head that flows down in waves past her shoulders. She takes a strand between her fingers and fiddles with it. “I hope your night has been entertaining.”

He looks at her, how her sunlight eyes sparkle in the night. Before he can think about it, he blurts out, “So, you’ve slept with the gith.”

She snorts. “I’d be surprised if you weren’t listening in on us.”

“You weren’t being particularly discreet, darling.” He takes another sip of wine. How many bottles has it been? Three? Getting drunk as a vampire isn’t the easiest thing but it seems like he is getting there.

Sancti sighs. “Everyone has been handing me vinegar for wine all night. Is what you have any better? Let me try some.”

She takes the bottle from him, and he lets her. Watches her throat bob up and down as she swallows.

“Ah. You do have the better stuff.” She laughs, and Astarion realizes he had not heard her laugh before. Bright. Sunny. Exhilarating. “Can a vampire get drunk?”

It’s time for him to up the ante. “Is there a reason why you want me drunk, love?”

“I want me drunk. If you still haven’t gotten there after three bottles, then that’s your problem.”

“So you have been watching me all night.”

Sancti seems surprised for a second, then shrugs as she takes a sip from their shared bottle. “I guess I have.”

“You haven’t answered my question.”

“You haven’t asked me one.”

She is infuriating. “How was it with Lae’zel?”

“Promise me one thing, Astarion.”

As always, full of surprises. “What is it, darling?”

“Don’t force your tadpole on me again.”

He pauses. She seems to think that she has offended him.

“I know I said I trust you, but I-” She takes a deep breath. “As you saw in my mind, I have had enough of others forcing themselves on me. People I had trusted. I don’t need any more of that.”

Then she takes one, two, three gulps of wine.

“It was awful. With Lae’zel.”

He blinks a few times. Then laughs. She starts laughing too.

“Believe me, it’s not a slight on her abilities.” Another gulp of wine. “It’s just… Part of me was disgusted in the act itself.” Astarion can understand that. But that’s not all she has to say, it seems.

“And part of me kept wishing it was you, Astarion.”

His plan is going to sort itself out far easier than expected, it seems.

“Oh, you sweetheart,” he finally chimes in, all rakish smiles and raised eyebrows. “You should have just told me.”

“I told you I had been watching you. I saw your scars.”

This makes him question everything, for a second.

“I think you’re more than you let on, vampire,” she smiles. More dangerous than flirtatious. “But I told you I trusted you, and I will try to do just that. Trust you. This involves letting you share whatever you want, in your own time.” She takes another swig of the wine, a bigger, longer one this time.

It occurs to Astarion then- she’s trying to get drunk.

“What is it going to be then, little priest?” he asks. “How are we going to celebrate this wonderful night?”

“Meet me in the woods, after everyone else’s asleep,” she says, almost bored. She plays with the rim of the wine bottle absentmindedly. “I would like you to bite me.”

[spade-riddles]

Submission: Death/Dying/Mortality & The Jack-O-Lantern of it all.

The first 🎃 was sent on May 13, 2023.

#4. 🎃 “Speaking of, I love Halloween, don’t you? I’m already counting the days until October.”

#11. 🎃 “Imagine this. It is 3 am and Halloween is over"

All Saints Day, while exact origins are uncertain, was originally most commonly celebrated in May (like, a LONG time ago. ~300-600 A.D). Specifically…MAY 13. The night before All Saints Day was called “All-Hallows Eve”, which is what we now know as Halloween. (I acknowledge that is through the Christianity lens, as I know there this is a holiday with pagan roots as well). 

This is a celebration dedicated to remember the dead. I believe the use of the pumpkin/jack-o-lantern and the references to this celebration were easter eggs for the direction of TS11, before we even KNEW a new album was in the works. Furthermore, someone sent in a post identifying May 13 as the first documented date of JK & KK, which was also linked to the original spade riddles about MAY. 

Now that it has been a few days since the release of TTPD, I’m shocked to see just how many references there are to the concept of death, dying, endings, resurrection, etc. Here is an incomplete list of all of the references to this theme throughout the TTPD rollout and release:

TN easter egg

“We hereby conduct this post-mortem” - AKA….after death. This was ultimately revealed to be lyrics from “How Did It End?”

Track 4 - Down Bad

“I might just die, it would make no difference.”

