#someone been reading the instruction manual

[keepscrollinghun]

[lulunothulu]

“So you think I’m hot?” Pt. 2

Tyler Owens x Reader

Summary: After a chase gone wrong, you find your heart softening for Tyler when he comes to your aide.

Contents: in a tornado scene(bad writing lol), mild tornado-related injuries, some blood, kinda gore(?), swearing, fluff

A/N: Everyone say thank you to @thetorturedpoetcalleddez here’s part two for you guys! Enjoy and read part one here!!!

“Y/N, do you have a reading?” Javi asks you from the front of the truck.

You’re currently in the back trying to get the remote to open the canisters of Kate’s “miracle tornado stopper” to work. The tornado in front of the truck is getting closer, wins, picking up its pace. And of course, when you actually need it to work, it doesn’t.

“No, I think a wire in the remote is loose,” you tell him.

“I’ll go open them manually,” Kate tells you.

“No,” you tell her. “I’ll do it. I’m faster than you anyway.”

Kate chuckles before rotating in her seat to watch you hop out of the truck.

Once you’re in the storm, you rushed to trailer Javi has attached to the truck and begin to open the large drum canisters one by one. Your palms are sweaty and handshaking, but you reach the last canister and pry it open. You unhook the trailer just as planned and smile before running back to the back passenger door. You turn your head and that’s when you see the tornado about to hit the truck.

“Go, go, go!” You tell Javi who then begins flooring the truck to the left, toward the field and away from the tornado. But it’s no use, the tornado has a mind of its own and follows the truck.

“Javi!” Kate screams. “Faster!”

“I’m trying!” He yells back.

“Oh my god,” you start. The tornado is right on the heels of the truck and you know what’s coming. “Hold on to something!”

In a span of a few second, the truck turns right and you feel the tornado push and suck you all up and then down.

The world starts spinning now. Flashes of grass then sky and back to grass. Then finally, the truck is upright and all you hear is someone screaming.

Not someone.

Kate.

“Y/N!” Kate screams. “Are you okay?”

You blink and look to the front of the truck to see Kate’s brown eyes wide and looking at your lap then Javi’s panicked expression.

When you look down at your leg, you find a large piece of shattered glass poking out.

“Don’t move,” Javi orders. “Kate, get back there and make sure her leg and that piece of glass are stable.”

Kate does so, hands shaking as she tries her best to keep the glass from moving while Javi drives.

“You’re gonna be okay,” she tells you.

“I can’t feel the pain,” you tell her.

“It must be the adrenaline,” she tells you. “What a freak accident. I wonder why only your window broke.”

You scoff. “Mother Nature must’ve been pissed off I opened those canisters.”

Kate offers you a watery smile before turning to Javi, “Did you have to drive on the bumpiest road?”

“This is the only one that’ll get her back to camp the quickest,” he tells you. “Just be glad the truck works.”

By the time Javi pulls into the base camp parking lot, the adrenaline has worn off and you’re grinding your teeth to keep from screaming in pain.

“Okay imma open the door to grab Y/N’s arms and Kate you’re gonna hold her legs,” Javi instructs.

Kate nods and just as he’d planned, he opens the door and grabs your arms while Kate holds your legs. You yelp in pain at her touch causing her to apologize and look to her left.

You follow her gaze to see Tyler standing on his truck and waving to the crowd of people around him. He smiles at everyone around him before his eyes land on you. Immediately, the smile drops and he’s hopping off his truck and running toward you.

“Let me hold her,” he tells Javi and Kate. He, however, doesn’t let them agree. He simply carries you bridal-style, and begins walking toward the medic camp. “What happened?”

“A tornado, dipshit,” you seethe.

He smiles at you. “It’s nice to know you still have your sass.”

“Fuck off, Tyler,” you groan. Yelping in pain when he sets you down on a table before the doctor.

“Our car rolled and her window broke,” Kate tells Tyler and the doctor. “We got her here as fast as we could.”

“We didn’t want to pull it out just in case it hit a major artery,” Javi adds.

“You did the right thing,” the doctor tells them. “She’s lucky, though. The glass barely missed the femoral artery.”

“So then can you take it out?” You moan. “This shit hurts.”

He smiles at you before nodding and grabbing a vial of something as well as a needle. “This is just for the pain. It’ll numb the area and then we can get it out.”

When he injects the liquid into your thigh, you instinctively reach for the hand next to yours. You squeeze the raspy surface and close your eyes tight.

The hand squeezes back and you hear Tyler say, “I’ll be here the whole time.”

You would pull your hand back, but you kind of liked the way his other hand caresses the top of yours.

“Okay, it’s out,” the doctor tells you. “Now, I’m just going to stitch it and then wrap the wound and you’ll be good to go.”

“Thank you,” Tyler says. Then to Kate and Javi, “I can take her back to her room. You guys go get the truck fixed.”

Kate looks to you and you nod, silently telling her it’s alright. She sighs before saying, “Alright, let’s go Javi.”

When they walk out, Tyler sit behind you on the table and wraps his other arm around you. “I figured you’d like it better if I hugged you while you got your stitches.”

The doctor smiles before saying, “Your boyfriend is very thoughtful.”

You were about to tell him that you two weren’t dating but Tyler interrupts before smiling.

“Yeah, I couldn’t let my girl sit here in pain.”

You almost roll your eyes but that’s when the doctor begins stitching making you squeeze Tyler’s hand again. In your ear, Tyler whispers small praises “You’re doing great.”

“Almost done,” the doctor tells you before adding one more stitch and grabbing some gauze to wrap your leg. Once he finished, he turns to Tyler and says, “Make sure she changes her bandages twice a day. Once in the morning and then right before bed. If the stitches rip, bring her back and I’ll redo them. I’ll get some crutches.”

When he leaves the tent to go get them, Tyler stands, leaving your back slightly cool at the absence of his touch.

“See,” he starts. “You’re gonna be fine. And I’ll be here to nurse you back to health.”

You only sigh. “Fine.”

“That’s it? No sassy comeback?” Tyler’s brows are practically in his hairline at this point and you can’t help but chuckle.

“Yeah, I’m in too much pain to sass right now.”

The doctor walks back in and hands, Tyler, the crutches as well as a bottle of painkillers. “She’s only allowed two per day.”

“Thank you so much, doc,” Tyler says. Before handing you a pill and the crutches and saying, “I’ll carry you today but tomorrow I want you to practice using the crutches.”

“Okay, babe,” you say with an eye roll. Swallowing the pill immediately.

You grab the crutches from him and almost gasp when Tyler carries you bridal style again. You didn’t notice how easily he lifted you before and for some reason, that did things for you.

Heart racing, hand clammy, and cheeks turning red kind of things.

Tyler walks in silence, soaking in the sunlight. It feels like he’d been walking for a while and you suddenly feel the need to speak.

You clear your throat before saying, “My room number is—”

“I know what number it is,” he says quietly.

“How? Did you stalk me?” You smirk.

“No,” he starts. Then smiling down at you adds, “But Boone did.”

You roll your eyes and shake your head. “Of course he did. I assume he did it for you?”

“Well yeah,” he says. “I wanted to apologize for the night before. I didn’t mean to sound like such a dickhead.”

You blink. Tyler has never apologized to you for any of his comments. This was refreshingly new and interesting.

“I just wanted to make you smile,” he continues. “You always smile at Boone and I guess I felt left out. I always get the short end of the stick with you.”

“And here I thought you liked it when I roll my eyes at you,” you tease.

“Did you just flirt with me?” Tyler smiles.

You smile back, a genuine one. “Maybe. Or maybe it’s the painkillers.”

“I think it’s the pain killers bringing out your true feelings,” he shrugs.

Once he reaches your door, you hand him the key. He opens the door, carrying you to the bed and setting you down as gently as he can.

“Well, I hope you recover quickly,” he says, turning to leave.

You stop him, grabbing his hand before he can get too far.

“Stay,” you urge. “I don’t want to be alone right now.”

“I’m sure Kate or Javi can come over.”

“But, I want you to stay.”

Tyler smiles. “I thought you didn’t like me.”

“Who said I didn’t?”

“Your face does every time I come around,” he chuckles.

“Nahhhh,” you slur. “I actually reallllly like you. I think your ego keeps you from being better. And you smell nice.”

“That’s definitely the painkillers talking,” he laughs.

“Nooope,” you go on. “Just bringing out the truth again.”

“Oh really?”

“Mhmm.” You nod.

“So I’m hot and I smell nice?” He smiles.

“Don’t push your luck, Owens.”

A/N: I feel like this one was long 😂 Part three???

Part 3!!!!

[renthony]

On "Consuming Content"

Every now and then a post crosses my feed that follows the vein of, "you have to do things other than consume media or else you'll be a dumb person who doesn't know anything about how the real world works and does nothing but pointless fandom stuff."