Track 5 - So Long, London

“My white knuckle dying grip holding tight to your quiet resentment.”

“I died on the altar waiting for the proof.”

Track 9 - Guilty As Sin

“One slip I’m falling back into the hedge maze, but what a way to die.”

Track 10 - Who’s Afraid of Little Old Me?

“If you wanted me dead you should’ve just said. Nothing makes me feel more alive.”

Track 12 - loml

“Are they second hand embarrassed that I can’t get out of bed, cause something counterfeits dead?”

“And I’ll still see it until I die, You’re the loss of my life.”

Track 14 - The Smallest Man Who Ever Lived

“Were you sent by someone who wanted me dead?”

“I would’ve died for your sins, Instead, I just died inside.”

Track 16 - Clara Bow

“I’m not trying to exaggerate but I think I might die if it happened, die if it happened to me”

Track 17 - The Black Dog

“Old habits die screaming.”

“Now I wanna sell my house and set fire to all my clothes, and hire a priest to come and exorcise my demons, Even if I die screaming, And I hope you hear it.”

Track 19 - The Albatross:

“She’s the death you chose”

Track 21 - How Did It End:

“We hereby conduct this post-mortem”

“Say it once again with feeling, How the death rattle breathing, Silenced as the soul was leaving, The deflation of our dreaming, Leaving me bereft and reeling. My beloved ghost and me, Sitting in a tree,D-Y-I-N-G”

Track 23 - I Hate It Here

“I dreamed about it in the dark, the night I felt like I might die”

Track 25 - I Look In People’s Windows

“I had died the tiniest death.”

And finally…resurrection (note: I am not a religious person, I’m writing about this from a literature/contextual perspective).

Track 9 - Guilty as Sin:

What if I roll the stone away? They’re gonna crucify me anyway. What if the way you hold me is actually what’s holy? If long suffering propriety is what they want from me, they don’t know how you’ve haunted me so stunningly. I choose you and me, religiously

propriety (noun) - 1: the quality or state of being proper or suitable, 2: conformity to what is socially acceptable in conduct or speech, fear or offending against conventional rules of behavior especially between the sexes.

🫚 - 2/5/2024

Frost untouched, Conformity wins fights.

This 🫚 message seems to convey the message that conforming to what what society and the media, her fans, etc expect of her and will tolerate from her, is the only way she could gain enough traction to move forward. But in Guilty as Sin, she finally asks the questions “what happens if I roll away the stone?” Rolling away the stone, in a biblical sense, would reveal an empty tomb. An empty tomb was EVIDENCE that Jesus had risen from the dead.

So my thought is, what does rolling away the stone mean for Taylor? What are the implications of her asking, “What if I just give them all the evidence revealing my truth? They are going to judge me no matter what, so I might as well. If they want me to suffer my entire life by conforming to societal standards, they don’t know how impossible of an ask that is.”In Summary, 🫚 & 🎃 have absolutely proven themselves credible in foreshadowing the themes of this album and overarching story. And I’m sure as we continue to decipher their messages, we are going to find so much more.

[misslavenderlady]

Hello Lavender I recently came across your page your writing is wonderful and I love it. May I request demon The lost boys + Micheal x nun reader smut very smutty if your up for it. I can’t wait to read this wonderful story you have planned out :).

Mary On A Cross 🛐

David/Marko/Dwayne/Paul/Michael/Female!Reader

Summary: Just because you're a holy woman on sacred ground doesn't mean you're safe from the temptations of Hell. The true test of your faith will be when five demons come to play~

Thank you @xxryn for the writing request! I appreciate your patience. This came out so much longer than I planned. I'm not Catholic (or even religious for that matter), but I did a lot of research about the church and nuns. Forgive me if some stuff isn't accurate.

WARNINGS: Nsfw/Smut/18+ Readers Only, Dub Con, Nun!Reader, Female!Reader, Virgin!Reader, Sex Dreams, Temptation, Religion Kink, Shame, Confessions, Prayer, Demons/Incubus, Teratophilia, Flirting, Pet Names, Groping, Pretending to be a priest, Sex on an Altar, Sex in a church, Group Sex, Vaginal Sex, Taking virginity, Nippleplay, Licking, Spanking, Dom/Sub, Clit rubbing, Mutual masturbation, Circle jerk, Dirty Talk, Praying, Creampie, Sex feeding

“Bless me Father for I have sinned. It has been a week since my last confession. These are my sins.”  

You really felt like a failure for having to do this, but it was absolutely necessary. The struggles you were dealing with had worsened recently, and you feared that your will was being tested. Still, you had to be strong. That was why you were in the confessional, sharing your sins with the hidden priest.  

For as long as you could remember, you were devoted to your religion. It was a significant part of your life growing up. You attended many christenings, weddings, and funerals held at your family’s church of choice. Rain or shine, you went every Sunday to sing and pray. Your teen years were a balancing act between academic life and your duties for the church. Every authority figure in your life praised you for being such a good kid.  

So that’s what you decided to devote yourself to as an adult. You knew nothing of life besides faith, so you followed the path to becoming a nun. It was no small task to complete, yet you were more than dedicated. You gave up your luxuries, promised your vows, and joined your convent to live a humble life that was fully devoted to God. It was hard work, yet you handled it with ease.  

That was, until recently.  

Temptations had begun to creep into your daily life, attempting to slip into the cracks of your spirit and corrupt your very soul. Though such things would seem normal to an average person, you were a woman of God. You had to be disciplined, and you knew the smallest tests of faith could spiral out of control.  

It had started with rather sensual dreams that you had in the dead of night. Every time you slipped into a deep slumber, visions of handsome men and bare bodies danced around in your mind. They whispered lewd promises and sang out the most depraved moans you’d ever heard. The first time you had such a dream, you had woken with a start, completely drenched in sweat. You were sure you were ill with some kind of fever.  

But it didn’t stop after that.  

It was a bit different each time. Sometimes you saw a blond. Other times it was a brunet. One night, the voices promised to be gentle and make love to you. The next night, the voices demanded to fuck you like a wild animal. It made your head spin with each passing night. Though you never really remembered the faces when you woke up, you always had a dripping heat in between your legs. Cold showers had certainly become your friend.  

The shame you felt was getting worse. Everything you knew about sex was from the educational courses in school long ago. That, and there were some rather colorful remarks made by the boys whenever you wore a skirt to class. Such temptations never swayed you before, but this time was different.  

You desperately tried to pour yourself into your work. You chanted plenty of Hail Marys, spent hours each day praying and read the bible over and over again. Whenever a charity event was planned, you were the hardest worker involved. Your fellow nuns were so proud of the work you did, yet you still held a pang of guilt deep inside.  

That’s why you were confessing these sins today. You shared these erotic dreams with the intention of clearing your conscience.  

“I cannot silence these dreams, Father,” you said in exasperation. “It has gotten to a point where I can feel my mind slipping back to them during the day. Whenever I try to do my work for God, I see these images of lust and I feel...dirty.”  

“I see. While you are a faithful woman to God, it is important to remember that you are still human. We all have temptations that make us stray from the path, but we all find our way in the end,” the priest explained to you. “In fact, you truly have not done anything wrong for these are visions beyond your control. After all, you have not done anything to act on such desires.”  

Your stomach twisted with guilt. It reminded you of your days of youth when you confessed to silly things like sneaking a treat from the cookie jar or lying to your parents about where you went with your friends after school. You never did anything truly wild, but the guilt made you feel small and weak.  

“That’s the problem, Father. I...like those dreams. I find myself wanting to act on the desires they give me. Wanting to experience that pleasure...oh God, help me, I’m so ashamed...”  

Every time you dreamed of sexual conquests beyond your wildest imaginations, you felt the need to quench your thirst grow stronger and stronger. There was a time long ago when you had realized how good it felt to rub yourself on your pillow, but you were too scared of the consequences to complete your pleasure. The temptation to explore your body and satisfy the lustful ache was worsening.  

“My child,” the priest interrupted your thoughts. “You are not alone in this world. There will always be love and appreciation for who you are. These dreams are a test for you, nothing more. A test of what you are truly capable of. It may be scary, but you must have faith in yourself. Perhaps you will find that you will become stronger than you ever imagined. It will all be okay in the end; I can promise you that.”  

You exhaled, still wary of what you were experiencing, but feeling a lot better thanks to the kind words of the priest who listened to your confession. There was genuine care in his voice, and you appreciated him for not being judgmental of your struggle.  

"Should you find yourself facing the temptation again, come to the sacred ground of the church so you can share these struggles alone with God. You may find that solitude will provide the clarity you need to overcome this challenge and come out stronger than ever." 