I hate those posts for three major reasons, not counting the inherent ableism and classism of "you must have approved Smart People hobbies or else you're worthless" rhetoric:

You don't know what people do or talk about outside of what you see on their social media. Responding to fandom communities on a fandom-driven website as if all these people are one-note cardboard cutouts of people is asinine. In many cases this genre of post feels like repackaged 2012 tumblr "not like other girls" and hipster discourse. Yes, yes, you think you're better than everyone else on this website because your hobbies are less mainstream, more morally pure, and have greater intellectual merit, we get it.

What do you even mean by consuming content? As someone who purposely avoids using the phrase "consuming content" because I find the term too vague to be useful, please be more specific. Are you including every single form of media engagement and art enjoyment? Are you just talking about mainstream TV and film? What about novels? Plays and scripts? Nonfiction books and instruction manuals? Do you mean to imply that going to a book club is a worthless non-hobby? Are you including academic reading? Are you including going to the art museum? Going to the theatre, concerts, or other performances? Taped liveshows? Watching sports events on TV? Are you including news media? Are you including YouTube tutorials about how to do various tasks, crafts, or other hobbies? Are you including trade magazines? Are you including industry publications in various fields? What constitutes "content," and what constitutes "consuming" in this discourse? Define it. "Consuming content" is a nothing phrase that people use to mean multiple different things depending on what they, personally, judge as valid media. It's a buzzword at best, and when the same buzzword can be used to describe both "idly scrolling social media" and "reading and discussing a book," it's a meaningless phrase.

As an artist and author, if engaging with media is bad and worthless, am I supposed to conclude that making it is equally worthless? If "consuming content" is a bad, lazy, worthless, fake hobby, what makes creating art a worthwhile pursuit? If I am constantly being told as an artist that engaging with media isn't a worthwhile pursuit in its own right, and the people who want to engage with my art are just brainless fandom losers, what incentive do I have to make that art anymore? Furthermore, to everyone reading this paragraph and thinking, "that's not what content creation is," I refer you to bullet #2: If the phrase "make content" can be used to mean "low-effort posts made to advertise cheap and useless products" as well as "being a novelist" or "getting a gig as a writer on a TV show," it's a meaningless phrase.

None of that is even getting into issues such as the way influencers are preyed on by both brands and targeted harassment from trolls. Influencer culture has major issues, but boiling those issues down to "stupid vapid young people who are too lazy to make real art or get real jobs" (which is a mindset I see frequently online) is unhelpful. So many people pursue influencer deals because they're living in poverty but are skilled at various social media and advertising related tasks, and just like any worker, they're being exploited because they need to eat. Labor rights for influencers are a huge topic that entertainment industry unions have been actively discussing and working toward. (Related links for further info: [x] [x] [x] [x])

"Consuming content is not a hobby" is a worthless statement unless you define what you mean by both "consuming" and "content." Quite frankly, you also need to define "hobby," because if you're putting requirements on what is and isn't allowed to be a "real" hobby, you mostly just seem like you're moving goalposts and defining "worthwhile hobby" as "hobby I, personally, think is good." Use more specific language to articulate your actual problems with the entertainment industry, the art world, influencer culture, or whatever else you're actually upset by.

Media and fandom can involve any number of enriching, satisfying hobbies that take up a perfectly acceptable and healthy space in someone's life. If you aren't into it, go find hobbies you do like and stop policing how other people spend their precious free time in this nightmare hellscape of a world.

[mysteryshoptls]

SSR Malleus Draconia - Tsumsitter Vignette

"A Moment with Malleustsum I"

[Main Street]

Malleus: Hmph… I have a suggestion. It came to me while I was on a stroll.

Malleus: If you are unable to join the other tsums, then I shall extend an invite to you instead.

Malleus: Tsum, come to the party that I will be hosting.

Malleus: It will be a grand party, and all Diasomnian students will be in attendance. You will attend, won't you?

[happy tsum noises]

[Diasomnia Dorm – Lounge]

Malleus: Now, Tsum. We've returned to Diasomnia.

Malleus: We must prepare for the party posthaste. Sebek, could I request you to prepare the venue?

Sebek: Please leave it to me! As your faithful servant, I will put my all into decorating our lounge!

Sebek: Your Tsumness, I will not be long!

Lilia: Lucky little tsum, hm?

Malleus: I shall also prepare for the party. I must fulfill my duties as the host.

Malleus: Tsum, this is a party in your honor. You should allow yourself to relax until it starts.

[Malleus leaves, the tsum looks content]

Lilia: Okay then, maybe I'll show off a bit of my cooking prowess for the tsum.

Silver: IF THERE ARE TASKS TO BE DONE IN THE KITCHEN, I WILL DO THEM!

Lilia: Oh hey, it's Silver and Silver-tsum. I see you're finally back from the forest.

Silver: Did you see me out there? If only I could have been awakened…

Lilia: Don't try to give this old man too hard of a task…

Silver: I heard we are to be throwing a party for Malleus-sama's tsum… But where have they gone?

Lilia: Malleus went off to prepare for the party. And the tsum should be…

[the tsum is nowhere to be found[

Lilia: …It's not here.

Silver: …?

[Diasomnia Dorm – Hallway]

Malleus: Now, then. Next, I'll bring the plates.

Diasomnia Student A: A-Ah, sir! Please let us do this for you! This isn't anything worth you to worry yourself over, Malleus-sama!

Malleus: I do not mind whatsoever. The magic necessary to carry plates and candlesticks is mere child's play to someone of my caliber.

[loud crashing sound]

Malleus: …? What was that noise just now?

Diasomnia Student A: Was it an explosion of some sort…?

Diasomnia Student B: ACK! THERE WAS AN EXPLOSION IN THE MICROWAVE!! WE NEED SOME EXTINGUISHING MAGIC, STAT!

[magic extinguishes the fire]

Malleus: Whatever is the matter?

Diasomnia Student C: Th-that is…

[tsum hops in distress]

Malleus: Tsum? This couldn't possibly be your doing, is it?

"A Moment with Malleustsum II"

[Diasomnia Dorm – Hallway]

Diasomnia Student C: My sincerest apologies! I tried to stop it, since the microwave is old and a danger to use…

Diasomnia Student B: But we failed… We were not capable of stopping your great tsum.

Malleus: I see. So as a result of the tsum activating it, there was an explosion…

Malleus: Although, why are you in the kitchen in the first place? I believe I told you to rest yourself, Tsum.

[tsum looks sad]

Malleus: Why the long face…? Ah, I think I understand now.

Malleus: Tsum, were you hoping to assist with the party preparations?

[tsum nods solemnly]

Diasomnia Student B: Oh, I see…! It must have tried to help after hearing us talk about needing to heat up some food.

Malleus: However, can you truly not use appliances to this degree, Tsum? Even I do not have as difficult a time as this.

Malleus: Heh, I made sure to read through the appliance instruction manual and therefore was able to obtain a good understanding of the features and buttons.

Malleus: After that, I only needed to be conscious of the amount of strength needed, and now I am able to use it without issue.

Diasomnia Student C: You had to… control your strength?

Malleus: Does that pique your interest? Just as well, I will show you what I mean just now.

[Malleus magicks the machine fixed]

Diasomnia Student B: Amazing, Malleus-sama! Only you would be so capable of fixing an exploded microwave with magic to like-new quality in an instant!

Malleus: First, it's imperative to know that a microwave oven is not the optimum device for heating eggs or dehydrated foods.

Malleus: Essentially, there is a risk of explosion or fire. Review the manual, you will see as such.

Malleus: Now, when it comes to its usage…

Malleus: Finally, close the door… And press the "Start" button.

[the microwave runs, beeps when finished]

Malleus: And see now how it has finished warming the dish.  Do you understand?

[a dish is taken out of the microwave]

Malleus: The dish has been successfully warmed up. I'm sure you will cause no more explosions in the microwave oven anymore.

Malleus: …

Malleus: Right, you as a tsum cannot use magic. Then it would behoove you to learn basic appliance functionalities.

Malleus: This is a good opportunity for you. I shall explain how to use other home appliances as well. Follow me, Tsum.

Malleus: This is a washing machine. Open the lid and insert the clothes you wish to wash. Watch your strength when opening the lid or the water valve.

Malleus: Press the start button, and a little time after the basin starts spinning, there will be an indication as to how much water will be used.

[thump, thump...]

[the tsum watches, but falls off the machine]

Malleus: Add detergent and fabric softener relative to the amount of water, and close the lid. Now it should start to spin even more.

[thump, thump, thump...]

Malleus: Good, it is working without issues. Have you grasped how to use it, Tsum? …Where did it go? It should have been sitting right here on top of the washing machine…

Malleus: It wouldn't have fallen inside… Would it?

Malleus: What is the proper procedure to open the lid mid-wash…? I have no time to be reviewing the manual. I must open the lid immediately…

[crack, snap!]

Malleus: Tsum? It doesn't seem as though it's inside. If it hasn't fallen inside the machine, then…

[tsum shakes from behind the machine]

Malleus: Ah, I see, you fell between the machine and the wall. I'll fetch you from there now.

[Lilia appears with magic]

Lilia: If you press the pause button once, the lock on the lid will release. Don't break the lid by force next time, Malleus.

Malleus: Ah, yes, I do believe the description said something of that sort. It would do me well to read the instruction manual once more.

Lilia: Kufufu, I guess the lid to the washing machine is just as brittle as a cookie to someone like you.

[Lilia magicks the washing machine fixed]

Lilia: Okay, now that the washing machine is all fixed up… Malleus, Tsum, time to head towards the lounge.

Malleus: Oh, are the preparations for the party complete? Our students do work diligently.

Lilia: Kufufu, it's all because you asked for it. Come on, don't dawdle. Everyone's waiting for you.

Malleus: Heh, I see. We should hurry and join them, Tsum.

"A Moment with Malleustsum III"

[Diasomnia Dorm – Hallway]

Malleus: The party venue is just beyond these doors.

Malleus: Before we enter… Tsum, I'd like to bestow this upon you.

Malleus: This is a pin signifying your status as the guest of honor. You must have this on you to join the revelries.

Lilia: Kufufu, what a refined gesture.

Malleus: Hmph. This should be the norm when inviting a guest. Come now, the venue awaits.

[Diasomnia Dorm – Lounge]

[the students of Diasomnia populate the party]

Sebek: Ah! Your Tsumness! This way, please!

Malleus: Sebek, and Silver, thank you for your hard work. The decorations and dishes look sublime.

Sebek: Thank you very much! I prepared all of the wall decorations!

Silver: I assisted the students who had been charged with preparing the food.

Malleus: Right. And the spread looks divine. You should all eat as much as you wish.

Malleus: Now, let the party commence. Everyone, allow me to once again introduce to you, this party's guest of honor… This Tsum!

Diasomnia Student A: Tsum-sama, we've come to give our greetings. Aah, you have such a dignified look about you…!

Diasomnia Student B: Ah, oh, Tsum-sama…!! Could I be so bold to request your hand for this dance!?

Diasomnia Student C: Hey, I was trying to find a chance to ask that too! Tsum-sama, please dance with me as well…!

[tsum is pleased]

Lilia: Ohoo～ You're pretty popular, Tsum!

Sebek: There's no way I'd allow them to steal it away! YOUR TSUMNESS! PLEASE DANCE WITH ME!

Silver: Weren't you just bragging to me earlier nonstop that you had been blessed with a dance with it already, Sebek?

[tsum runs to Malleus]

Malleus: Oh, you wish to dance with me, Tsum?

[tsum nods]

Malleus: I see, so this would be a collaboration between the guest of honor and the host. In that case, it would be rude of me to decline.

Sebek: Ohh… My liege will dance with his lookalike tsum! This is a spectacular sight…!

Silver: A dance for the two of them, hm… We need to prepare the perfect song.

Lilia: Sounds like a job for me! I'll get everyone whipped up into the heat of things!

Lilia: Silver, Sebek! I need you to set up an impromptu band! Can you play the guitar and drums?

Silver: N-No… I can only make random sounds.

Sebek: Similarly, I can only strike a drum without any proper rhythm.

Lilia: That's good enough! LET'S GOOO～!!

Malleus: Take my hand, Tsum. I shall lead our dance.

[sounds of revelry in the Diasomnian dorm, as Malleus and the tsum dance]

Malleus: I found you, Tsum. I see you found your way to the far edge of the lounge after dancing with the dorm students one after the other.

Malleus: I'm sure I have no need to ask this of you based on how satisfied you look…

Malleus: But would you say you've crafted good memories at today's party?

[the tsum happily hops]

Malleus: Heh, you seem to be in high spirits. It was absolutely the right choice to invite you to this party.

Requested by @sakurakudo.

[sanzaibian]

April 7th

Hey journal !

This is going to be hard to write… but I’ve decided to write down my experiences in this little journal I just bought for like, $7 at the local thrift shop, so here I go.

So, I’m Jay Callaghan, a 25 year old student in STAPS, hoping to become a physiotherapist (hope when I read that in 10 years I won’t be embarrassed !), and I’m gay. Like, very gay, nothing in me for girls. But… let’s just say than in sports studies, being gay isn’t well seen. So I keep my hookups on the down low, and avoid talking about that part of myself to anybody else.

And to be honest, it really drives me mad. I’m always double-checking that I’m not too faggy for their eyes, I’m always fidgety when discussions shift towards recent “conquests”, and I feel like I just miss out on so many things. I mean, it has only been, like, a year and a half since I fully accepted that I’m gay ? But still, the impostor syndrome has never faded, and by now, I just want it to stop.

By the way, here’s a photo of what I look like :

Dare I say I look pretty hot ? Well, this just makes things worse, actually. Because then the guys are always like “Yeah, look at Jay, he must be pounding so much pussy” or something… I just want to scream to them that no ! I’m very much very pounded ! And that’s not to say there aren’t people drooling over me ! There are ! But they all hail from the wrong gender !

However, recently I heard about the brand new Conversion Powder by Eamora Co., some kind of drug made by that unknown pharmaceutical company. What’s special about this powder is that it advertises itself as actually being able to change sexuality, so to make someone straight. Now, don’t get me wrong, I wholly support LGBT rights and want for any kind of conversion to be willful – so, like, not conversion therapy. Plus, both the instructions manual and the few reviews I found said that the powder must be taken once a day for the effect to persist. So it’s not as if it was an effective conversion therapy. But… I feel like things would be so much easier if I was straight. I wouldn’t be in constant fear, I would feel included with the other guys, and I would just be normal for once.

So yeah. I just want to end this by giving out my opinions on men and women :

Men are so fucking hot, well-built muscles, with big juicy pecs and a great six-pack invites licking, the hose downstairs is the work of god, and I just want to rub myself against it, accept it in my mouth and in my ass. Women… are just women. I guess they do have pec-like stuff, but they’re just so stuffy, and big and all. Plus, they just aren’t interesting in terms of attractiveness ? Not to shit on them, but just not my thing.

Yeah, let’s see how well it ages. I’m taking the Conversion Powder right now.

The evening

Okay, so I think from now on I should write on the evenings, because this way I can recap the events of the day while they’re still fresh in my mind. Plus, when class starts again tomorrow, it’s going to be a pain to write in the mornings.

So let’s start with when I took the powder. As the instructions asked, I put it in a glass and mixed it with water, to drink. At first, nothing happened, but then I started getting a headache, and felt quite dizzy for a while. I don’t know how long, because I didn’t record myself, and I know that my sense of time probably got warped, but it did feel long. And then, it just cleared, like magic.

To be honest, it was very underwhelming. I thought that something would happen to signal if it worked or not, but I decided to still test out if it actually worked. So I opened straight porn, and there the magic occurred.

By instinct, I started by watching the guy, but honestly, he just felt boring at first. I tried to see how hot he was, because I could tell he was attractive indeed, but it just felt… wrong to think of him as attractive. Which was unsettling in its own right. But then came the woman, and let me just say that : she was heavenly. She had tanned skin that ran along her beautiful curves, skimpy black leather pants and bra that espoused her big hips and breasts, and long black hair flowing over her back, waving in such a tasteful manner ! My dick was immediately woken up in quite the surreal moment, and I couldn’t help my self.

I beat myself off furiously at her being railed.

And I don’t even feel bad about that. I even printed out one of her photos to remind myself of her… God, my dick is awake once again by once again seeing her !

After that, I must admit that I spent a lot of time gooning myself on all the stuff I missed out on when I didn’t like women. I even almost forgot to eat lunch !

The afternoon, I decided to go on a walk outside, to see if anything different happened, and honestly… once again, it was quite underwhelming. I really don’t know what I expected, taking this powder for me to be this underwhelmed ! It only advertised that it would turn people straight, and this is what it did ! On a technical sense. Because I may be, in fact, straight at the minute, but I don’t feel straight. I… don’t know how to articulate that, I think I’ll have a better answer to that question when I’ve spent more time on the powder.

So yeah, what I wanted to write is that, when I was walking in the neighborhood, I did have the same experiences as watching the porn : I felt it was weird to conceive of men as a subject of attraction, and I paid more attention to women, but nothing more, really.

Well, nothing much more to say, I guess ! I’ll continue taking it, because it doesn’t seem dangerous, and since I’m closeted it shouldn’t change much.

April 8th

This morning I took again a Conversion Powder, and although I did feel quite dizzy taking it, it was nowhere as much as last time. That does comfort me since if I do decide to stick with this, it won’t be that annoying after a while. I read up on how it works to see if these headaches are normal, but aside from the few internet theoreticians, I haven’t found anything tangible… Nobody really knows anything about it, plus Eamora Co. is basically a completely unknown entity, so I can’t really get to the bottom of this. I guess this here diary may be the current best source for how the Conversion Powder works ?

But the most important thing today was getting back to school. And honestly, there I found that the changes were more substantial. I don’t know if it’s because I have also been on it yesterday, but it felt much easier to get into the skin of the typical straight guy. I didn’t have to worry about seeming too gay, because I technically am not, meaning that the school experience was a lot more peaceful. I also felt more included during the locker room talks. It’s crazy, because when they started to talk about boobs, my dick just hardened ! They mocked me, of course, I felt quite ashamed, but a good kind of ashamed. Like I’m actually having a normal reaction !