That was certainly something you could do. With a hail Mary and a thank you to the priest, you stepped out of the confessional. You would keep his words of guidance in mind as you went about your duties for the day.  

With the moon shining down to bring another beautiful night, it was time to sleep. Your plain, white nightgown was draped over your frame, ready to keep you warm and safe during the hours of slumber. You prayed before tucking yourself in, asking for a dreamless sleep.  

Though as you shut your eyes and drifted off, that prayer was swiftly proven to go ignored.  

It was so innocent at first. Nothing but pure silence in your dreams as you rest. Then the familiar forms of your frequent visitors appeared before you. They weren’t entirely clear in your vision, but you knew these were the men you had seen night after night. One stood out more than the others, a faded image of platinum hair and a long coat. Even with his face hidden, you knew he was smirking. He always was.  

“She’s ready for us,” he purred. His voice was muffled as if he was speaking underwater. A gloved hand reached out to you, caressing the side of your face. Even in your sleep, the sensation felt so real. It made you want to squirm away, but your body remained paralyzed. 

“Now now, my pet. Do not fight us. We’ve waited for this night for so long.”  

The other figures moved closer, each moving to a different side of you. They trapped you in a circle, hovering over you. You could not see their eyes, but you certainly could feel them watching you. Never before had you felt so vulnerable.  

Playful giggles teased your ears, mocking you as their hands caressed your body. Still, your ability to move was taken away and you could not get yourself to wake up. The more these figures played with you, the stronger your fear became.  

You were under their control, up until the moment when the leader of this nefarious gang of dream monsters finally revealed his eyes to you. Yellow. Sickly yellow in a sea of red.  

“It’s time to wake up.” 

The spell was broken, and your eyes shot open. Your body was free and immediately shot up in a panicked jolt as your senses finally came back. Goosebumps were littered across your skin and your heart was pumping faster than ever. Those hands that touched you. They felt so real. Like it wasn’t in a dream.  

That wasn’t the scariest part though. What truly struck fear into your heart was how wet you were. The slick in between your legs could not be ignored. Your thighs clenched together, trying to fight off the tingling sensation that taunted you so. Even though the dream frightened you, it enticed you as well. The battle for maintaining your status as a holy woman was still going on.  

You had to fight for your faith. 

With a toss of your bed sheets, you slipped on your shoes and dressed in your robe and habit. A bible was held in one hand and your rosary beads in the other. The cover of darkness cloaked you as you maneuvered around corridors and corners, making your way to the church.  

You knew the path well. Day and night you prayed away in the church of your convent. It was a place of safety, and seeing the familiar statues and stained glass when you opened the doors immediately washed away most of your fears. The soft glow of candlelight beckoned you, giving a warm welcome as you kneeled in front of the altar. With the sign of the cross, you prayed. 

“Lord, with your bright and open heart, forgive me for showing darkness to the light. Putting my back, to what is right was wrong, and I have sinned against you. Forgive me, O merciful one, because I have relished my wrongs and I am sorry for what I have done. Lord I am ready to continue following in your footsteps. Take me from the dark. Hear me now, O lord. Amen.” 

Satisfied with your prayer, you basked in the silence of the church, taking the time to think about what you had done. You were strong. You were devoted.  

But you certainly weren’t alone.  

“Now what's so bad about the dark~?” 

Your eyes shot open at the sound of a voice speaking to you. It wasn’t across the room, but rather right behind you. Turning your head around, you were face to face with a visitor in your church. A man towered above your kneeling form, dark clothes draped over him, and hair striking platinum.  

This man was so very familiar. Though you didn’t know who he was, your gut was telling you that this was someone you had seen night after night. Still, you couldn’t believe such a thing. Surely, this was not the one that danced around in your dreams. It had to be some kind of coincidence. 

“Wh-who are you, Sir?” you questioned timidly. With your eyes locked on the man, you rose to your feet, clutching your rosary as tightly as possible.  

The closer you got to him, the better you could study his features. He was a truly beautiful man. Stubbled cheeks and icy blue eyes. You were a celibate woman, but you were still human. The priest you spoke to had reminded you of such a thing when you went into confession. Still, you would not be swayed.  

“Why, my sweet little darling, don’t you recognize me?”  