God, here I am writing about that kind of stuff… Well, to whoever might read that (me included), I have a duty to present everything of note ! So you’re going to have to bear with the stuff I already know I’ll find cringey in a few months’ time.

So yeah. On that, I’ll go to sleep.

April 9th

Man, I want to cross out the whole section about the powder on the web I wrote yesterday. And also the “I’ll go to sleep”. I’m not talking to anyone !

But yeah, today, the Conversion Powder made the media rounds.

And the rounds it made, in barely a day ! We got LGBT associations speaking out for its immediate discontinuing, far-right think tanks asking for it to be included in all school and high school meals, and politicians scrambling to state their opinion. It kinda feels bad for me to be technically not aligned with the LGBT associations, since I’m taking it, but this was my choice. I’m deciding to become straight, and my current experiences point that it was a good one. I’m feeling more and more connected with my bros (yes ! I can actually call them that, now !), and everyone who I knew before taking the powder say that I’ve recently been in a better mood than usual.

However, I won’t tell others that I’ve been taking it. I was closeted, and I don’t want people to think that I’m self-hating or something… I guess I kinda was, but that’s not the point I was getting at. The point I’m getting at is that I don’t fit the new stereotype of Conversion Powder-takers that is forming, and I don’t want people to think I do.

Also, even if more attention has been shed on Eamora Co. and the powder, there still is no good answer to the questions I wrote down yesterday.

Better news, though : today when taking the Conversion Powder, I almost didn’t feel dizzy at all ! It’s almost as if my body has fully acclimated to the Conversion Powder. If it’s how it works, honestly. However… I feel like I don’t have anything much to say about that ? I know, I know, such an earth-shattering change occurred in me, and two days in I don’t have anything to say about it ? I guess reality do be like that…

April 10th

Yes, I didn’t write much cringey yesterday !

But yeah, nothing much happened today, as do Wednesdays usually do. Though I guess I must mention that on the bus there was a really hot woman, I couldn’t get my eyes out of her. After a while of me basically staring at her though, I noticed that she knew I was looking at her, so I looked elsewhere. I guess, now, I understand the straight male experience, since I indulged in the same kind of creepy behavior… that is something I’ll need to fix.

About Eamora Co., they put out a statement saying that their product is ethical, and does not constitute a danger for the LGBT community. Although I’m technically on their side, let me say I’m calling bullshit on that. Seeing how potent this powder is, it’s easy for bad actors to drug gay and bi people without their consent, and even though they can fight against this kind of drugging, this kind of practice could very well lead into them assuming they were actually straight all along.

Here you go, let me step out of my soapbox.

April 11th

Okay, so, you know, Abby… No, I guess you don’t know, checking back I didn’t talk about her at all in this diary.

So, Abby was (and still is) a good friend in my university. She doesn’t study the same stuff as I do, but we got to know each other in business management class. We hit it off quite well, even though I wouldn’t call her my best friend by any stretch (I had much closer friends back in high school), she went along well with my way of being.

But here comes the catch.

Now that I’m straight, I’ve noticed that she… is actually quite well-endowed. Plus, over the last few days I would even dare say that she’s actually… cute. I mean, look at her and dare not tell me that she’s not cute !

Okay, I do realize that no one is gonna answer me here… but still ! Diary ! Or anything ! Agree with me !

I think this means that I may be having my first straight crush… on who was basically my only true friend in this university… not the best look. But at least it proves that the powder converts both sexual and romantic attraction ! It’s a good observation to include in this diary.

So yeah… gonna see how it evolves…

April 13th

Oops, I forgot to write, yesterday !

So I just hung out more with the bros, it’s been so fun to just… chit-chat with them ! I feel like we have a real connection, like they get me, like I get them. That’s something I could never have had when I was gay, I was forced to just stay out of the loop with everyone. I’m glad I’ve decided to start going on the conversion powder, because now I can finally get to live a normal life ! … not to insult my former comrades, of course.

But with Abby… I must admit I’m not proud of myself, because I basically avoided her for the past few days… I’m getting so flustered when I’m with her, it’s really embarrassing, but now I fear she thinks I’m abandoning her… I’m also being so obvious ! Like, this morning Abby walked in front of me when I was hanging out with my bros, going to some kind of economy class, and I just blushed to hell ! The bros all clocked that I have a crush on her, and I fear she might too ! God, so embarrassing !

Tomorrow, since it’s Sunday, I don’t have class, so the bros asked me to go to the gym with them, and I’m 95% sure they’re gonna cook me alive for having that damn crush…

Help !

April 15th

I forgot to write yesterday again… I was so tired from the very intensive sesh that we had that I just went straight to dine and sleep, so give me a break, diary.

So, as I predicted… Saturday, the guys cooked me, and cooked me hard. They were like “why don’t you talk to her”, “you’ve seen her look”, “do the first move” and all, it was quite overwhelming while we were working out… But they were basically saying that I shouldn’t hesitate to ask her out, as even if it doesn’t work out there’s other girls to find…

God, this is the kind of advice that I would never have had if I was having a gay crush. Nobody would be there to be excited for me, they would all be uninterested to disgusted, and none could give me advice for how to do… because the only people who could would be the very kind I may want to woo !

So yeah. Out of my soapbox, today I talked to Abby… and I couldn’t do it. I chickened out, I didn’t ask her out… Like, I was just about to ! But then somebody let their coat drop, and Abby, kind soul she is, picked it up for them… and after that, my courage just disappeared, and I just brought up the topic of the Conversion Powder and the whole drama.

Yeah. About the Conversion Powder drama.

So, let’s just say that it got heated, and it became the controversy that everyone was talking about. I don’t know what my country will choose as a way forward, but some have already chosen to outlaw it… and the usual suspects have made it official “prescription” to “cure” gayness. I’m against both options, and although I think none will be taken by our government, they currently haven’t chosen a stance… I’ll keep a close eye on it, because I’d hate for my experiment to be cut short just because of them deciding for me…

April 16th

This time, I didn’t miss a day ! Yay !

So… I asked Abby out.

It was as if the stars aligned. Today she dressed in very hot clothes, and we had class together both before and after lunch. So I took the opportunity to ask her to meet with me at the park. But then, at the afternoon, it started raining… I was afraid that our meet-up would have to be canceled, but just before it was time to end the classes, the sky cleared up ! So we went to the park, and my favorite bench in front of the pond was free ! We sat together, and there, I asked her if she wanted to go out with me.

And she said yes !

God, it feels so good ! My first ever date, and not hookup !

I’m just buzzing with excitement, we’re gonna see each other this Saturday afternoon after class ! I’m already envisioning it : first we get together in a cafe, then we go to the park and visit its zoo at the same time ! It’s going to be perfect !

I’m so ready for it !

April 17th

So, I’ve told the bros the good news… and somehow, the conversation drifted on clothes, and we realized that I don’t really have any “date” clothes – or at least, not straight date clothes. They said that it wouldn’t go, and Terry and Joe took me this afternoon to the shops, as they said that, as “pussyhounds” they know what makes girls go apeshit. There, they encouraged me to buy a nice black dress shirt, dark blue jeans and a fancy belt, so now they’ve been added to my wardrobe. They also told me to prepare some cologne, a golden chain and a fancy watch, because they said that it’s the kind of details women always pay attention to, but I already have some of those, so I’m covered.

I guess I’m ready for my date ?

April 20th

Fuck, I forgot again twice to write in this diary. I guess I should only write in it when there’s something interesting happening, because I only seem to remember writing in it when something involving my newfound straightness happens…

So yeah. The date with Abby was magical. Never have I ever been more glad to have made the choice to become straight. When we met up, she was just fabulous. Dressed impeccably, in a way that, yes, made her boobs pop out wonderfully, but it also made her beautiful eyes twinkle, her luscious lips glow and her fluffy hair shine. And the way she walked, so agile, so dainty… Bro, there’s nothing that can capture how beautiful she is ! And she’s also so smart, and such good company ! We talked for hours, made cute poses in front of the animals, and even stayed together for dinner – although we went out to McDonald’s, not enough money nor organization to go to a fancier place.

Perfect ! Absolutely perfect !

This is the kind of experiences normal men have ! And they’re so much richer than anything these gay hookups ever gave me !

Taking the Conversion Powder was the best decision in my life !

May 4th

May the force be with you ! haha

It’s been two whole weeks since I last wrote in this diary, it was time for me to give you an update, diary.

The last two weeks have been hell, because it’s exam season. So between studying, working out and dates with Abby, I haven’t had time for anything ! Bro, even my dates were study dates ! But otherwise… Everything’s going swimmingly ! I’m pulling along with my bros, and my relationship with Abby is going wonderfully !

Really, I know I’m writing the same thing again and again, but ever since I became straight, everything has become better ! Like, I’m better as a straight guy than I would ever have been as a gay guy, I’m sure of that ! It’s… even becoming kinda weird to think of myself as ever being gay, honestly...

God, it’s so refreshing to be normal !

May 6th (the morning)

A bit of a weird update, this morning before my last exam, because… er… we had sex yesterday.

So here’s how it went. Yesterday, we had another study date, but this time at my place. It was boring, of course, but to get out of the boredom we decided to make some raunchy remarks in-between economics and anatomy. And it made us both quite horny… well, at least it made me quite horny, because my dick was just rock hard, ready to squirt by the end of the session… And then we continued the remarks, without interruption… I got closer to her, started touching her, she started touching me, and then the clothes started coming down…

And you kinda know how it goes, but for me it was special. Because I have a ton of sex experience, but none when it comes to shoving my dick in a hole. I did have quite a good time eating her pussy, wayyyyyy tastier tasty than dick mind you, and she did make me come by giving me a blowjob, but then came time to do the deed. I put my condom on, and then honestly… it was a blast. I came just naturally once I had my dick inside her pussy, I just thrusted, and thrusted and thrusted, a ton of times, as if I was plowing her. She was orgasming, I was orgasming, and when we finally came, we just laid there, cuddling, until we both began sleeping.

I’m writing that as she’s taking her shower, just after my Conversion Powder drink, so I won’t be able to write too much, but really… it was the best sex I ever had. Hands down. Really, it feels like straight sex has been designed to happen, unlike anal, blowjobs and all. God, I’m so glad to have taken the powder !

May 8th

Okay okay okay, BIG NEWS !

This afternoon, Abby and I went to a date in the park, and guess what – I mean, a diary isn’t gonna answer me, but yeah. Abby asked if I wanted to be her boyfriend !

It made me just so happy ! Like, finally for the first time ever I have an actual relationship ! I have a girlfriend !

I’ll announce it to everyone ! Well, I kinda already have, but I thought after that that I should write it down here. I’m becoming the model straight guy, and I couldn’t be more up for that !

May 19th

Everything is going for the best, a month and a half in ! (about)

I think I’m gonna stop writing in this book, because I think there’s nothing I can write in it that’s new ! I’m a normal straight guy with a steady relationship with my beautiful girlfriend, Abby, and I hope – and think – that we’re going endgame. Like she’s so beautiful and she goes along with me so well, you can’t understand !

I’m also bulking thanks to all the workout I get with the bros, here, look at that photo :

Oh yeah, I did decide to cut down my hair. It was so long, it was bothersome, and I already have Abby, so I don’t need to look attractive to anybody, just to her. Plus, it made me look faggy, even though I’m straight.

So yeah, you can guess I’m a living example of why the Conversion Powder is a good thing for people who want it ! I’m so happy, and I have found the love of my life ! It almost feels like it was meant for me to be straight !

So… goodbye, I guess ? Or to next time something worth writing about happens ?

June 1st

I thought I wouldn’t ever touch this diary again, but today I saw a ton of pictures on the internet saying happy Pride Month, and… it made me feel empty inside.

I remember last year when I went to local Pride, it made me feel so… not alone ? Like I was part of something bigger, of a community of people who suffer the same kind of things as I do. But when I see all those pictures, I just feel like it’s not talking to me. I don’t feel like I’m part of the LGBT community anymore, because I’m just a normal straight guy, and I guess it’s the first time I somewhat feel some regrets ?

Now, I looked at my local Pride, and apparently this year’s prominent topic is the Conversion Powder, trying to ban it, so even if I wanted to go in as an ally, I would be the embodiment of what they’re avoiding…

I dunno, I’m feeling very conflicted. And it’s not the kind of things I can really talk about with Abby, considering to her I was always a normal straight guy. So I guess I’ll write about it here when I feel like venting.

June 3rd

This whole Pride Month thing is really going to my head, I cannot help but think about it… I look away each time I see rainbows, I avoid LGBT news and I feel awkward each time I see someone being visibly LGBT…

But really, I think I’m being so obsessed by it that I’m triggering old memories of when I was gay, I almost caught myself checking out a guy… If I didn’t know I was on the Conversion Powder, I would have said I was living through a gay awakening…

June 5th

OKAY OKAY CODE RED IT’S CONFIRMED I’M SOMEHOW REGAINING MY ATTRACTION TO MEN !

It’s too much to only be Pride Month behind that. I’m actively being turned on by men… even though I’m taking the powder everyday… each time it happens I switch to a mental image of a woman, but it doesn’t seem to really do anything…. I’m straight, that’s for sure, but why is my body suddenly not wanting to respond correctly ?

Fuck, why am I writing this, it has to be a fluke, I’m sure… I must be quite horny, since Abby has been quite busy with her internship.

I’ll call her up, have some good straight sex like I should, and see if this fluke happens again tomorrow (hint : it won’t).

June 6th

It did.

If I could sigh on paper, I would. Trust me.

The sex was a bit forced, I’ll admit, but today when I went for a morning jog, I saw one of the most drop-dead gorgeous guy I had ever seen… He was quite muscular, but not too much, was tall, handsome, had great hair and a light dusting of body hair where it mattered. Plus, his pecs were quite prominent, it felt as if I could squeeze them and sleep on them, they were so juicy… Fuck, reading back I’m describing that guy like I used to describe guys when I was gay, even though I’m straight…

Tomorrow I’ll up the dose of Conversion Powder, I’ll see what will happen.

June 7th

Do NOT take more than one dose of Conversion Powder at once, learn from my experience.

When I took those two drinks, I had the worst headache I’ve ever had… and then I was hyper-horny for a good 6 to 8 hours, wanting to fuck women, fuck women and fuck women… I’m really happy I had nowhere to go today, since I just gooned myself to straight porn for hours on end, even forgot to eat. It was actual madness.

But then, suddenly, my horniness stopped. I was just… spent, sitting inside a mess of cumstains that were hell to wash out, not really understanding what happened to me.

I’m afraid.

June 9th

The situation did not improve, my attraction to men just kept coming back, to the point I can basically now call myself thoroughly bisexual. But I’m not under any illusion : my attraction to women is very likely going to fade at some point.

And it’s going to make me lose Abby.

I’ve also looked around on the web, and found that I’m not actually the only one to be “reverted”, as people seem to refer to it as. Apparently, it’s due to people being used to the drug : since it cannot actually change attraction, it only overwrites attraction. So it acts like a drug, the more you take it the less effective it becomes…

So yeah, I’m becoming gay whether I want it or not…

June 12th

It’s beginning. The end is beginning.

I feel it, how women are starting to interest me less and less. I’d rather be dealing with dicks than with pussies… I had sex with Abby yesterday, and I just wasn’t into it. It just didn’t feel as exciting, as wonderful as it used to be when I first had sex with her…

Even she noticed it, and asked if everything was alright with me. I lied about being tired because of training, but it will only get me so far… I need to tell her at some point, before it’s too late. But I just don’t have the heart to break hers, it would also break my heart to have to leave her… I really wish I could stay straight…

So much for being “normal”, eh ?

June 14th

This afternoon, we met for our usual Wednesday dates. And I gathered the courage to tell her everything.

I told her how I was gay, how I used the Conversion Powder, how I then had a crush on her, and how I’m slowly becoming gay again. I was so afraid telling her that. Because I absolutely was in the wrong, I kept her in the dark about an important part of myself, and I was afraid of her reaction… heh, it’s kind of my first coming-out, in a way.

However, Abby, blessed be her heart, took it in strides, and the only thing she became angry over was the fact that I decided to take the Conversion Powder… Turns out she’s bisexual, and is really against it, and I guess I became another example for her to latch onto to deem it unacceptable… We had a goodbye kiss, and I told her that I still had a few days of liking women, so we should do whatever last thing together as a couple as we can.

I’ll see what she has in store for me.

June 15th

Okay, today was wild.

Abby basically took a whole day off just for me, and invited me to her place. And I was barely inside her bedroom that she just came in with tons of sex toys. I’m not even sure where she found half of those… And so, we just spent the remainder of the day having sex in many a kinky setup… the last of my straight sex would be kinky sex…

It was great, I hadn’t had so much fun in a long while, especially worrying this much about the end of the Conversion Powder… and I feel that from now on I’ll know her body way too much for someone who will soon become her Gay Best Friend.

So yeah, a great way to close the straight chapter of my life. We’ve decided, with Abby, that tomorrow I’ll get off the Conversion Powder, and that will be our official break up.

June 16th

First day without Conversion Powder, and I’ve been in bed fighting the inevitable headache that such an action accompanies.

Abby was kind enough to come look after me, and it honestly felt really weird to look at her and feel basically not much happening in my dick. Only remained aesthetic attraction.

While she was here, I made her read this diary. It was quite a humbling experience, as she was basically reading through my heart. Her reactions ranged from laughter to concern, including a few realizations about our history together. I mean, I didn’t know she remembered the time I almost confessed to her but was interrupted by someone else !