Your heart dropped in your chest. The blood in your veins went ice cold. This couldn’t possibly be happening.  

“I think she’s shy, David.” 

The new voice immediately made you jump in fright, as it was spoken right next to you. While clinging to your chest, you looked to the side to find a man with dark hair and eyes gazing intensely at you. Where on Earth did he come from? 

“I think you’re right, Dwayne. What’s goin’ on with her, Paul?” 

To the other side, a shorter man with flowing curls of gold eyed you hungrily. There was pure wickedness in his hazel eyes, and you did not like that at all.  

“Wait a minute, who wants to know, Marko?”  

Another. Right behind you. A shriek came from your mouth as you spun around, coming face to face with a blond-haired, blue-eyed man lounging casually on the altar. The four strangers snickered at your reaction, clearly amused by your fear.  

This really wasn’t good. You were a woman all alone in the church, surrounded by four incredibly intimidating men. There was no way any good could come out of such a situation. All you could do was grasp at the cross around your neck and pray to God to show you mercy.  

The one they called David took your hand, moving you so you would face him again. His smirk grew wider as he brought your hand up, kissing the back of it. The way his beard scratched at your soft skin made you feel dizzy. A twinkle danced in his eye, no doubt from the amusement of how timidly you reacted to such a gesture.  

“We’ve been visiting you night after night, my dear,” he cooed. “Surely you would recognize the sounds of lust we sang to you while you slept~” 

Before you could even get a word out, the other three men pushed in closer to you. They each moaned and whispered lewdly, perfectly clear for you to listen. Your cheeks flushed at the sounds, completely overwhelmed. All the while, David watched with delight.  

“I...STOP! Stop it!” you cried out. “I don’t know who you are, but you’re not welcome here!” 

“Awww that’s not true, sweetheart,” Paul giggled behind you. “Aren’t all God’s kids welcome and all that?” 

“I dunno, Paulie. We’re not exactly related to ‘God’. Quite the opposite,” Marko added. 

Something about that made your stomach churn. There was something far more sinister in what he meant. You trembled as the boys traded looks with one another. They surely weren’t up to any good. You were about to find out just how dangerous they truly were.  

“I think it’s about time we show you exactly who...or rather what we are~” David smirked.  

You didn’t know what to expect by such a confusing statement. It was only when the blue in David’s eyes faded away and the glow of gold took its place that you realized how grave the situation was. They were the same demonic eyes you saw before you awoke.  

And the transformation only got worse.  

Before your very eyes, David and the other boys morphed into inhuman creatures. Their figures towered higher and their hands stretched out longer, talon-like claws growing from the tips. They salivated with mouthfuls of fangs. The clothes on their bodies faded into mere clouds of smoke, leaving their beautiful figures completely bare. Without the clothing, they had the freedom to show what they had been hiding behind their backs.  

Deep, crimson wings unfurled from their shoulders, stretching out to present their truly massive size. The shape and form mimicked that of bats, only far more jagged and sharp in appearance. Impish tails slithered out as well, slithering across the ground much like snakes.  

You were speechless. Horrified. Demons were right here in your church, completely surrounding you. Your body felt hollow, nothing but the void of dread swallowing you whole. There wasn’t even strength in your voice to scream.  

If it weren’t for the doors of the church opening up at the other side of the church, you would have been paralyzed with fear for eternity. Your prayers must have been answered because a priest was standing in the doorway. Young and strong, just the hero you needed.  

"HELP ME, FATHER!" you screamed out, finding the strength to push past the demons and sprint straight into the holy man's arms.  

"What's going on here?" he asked, holding you close. You already felt much safer in his embrace. His voice seemed familiar. Comforting.  

"There are demons! Real, unholy demons on sacred ground!" you cried out. He held you tighter as you hid from the sight of the monsters. "You must perform an exorcism at once! Please!!" 

The priest soothed you, holding you close to his chest. Demonic laughter taunted your fears. You couldn’t understand why they were so powerful in a church, but you had faith in the priest and his ability to cast them out. They had to be vulnerable in some way.  

“I’m so sorry. I really am. Please forgive me...” 

Before you could even ask what he was apologizing for, David spoke out to him directly.  

“You did your job, Michael. Get out of that ridiculous disguise and bring our little lady over here.” 