She also told me that it was weird how I didn’t mention being afraid about the bros, and honestly… I find it also weird now that she mentions it. I dunno, when I decided to take the powder, fitting in with the bros was such a priority for me, yet today, I feel like I have such a good relationship that I wouldn’t trust them to care either way. But I did make a coming out message in our group chat, basically explaining the same stuff as I did with Abby. I’ll see how it goes, but currently Terry eagerly responded with a “I support you!!!!!!1!!!”.

June 18th

My headache was very strong, and I stayed in bed again yesterday, but by now I think it has passed. I didn’t expect the aftereffects of the Conversion Powder to be this severe...

I don’t think I’ll have much to say in this diary in the future, especially as I seem to be going back to the normal me. I mean, normal gay me. But since I’ve had a lot of time to think about this whole situation the past few days, I’ll write about my experiences here.

So, first of all, I’m glad to have made this experience of what straight life looks like. However, I also think that it was a mistake.

Basically, I think that when I did it, I took the easy way out. Pointing to an inalienable part of myself as being the cause of all my woes and then trying to remove it, it just shows a laziness from me. Like I can’t try and imagine what an actual solution looks like, I have to change myself before being able to fix stuff. However, I feel that this experience made me learn that I was actually able to do all the things I felt were lacking. Talking to Abby she made me notice that, aside from being straight, nothing really changed after taking the Conversion Powder, so all the things I blamed myself for making me look faggy just… didn’t. It was only me being afraid, and letting it talk rather than the rational mind. So all the good things I had when I was straight, I can just have them if I get out of the mindset that gay is bad.

So… yeah ! Although it still feels a bit weird to say, I’m gay, and I’m proud ! All my woes weren’t due to me being gay, they were due to me being afraid, so now I decide to not be afraid anymore ! I hope that whoever reads this diary (including me) will understand that they don’t need to take out a part of themselves to find happiness. They need to get over their fears, and only this way will the road to happiness will be opened !

Well said, love from the past ! -T

[pookietv]

moving in | george clarke

i love the idea of moving in with someone so :,)

four years into your relationship, you had decided it was time: between the two of you, you were a little sick of the lack of privacy in your relationship, despite the hilarity of kissing in the kitchen for a second and the awkward moment of arthur hill walking in on you, or being in your flat and falling asleep on the sofa together to the amusement of your flatmates, you figured it had been long enough now. so you were moving in together.

and you were so sure it was going to go smoothly...

until you actually had to move in, that was - between a sea of cardboard boxes that made no sense to you, making george carry everything (because what's the point of having a man around if not for manual labour?) and slight confusion of what furniture still needed to be ordered, you had decided that george could be left to try and build a tv stand in the front room whilst you tackled the bedroom.

however, what you had failed to realise is how awful you were at building flatpack furniture from ikea yourself, the double bed frame you were trying to build still laying in pieces on the floor like it was half an hour ago, your hands fiddling with screws and a feeble attempt to read the instructions for what seemed like the 100th time, so engrossed in your efforts that you barely heard george come into the room.

"need a handyman?" he teased, and you groaned jokingly as you looked up and turned your body slightly to face him.

"turns out i'm useless, george, i cannot even build the bedframe," you laughed to yourself, and he grinned and poked you slightly, asking you to move along.

"well, if you like, i can finish, or... you know, start, to build the bed if you start sorting out the clothes in the cupboard? you can manage that, right?" he said cheekily, and it was your turn to nudge him with a slight smile in return.

"okay, fine, you can live out your handyman dreams and i'll start on clothes," you smiled back, standing up to go to one of the many other brown boxes, opening one that george had packed, and beginning to get to work, folding jeans into draws and hanging up jumpers and t-shirts into an organised section for him in the wardrobe, occasionally looking back at george, who had made more progress on the bed frame in ten minutes then you had made in half an hour, and you had to admit that you were staring at him a little, 'cause he just made something as simple as building flatpack furniture look good.

when you got near to the bottom of the second box of georges clothes, you found a shoebox labelled 'sentimental' and giggled to yourself, causing george's head to turn and look at you.

"what's so funny?" he asked, as you smiled and pulled it out, showing it to him.

"what's hidden in here?" you asked with a grin playing on his face, and his face went slightly red, though he shrugged and tried to act nonchalantly.

"just old pictures and stuff, i don't know," he said, turning his attention back to the building in front of him in hopes his face would go a little less red.

you sat down cross legged next to him, putting the box in front of you, "can i look?" you asked with a hopeful head tilt, and he groaned a little and agreed.

so when you opened the box to what was practically a memorial for everything to do with your relationship, you looked back up at him with the biggest smile, lightly pushing his shoulder.

"george! you soppy boy," you grinned as you pulled out pictures of you guys from both when you started dating to recently, an old cinema ticket, a small lego man you had given him after making it at the lego factory after telling him very convincingly that it looked just like him, a small note you wrote him explaining why you had to leave his flat early one morning, and a collection of many other things.

his face was still a little red as he looked up, but he was grinning before he shrugged again, "just felt like i should keep that stuff, i like having it all in one place,"

at the bottom of the box, there was a small velvet bag, a black one, and you pulled it out with a quizzical look.

"what's this?" you asked curiously, and george's eyes widening with an even more bashful look made you giggle.

you opened it slightly, tipping it out into your hand to see a small pendant necklace, with a small golden sun at the bottom of it, and you look back up to george, your eyebrows slightly scrunched up.

"i, um... got it a little bit ago, never really knew when to give it to you, i just saw it and thought it looked pretty, and i thought it would look nice on you, then i just felt a bit awkward every time i was going to give it to you,"

a slight warmth spread through you, and your bottom lip stuck out slightly at the adorable gesture, "well, seems like the right awkward moment is now?" you laughed slightly, and he nodded.

"well, it's not a candlelit dinner but it'll have to do, right?" he joked back, and you nodded. "do you like it?" he asked, and you nodded.

"it's really pretty, george," you looked back down at the small pendant in your hand before looking back up at him, "can i put it on?" you asked, and he smiled with a nod.

"well, that's what necklaces are for, right?" he grinned.

"well, does it come with a lifetime commitment to building ikea furniture?" you laughed back, and he mockingly pretended to be thinking for a while before looking back at you with a feigned look of reluctant agreement.

"well, i suppose so, i mean god forbid if i had let you build the bed," he teased, "i have the fear the bed would collapse the second we got in it if i had left you to build it,"

you were just thankful that george was surprisingly helpful, putting everything together with no complaint, checking the water and the gas, pottering around and doing odd jobs with a content look on his face.

"george?" you pottered into the kitchen after finishing unpacking the bathroom toiletries, where george was unpacking a kettle and microwave, and he looked up at you and confirmed he was listening with a small 'hm?'

"should we order a takeaway? 'm thinking maybe we deserve it after all the hard work building furniture and moving?" you said with a smile, and he rolled his eyes playfully at you.

"our hard work?" he teased, and you gave him a small grin.

"hey, i built a quarter of the wardrobe!" you laughed back, and he nodded his head.

"oh, yeah, of course you did babe," he curled his lip in amusement, standing up and pressing a kiss to your forehead, "takeaway sounds good, just let me finish up quickly getting these in the boxes and we'll leave the rest for tomorrow? most of it is done anyways,"

"sounds good to me," you smiled, and walked into what was now the living room - a little bare still, but it had a sofa and a tv, and it would obviously feel more homely the more you were there. but right now it was still kind of surreal - you lived with george.

once the food had came and you had put on some tv show you both knew far too well in the background for noise, whilst you were eating you looked at george with a small smile.

"weird that we, like, live here now. like.. we live together," you said, and he laughed.

"yeah, i get no more late night cuddles with arthur and chris," he mockingly frowned, and you giggled at him, playfully putting your hand on his shoulder, feigning support.

"it must be so hard to move out from your boyfriends' house," you grinned, and he nodded, playing along.

"it is... and now i'm just stuck with you," he said with an amused look on his face, "being your live in handyman."

"oh, shut up, you wouldn't have it any other way," you jabbed him playfully before leaning into his side.

[mandalhoerian]

sacrosanct | leon kennedy x reader | 4

< PREVIOUS | NEXT >

pairing: leon kennedy x f!reader

summary: Leon, a paladin of the temple who became a disillusioned oathbreaker, returns from years of war with a noble title and shattered faith. Once devoted to the Saintess who healed him, Leon's admiration has twisted into repressed desire—feelings he could never express, tainted by guilt and shame. Now a celebrated hero, he’s drawn back not to the kingdom’s praises, but just for a glimpse of you to move on with his life.

The god he abandoned has other plans for him.

word count: 15K

warnings: reader dissociates and has derealization at the beginning. this starts out fluffy but quickly turns into angst, and then frustration because of stonewalling. pre-smut raunchiness towards the end. dom/sub undertones (you'll never guess where this is going)

author's note: i am a FILTHY liar. this isn't the end EITHER. the finale will be the next one (DONT WORRY I'VE WRITTEN IT.

🌀 READ ON AO3 !