In a flash, your heart stopped in your chest. The man who you thought was coming to your rescue was one of the monsters. He proved it as much as he transformed before your very eyes. His chest and arms shifted around you morphing into unnatural length. The priest disguise faded away and his own pair of demon wings stretching outward. 

Gazing into his glowing eyes, you could swear there was still a human glint remaining. Perhaps his guilt was true for betraying you. Still, that certainly didn’t stop him from lifting you up into his arms and holding you tightly so he could carry you back toward his beastly friends.  

“NO! God in Heaven, save me!!” you screamed out, striking Michael’s chest with your fists in vain.  

“God ain’t here, babydoll~” Dwayne chuckled. 

“We’re the only beings you’re gonna worship now~” Paul added.  

Your body trembled as the five beings watched you carefully. They were so much bigger and stronger compared to you. When David reached forward to caress your cheek, you winced, fearful of how easily he could hurt you.  

“C’mon, darling girl, there’s no need to be frightened,” he cooed. Michael passed you to him, whispering another apology before letting you go. David smiled down at you as he carried you up the steps that you had been kneeling on just moments ago.  

“We’re not here to hurt you. Nor are we here to bring you to Hell. That’s not the kinda thing we do with humans~” 

He nodded towards Marko, silently signaling the curly-haired demon to clear the items at the altar so he had space to put you down. The man smirked with delight before swiping his claws over the table, letting the holy objects clatter to the floor below.  

You felt utterly dirty being laid down over the altar from the look of mischievousness in his eyes. There was a growing fear of just what would he would do. How could you possibly trust his word to not bring you any harm? 

“My brothers and I are very special demons,” he explained. You whined as his clawed fingers gripped at your habit. That too was tossed aside, letting your hair become exposed. “We are incubi. Do you know what that is, dear?” 

As a matter of fact, you did.  

They were creatures that fed on the desires of man. Usually, they manifested in dreams and had “sex” with their victims as a way to obtain their energy. Now all of those dirty images you dreamt of made sense. They were the monsters that tempted you so with lust.  

“I’m sorry, honey. David’s kind of mean about these things,” Michael chimed in. He was perched at the other side of the altar, fingers petting your hair as an act of kindness. “I told you, they are nothing to be ashamed of. We’re more than happy to give you the things you want. We feel good when you feel good.” 

Now you were really upset. You looked at Michael with disgust in your heart.  

“You....you monster! I trusted you! I didn’t talk to an actual priest! My sins....oh they haven’t been forgiven...” 

While you wept in fear and frustration, the other boys crowded. Though you wanted to scream out in terror, you silenced yourself when you found no danger in their touch. The boys shushed and cooed in your ears, kissing and massaging you while David and Michael still held you down.  

They were demons. Monsters that would surely destroy you. And yet, their touch made you feel....good. Amazing, in fact. You had never experienced the embrace of a lover, yet they were far more delightful than you had anticipated.  

Surely it was their power influencing you. Clouding your judgment.  

“We’re still good on our word, darling. Our very nature is to bring pleasure to beauties such as yourself~”  

David's fingers traced over your hipbones, teasing you before slinking over your inner thighs. Though you tensed at how close he was getting, the others lulled you back into your sense of calm. 

“We’ve had our eyes on you for quite some time now. We sent little Michael here to act as our eyes and ears and study you better. You are truly an adorable thing. Sweet. Innocent. Virginal.” 

A soft gasp fell from your lips as his hands slipped under your robe, claws pulling at your underwear. You shivered as the fabric slipped down your legs. All around you, the boys eyed the garment with hunger, no doubt getting anxious to divulge in your body.  

“We don’t just want to take you, my dear,” David whispered. You shook terribly as he grabbed at your legs, opening them up like the gates of Heaven. He was pressed up against your lower body, teasing you with his length. This was really happening.  

You were going to lose your virginity to a demon. God would never forgive you for this, but your body would never want to forget it.  

“Tonight, we’re going to make you our bride. And that means....consummating the marriage~” 

The last thing you heard before he sunk in was the devious laughter of his demon brothers. Immediately, your back arched and your cunt clenched, so unfamiliar with such a sensation. To your shock, he slid in easily, despite being so massive. You hadn’t realized how soaked you were up until that very moment. God, you really had been so blind to how much you wanted this.  

“Fuuuuuck, this pussy is perfect,” David growled, his voice far too low and distorted to be human. The others watched in delight, each enjoying the show. Still, they didn’t forget about you.  

Dwayne’s tongue and teeth played with the skin of your neck, finding patterns that made you squeal the loudest. Marko’s hands lewdly groped you through your robe, pinching the sensitive nipples underneath to make them stand out. Paul joined David’s work, nimble fingers traveling down over your clit to start a circling motion. It reminded you of your previous experience with experimentation.  

Michael was truly the sweetest out of them all. He held your face in his hands as he leaned in to kiss you. He wasn’t a deviant like the others. There was genuine romance in the way he kissed. It gave you that fluttery sensation in your stomach that your friends in school had talked about.  

“Are you frightened now, my little love?” David asked, watching you closely.  

“I....ooooh..mm!!....a....l-little...” you mewled. He filled you so deeply, it was impossible to concentrate on anyone but him. “Oh....I’ll tr-truly be sent to Hell....for th-this....” 

That made the others giggle playfully. You had broken your vow to God, and they were enjoying every moment of it.  

“Aww dontcha worry, babygirl,” Dwayne cooed in between licks. 

“Why don’t you say one of your prayers?” Marko suggested, flashing a fanged grin.  

“I’m sure God will forgive you for getting your cunt filled in a church if ya do~” Paul teased as he picked up the pace, getting you to wiggle and sigh some more. 

While your body was caught up in the intense pleasure, you got your mind back on the prayer you said every day. David threw your legs over his shoulders, pushing in deeper inside you. Seeing you so helpless was truly driving him wild. 

“Our Father, who art in Heaven, Hallowed be thy Name.....Thy Kingdom come...oooh...Thy will be d-done in earth....A-As it is...nmmm!..in heaven..” 

You prayed quietly, gripping tight to your rosary as David kept up his thrusting. He and the others were so wild, yet they worked so perfectly together. Your attempts to cling to your holy ways only added fuel to the fire within them. They each toyed with you more and more, hungry for you in all your innocent glory. 

“Say it louder, pet,” David demanded. He struck your ass with a spank to further the point. “Be a good girl for us~” 

“Give us this d-day...our....our daily bread...aaahh...and forgive us our trespasses, as w-we forgive those that trespass....f-fu..against us..!!” 

There was something happening inside you. Something that you never experienced before. It was growing stronger by the minute, ready to consume your entire being. It made your mind go fuzzy, and it paired well with the fast thrusting of David’s cock. Your voices and sounds of sex echoed off the church walls.  

“That’s it, sweetheart~” Michael whispered. He and the others had each begun to stroke themselves while David took you. The flush in your cheeks only got stronger when you saw their massive cocks around you. They all made the most vulgar sounds.  

David was fucking you faster now, no doubt to chase his own rising pleasure. You didn’t know what would happen, but you wanted it.  

“And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil...For....For thine is the kingdom, th-the power, and the gl...glory...For....e-ever and ever....Amen!” 

By what was surely a miracle of God himself, you managed to finish your prayer. Just at the right time too, as your built-up desire finally overcame you, hitting you swiftly with pleasure.  

“OOOhhh my God, David!!” you cried out for the demon. Your beautiful voice calling his name finally allowed the incubus to climax as well. He pushed himself in as much as he could, cumming deep within your sacred body. His brothers followed closely, all growling out while they marked you with their seed.  

You shuddered from the unfamiliar sensation. It was so warm and gooey on your body, and it absolutely ruined your robes. Still, all you could truly think about was how amazing they looked after all of it. David, especially, was looking quite satisfied.  

They hadn’t lied. You truly had an amazing time. If they weren’t monsters from Hell, you would have thought it was like being blessed by an angel. They certainly were beautiful enough to be such beings. But while you were feeling drowsy with how relaxed you were, the five of them had a newfound energy. After all, they technically had just fed.  

And by the way they were licking their lips and eyeing you carefully, you had a strong feeling they wanted some dessert too.  