The day of the wedding arrives cloaked in a fog that lingers over the estate, muting everything—the sounds, the colors, the emotions. You stand before the mirror, fingers trembling as they trace the lace edges of your veil. The soft fabric feels foreign against your skin, as if it belongs to someone else, as if this entire day belongs to someone else.

Voices murmur outside your door, distant and muffled, as though they’re speaking from another world. The maids have been bustling for hours, preparing you, fussing over every detail of your dress, your hair, your appearance. But none of it feels real. Not the silk of your gown, nor the weight of the veil draping over your shoulders. Even the reflection in the mirror feels detached—someone else entirely, a woman cloaked in white, staring back with wide, unblinking eyes.

Only the mask is missing, you realize.

You look too much like the saintess you were that it's put you in this dazed, almost absent state. Like a ghost trapped in the memories of a former life.

The Saintess looks out into your soul from the confines of the mirror and judges every inch of you for your lack of identity. Your flaws. The inadequacies of someone like you. You feel like you're going through the motions, not truly present, but watching yourself as if you were in a dream. And yet, this reality isn't a nightmare—it's just indifferent. Like an observer witnessing some otherworldly event transpire.

The day passes in fragments, snatches of moments that slip through your fingers before you can catch hold of them. The scent of fresh lilies, arranged meticulously throughout the chapel, fills the air—ironically, the flowers you’ve longed to grow yourself surround you now, yet you can’t even bring yourself to appreciate them. Everything's starting to blend together and melt in one giant blur of activity and movement. You answer questions politely and mechanically, forcing a smile when appropriate. But your mind refuses to engage, drifting farther and farther away from this scene until it becomes nothing more than background noise.

Then—finally—it's time. The ceremony begins.

Somewhere, in the distance, bells toll, signaling the hour, drawing you out of your trance as you snap back into place. You walk down the aisle, but the sensation of your feet hitting the cold stone floor barely registers. It’s as though your body is moving on its own, propelled forward by forces beyond your control. You see faces in the crowd—friends and nobles alike—but their names and faces escape you.

Leon stands at the altar, waiting patiently, clad in formal attire and a cape that matches yours. White like in his paladin days that you might think both of you have slipped back in time.

His expression betrays no sign of anxiety, only solemn resignation to the ceremonial requirements of such a display. In fact, he looks almost bored by the whole affair, as though he were reading an instruction manual on how to properly wear pants.

The priest speaks, but the words barely reach your ears. Vows, promises—it all overlaps together in a haze of formality, something you are meant to endure rather than savor. The cool metal of the ring slips onto your finger, settling heavily on your flesh, binding you to your fate as you stare blankly ahead. Leon says something—his voice low and solemn—but the words don’t quite register. You nod, because that’s what’s expected. You offer a faint smile, because that’s what you’re supposed to do. But beneath it all, there’s an emptiness, a hollow space inside of you where your heart should be rejoicing, where you should feel something other than numbness.

There’s a murmur of applause as the ceremony comes to a close, and suddenly, it’s over. The veil is lifted, and for the first time, your eyes meet Leon’s directly. He hesitates when he sees your face, his already low set of brows knitting further together in a confused frown, and you wonder what kind of face you were making for him to respond that way.

"Are you alright?" is what he asks, however.

You give a tired nod.

"Do you need to sit?"

You say something that resembles, "I would very yes."

With that, he takes your elbow and guides you out of the hall, not saying anything, a focus so condensed that it belongs in a sword fight instead of a wedding . Everyone watches as the newly married couple leave before the reception begins, and you're grateful for the relative silence, the hushed whispers only an addition to the buzzing in your head as you trudge down the long aisle. No one knows what to think about the sight of a dead-eyed girl whose dress drags behind her as she's led by the hand to the carriages.

At the last moment, you spot Claire, looking extremely pale and distraught at the back of the mass. She gives you a shaky wave and a tense smile, looking incredibly worried about you. When you manage to wave back in response, her face crumples briefly before she immediately pulls herself together again, fixing a stiff smile on her face.

Leon helps you climb into the carriage, following after and shutting the door behind him, securing the latch tight. Then you're both alone. With no one else to pay attention to. Just you and your husband.

"Hey," Leon starts softly, gazing at you intensely, attempting to catch your eyes. "Talk to me. Hey. Come on, look at me. Do I need to call for a healer?"

"I... I'm fine," you manage to rasp out as you clutch the seat's edge, your knuckles turning white under the force of your grip, struggling to ground yourself in this moment. "Don't know what's wrong with me today, sorry."

His brow furrows more, but he doesn't comment as he folds his arms across his broad chest, his mouth drawn into a firm line. You know he's assessing your condition, analyzing everything you've been doing over the past few hours to ensure you're physically sound, despite his own reservations about your mental state.

"Cold feet?"

"No," you reply without hesitation, looking at him directly for once.

"Okay," Leon murmurs under his breath, before asking, "What happened then?"

"I..." You try to speak but find yourself unable to answer. How could you begin to put into words the feelings raging inside you?

"I don't need big words, walk me through it however you want," he encourages in that familiar patient tone of his that never fails to coax information out of you.

You inhale deeply and take a moment to think. To sort through the confusion swirling within your mind, pushing back the jumbled mess and focusing on the core issue.

"Where do you think this started?"

"I..." You pause as you reflect on the question. Where did it start? When exactly did you lose your confidence and enthusiasm? Was it before you entered the chapel, as you got dressed for the occasion? Perhaps during the long procession from the Temple to here, surrounded by dozens of strangers wishing you well? "Just... white," is all you can say, finding it hard to elaborate. Your hand reaches up to grip your veil and unhook it from the place, laying it on top of your lap. "The white, it... This. All of it."

Your mind says, It brought me back to when all I wore was white, I got stuck in the clothes of a saintess with no temple to pray in or services to attend, but your mouth doesn't want to cooperate.

He looks like he understood all of that, however, his intense blue gaze scrutinizing your face with so many thoughts forming behind it.

Then out of nowhere, his whole standing changes. He unhooks his arms from where they crossed on his chest and leans forward, expectant and light, "Say, how would you feel about a round of painting? Let’s ditch this place. Hunnigan can handle the rest."

"I don’t think we should…”

“It’ll be fine, you need to unwind. We can’t go back with you like this.”

“But…”

“Don’t hold back, just say yes.”

“Yeah,” you give in, not seeing the point in keeping up with the facade of appropriateness when you have no energy for any of it. “Okay.”

Leon nods approvingly before lifting a hand and knocking thrice on the wood separating him and the driver, alerting the carriage to turn a corner and head down a different road. "Great. Let's go get some paint."

"No canvases?"

"We already have those," he says, smiling for the first time since leaving the chapel.

His hand waves between you and him, and it takes you a bit to notice he actually is referring to your wedding dress and his formal clothes, respectively.

"What! We can't ruin these!"

"We can, and we will. The white bothers you, I get it. What better way to express that than literally destroying it? I think it sounds cathartic." He holds your gaze for a while, as if to emphasize the message and give you a moment to protest, but he finds none in return, his expression morphing into one of excitement.

The ballroom is expansive, with large windows that let in the soft afternoon light. The floor is spotless, gleaming beneath the chandelier’s glow, but not for long. The servants have already arranged several jars of paint along one wall, brushes of all sizes and colors resting beside them. It’s like an artist’s dream, and it’s all at your disposal.

Leon takes a few steps forward, surveying the setup with a satisfied nod. "Perfect."

You hesitate at the edge of the room, glancing down at your dress. It still feels strange, thinking about what you’re about to do. The lace, the silk, the hours of careful preparation... it’s all meant to be pristine. But now, with the paint before you, it’s as though you’ve been given permission to break free from the expectations that have suffocated you all day.

Leon watches you with quiet patience, his face softening. "Whenever you’re ready.”

You take a deep breath, then step forward, your fingers brushing over the cool glass of one of the paint jars. You choose a bright red first, dipping the brush into it slowly. The rich, vibrant color drips from the bristles, and for a moment, you simply stare at it, mesmerized.

Then, with a sudden rush of determination, you lift the brush and swipe it across the bodice of your dress. The bold streak of red stands out sharply against the white fabric, and something inside you shifts. The tension, the numbness that’s been clinging to you all day, begins to melt away. As though this simple act—this tiny splash of color—has unlocked a part of yourself that you hadn't even realized was locked away.

"Ah, I see you've gone with red for a foundation," Leon comments, coming up behind you with a light tone as if this is merely a casual conversation instead of... whatever this is.

"Your turn," you say, offering him the brush.

He takes it without hesitation, dipping it into a jar of deep blue paint. With a scheming grin, he steps closer and makes a sweeping motion across the hem of your skirt. The color spreads in a swirling pattern, and you can’t help but laugh at the absurdity of it.

"How about we team up on this one?" He asks, pulling out a slightly smaller brush and dipping it into green paint. "I can paint something on you and you can paint something on me."

"That sounds perfect." The image of Leon covered in blots of colorful spots is vivid in your mind, making you smile despite yourself. His playful expression and cheerful demeanor are infectious, drawing you in and reminding you that you don’t have to do this alone.