“Ooooh you’re never getting rid of us now, sweet girl,” David purred. “We’re gonna have a hell of a night with our new wife~” 

Tag List: @ghoulgeousimmaculate @britany1997 @6lostgirl6

[grayson-baller]

bc i’m tryna snort a damian priest wrestlemania match;

just the dirtiest, kinkiest, dom/sub shit you can pluck from your amazing brain with 10, 14, 25, and 43 from the nsfw list

Damian Priest -- Headcanon

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author's note: I hope this is what you were looking for

warnings: smut--18+

word count: 813

pairing: fem!reader & Damian Priest

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masterlist: ++

tags: @bungleinthe-jungle @legit9thlunaticwarrior @stxrrlightwrites13 @wickedval

want on my tag list? send me a message

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prompts:

nsfw:

10 -- “Let me see those eyes.”

14 -- “You look so good, can’t wait to absolutely ruin you”

25 -- "You can take it."

43 -- "What a pretty sight."

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“You should see yourself, kitten.” His low voice rasped, a soft hand running up your back. You were gripping his arms; certain your fingernails were leaving indents into his skin.

The feeling of Damian surrounded you, leaving your skin feeling raw. It fizzled as if a thousand little fireworks were shooting through you. He consumed you, deeply rooted under your skin, claiming you. Not that you minded. You liked being his.

“You looked so fucked out already, baby. Already so fucking gone, and we haven’t even started yet.”

You whimpered at his words. “Sir,” you whispered, licking your lips. The vague promise of torment hung in the air, and you knew you were in for a long day. The wicked gleam in his eye and mischievous grin this morning had been the warning sign needed.

You reminded yourself to be good, to listen and not back talk. Your mouth tended to get you into trouble, and you knew better then to push your luck when he had that look in his eyes. As torturous as he was going to be now, it’d be a thousand times worse if he had to punish you as well.

He had barely touched you, and you were already a wet mess. You knew you were making a mess, feeling your dampness coating your thighs.

He reached forward, picking the fork back up in his hand. “Open that pretty mouth for me, beautiful.” He commanded, fork sinking into soft, fluffy pancakes.

Your stomach fluttered at the command, though frustration crept through you. You stared at the plate full of pancakes—cut into the smallest pieces you had ever seen—eggs, bacon, sausage, hashbrowns, and fresh fruit.

With a fistful of your hair and fingers teasing your clit, he had made it clear that you were going to sit on his lap, eating the plate full of food.

What he hadn’t said was the other way he planned on stuffing you. Once you climbed on his lap, hesitant of what was happening next, he had slid his cock out of his jeans. The moment you saw it, you knew where this was going—what was going to happen.

Now you sat here, his cock inside of you, stretching you and taunting you. The feeling of being full of him blended with the frustration of not being able to move, to ride him.

“Let me see those eyes.” He instructed as you looked away from all the food you had left to consume before looking back at him. “That’s my good little slut. Now, open those pretty lips for me, baby.” Your stomach clenched at his words, before your lips parted slightly. “What a pretty sight.”

He fed you the bite, letting you chew before feeding you a few more bites of pancakes. Your eyes landed back on the plate, hating how full the plate still looked. Never in your life had you hated the sight of a plate of food before.

 It was the thing standing between you and getting fucked by your boyfriend.

He placed the fork down on the table, grabbing a handful of your hair before roughly pulling your head back. Moans left you as you wiggled in his lap, looking for anything to soothe the intense ache.

He licked up your neck, the sensation more erotic than you ever expected. Something about being forced to sit on his lap like this, being fed breakfast was intoxicating. A reminder that Damian controlled you, dominating over you.

And you submitted to him every time.

“You’re being so good for me, kitten. You look so good, can’t wait to absolutely ruin you.” He praised, biting down on the soft exposed skin of your neck. “So fucking hot, isn’t little slut? Stuffed full of my cock, and unable to get any relief for that ache in your cunt, huh? That drippy pussy of yours is making a mess of my leg, probably dripping to the floor, yet you’re helpless, unable to get what you need.”

You whined, fingers gripping his forearm. “Sir…please. I can’t… I can’t.”

“You can take it, little slut.” He spoke, using the hand in your hair to pull your head back even further. “You can, and you will. That little pussy of yours is going to warm my cock until I decide I’m ready to fuck you. Do you understand?” He asked, letting go of your hair.

You sobbed, head falling forward as your forehead rested against his shoulder. “Yes, sir.” His hand ran back up your back in a soothing motion. “I understand, sir.”

“Good girl.” He praised, as you raised your head back up. He reached up to wipe away a tear. “Now,” he started, picking the fork back up. “We still have a whole plate of food to get through before I even think about fucking you. Open that mouth, baby.”