He motions for you to turn around, which you do so with ease, moving back to hold the front of your dress upwards as you do so. This allows him to have easier access to the back and draw or paint whatever he wants there.

A wet feeling slides over your left shoulder blade, causing you to suck in a surprised gasp.

"It's fine, I promise, I know what I'm doing." Leon reassures before his brush moves to draw something that feels like... words? On your other shoulder blade. You try to not think about how he could be writing an insult right now to tease you for later. "Hold that position. I'm not done yet."

As he continues to dab paint on various parts of your back, the shape of his art becomes more pronounced. You are able to follow the strokes, which go from the base of your spine to your hips and shoulders. It's definitely something artistic, that much you can confirm.

"What are you drawing?"

"What's the fun in telling you?"

He pulls back then, finally allowing you to lower your dress and smooth it out, although some of the material still catches onto the dampness of the paint. When you glance in the mirror, there are two identical, but opposite symbols in dark green pigment. "Is that... a tree?"

"If you'd like it to be," he says nonchalantly, before stepping forth to be in the line of view for the mirror. "Come on, your turn now."

After a second of deliberation, you pick the smaller brush, grabbing a jar of yellow paint. Leon's shirt is just a few shades lighter than ivory, so the color won't show as starkly on him as it did with the pure white of your wedding dress. Still, he rolls the sleeves of his buttoned-up shirt as far back as they'll go, showing off toned forearms as you dip the brush into the jar and begin tracing little dots up and down his arm. It's not difficult work—only tedious—and after a few minutes, you're finished with both arms.

"Now you look like a walking ray of sunshine," you declare cheerfully, setting the brush aside.

He raises a skeptical eyebrow at your comment but doesn't argue as he inspects your work. A crooked smile appears on his lips as he laughs lightly, running a hand through his golden hair. "So I do. Will you keep going?"

You nod, reaching for another jar, this time a deep purple hue. You decide to paint a flower on his back, carefully choosing where to place the petals and stems in your mind--but since his outer layers are removable, so will your masterpiece be.

"Can you take these off?" you ask, tugging on the cloak first and then tapping on his suit. "For a flower to really blossom, I need a smoother canvas."

Leon's head snaps to look back at you over his shoulder, and one would think you'd asked him to drop his pants the way he was reacting. You just want access to his shirt, is all. Or was that an inappropriate request...? Maybe you should have worded it differently, you thought worriedly, chewing on the side of your lip nervously.

"I mean... If you're fine with seeing me naked, sure?" he replies after a brief pause of consideration, guarded but ultimately agreeable as he turns back to face forward again.

"W-what! I just want your coat and cape off! And the waistcoat! Just the shirt will do."

Now why are you acting so defensive? You curse silently inwardly, your face flaming from embarrassment. And in return, the tips of his ears turn bright red as well at the misunderstanding as he clears his throat uncomfortably.

"... Yes, of course. I'll take that off and also remove my cravat while we're at it." he mumbles, embarrassment in his movements as he hastily throws his jacket aside without care as if trying to dispel the awkwardness hanging in the air immediately, followed by taking his vest off. He starts unbuttoning the first couple buttons at the neck, revealing some of his skin underneath, before loosening the tie around his neck and letting it drop to the floor carelessly. "There, is that better for you?"

You get a glimpse of his cape lying crumpled just beside your discarded veil in a corner. It’s a pleasing sight.

"Thank you." Not wanting to dwell on any accidental suggestive wordings, you focus all your concentration on painting once more, using your thumb and forefinger to press against the ends of each petal one by one, applying pressure until they stain his body. It reminds you of a technique the children use for drawings back at home--dipping their hands into ink and then pressing them down upon paper for creating landscapes, trees, and oceans--except this case involves human bodies rather than paper, and paint instead of ink.

Every stroke adds dimension, building layers of depth atop your canvas—your friend and companion. As you continue working, your movements become smoother, more confident. Each gesture flows seamlessly from one shape to the next, gradually bringing the picture together. The petals themselves require precision; if done incorrectly, they'll resemble nothing more than uneven ovals. However, with steady strokes and careful application of pressure, they blossom beautifully, filling his entire upper half with color and texture.

When you finish adding details, you step back to examine your artwork closely. Satisfied, you wipe off most of the paint lingering on your fingertips on his upper arms and draw an unexpected laugh from him, startled by the sudden touch.

"I see you've used some technique there," he notes curiously, standing still as he examines your work over his shoulder before looking forward once more, facing himself in the mirror. There are patches of leftover pigment all over his form. "If we're fingerpainting now, here, just..."

He dunks his entire right palm in red paint, squinting his nose up a bit at the sticky feeling that must be surrounding his hand, before showing it to you and wiggling the fingers. The excess layer of paint starts trickling down his wrist, dripping onto the floor below like water off of a leaf.

He then makes a stamp right over your heart, causing it to jump unexpectedly in surprise upon contact with his cool hand. The resulting imprint causes you to instinctively suck in a breath, unprepared for how it made you feel emotionally at first. But then his hand rises higher to pat it over your temple and cheeks playfully, getting you messy and all splattered with red.

"There we go," he remarks cheerfully, pleased with himself and his actions as he retracts his hand, smiling genuinely and widely, which shows off his pearly whites and crow's feet crinkling around his eyes.

"Was that necessary...?" you huff out softly in mock annoyance, wiping a dot off of your face, even though internally you do admit to enjoying it quite thoroughly. There's something intimate about this whole endeavor that makes you wish for more moments like these.

You swipe at him again, a splash of blue this time, aiming for his collar.

“Missed,” Leon teases, dodging just in time, but there’s a mischievous glint in his eye.

Your laughter bubbles up uncontrollably, filling the large ballroom. His own chuckles are rich, echoing off the painted walls. For once, everything feels easy. Unscripted. Natural.

You dip your fingers into the paint, abandoning the brush altogether, and smear thick lines of yellow down his sides the moment you can catch him. “There,” you say with triumph, wiping your hands on his chest, your breath still catching from laughter. “Fixed it.”

Leon lets out a low hum, stepping back, his hands finding a jar of green paint. “Revenge is best served... messy.”

Without warning, his fingers, wet with paint, slide across your waist, leaving a trail of green over the delicate lace of your dress.

A shiver runs down your spine at the unexpected sensation of his hand dragging through the line of your waist, his fingers pressing just a little too long. You glance up at him, your smile faltering, but he’s already looking away, dipping his fingers back into the paint, determined to keep the game going. You're no longer meticulously trying to paint beautiful flowers or symbols; now, it's become almost a competition--or dare--to who can make whose partner look more ridiculous.

Though something has shifted in you after he has put his hands on your waist like that. And then there's this warmth that emanates from those same places--the spot on your nape where he brushed your hair to the side when cleaning away excess paint, the crook of your neck that tickled slightly when he traced circles there accidentally whilst applying an intricate design with his pinky, your bare forearm as he tested a shade of orange upon it, and countless other small instances that seem insignificant yet stick out prominently in your memory. The last place he touches leaves goosebumps in its wake, although whether it's from the cold, wet paint itself, or perhaps the feeling of being marked by someone else, you aren't entirely sure.

But the way Leon looks at you—his blue eyes full of wonder, shining brightly amidst a backdrop of colorful pigments—makes your heartbeat quicken beneath your ribs. The delicate material of his shirt has begun to stick to the lines of his muscles, and without meaning to, your gaze lingers on the way the fabric molds to his chest, the faint outline of his toned torso visible beneath the wet paint.

Embarrassed about the awareness of something you can't place, you decide to focus on his legs rather than what's seized your attention. There isn't a single crease in sight on his trousers, so you decide to run up a hand covered in black paint over his thighs in order to change that, creating two distinctive handprints on either leg, purposely making them bigger to cover the area completely. The white seeps through, making it look like a ghost had groped him multiple times before dissipating. It's not the funniest joke ever but you're pleased all the same nonetheless, giving yourself a pat on the back for it, and hoping he'd notice your wit and intelligence through your work.

In contrast, Leon seems to have frozen in place, staring wide-eyed at the blatant action you've taken towards him. Had you made him uncomfortable...? Well, this is certainly not a thing people did often, to men or women alike. Your stomach clenches anxiously, wondering if perhaps you crossed a boundary. He coughs awkwardly into his elbow and rubs at a spot on his chest, presumably in an attempt to appear busy. Or maybe because there's itchiness or residue still drying on his skin that he couldn't reach otherwise, your conscience reassures weakly as you get up from your knees.

"Oh, uh..." He finally speaks after a good ten seconds of silence passes between you two, only for it to falter quickly enough. "Well... I guess... I lost."

"Was it a competition?" you inquire, tilting your head cutely to one side with genuine curiosity coloring your features. His posture seems tense though, strangely rigid despite the lighthearted nature of his mannerisms. It does seem as though he is nervous for some reason or another. A shame since the atmosphere was quite pleasant before the awkward pause ensued.

He swallows thickly, appearing momentarily tongue-tied by whatever thoughts plaguing his mind, and shrugs dismissively. "It might have been. Perhaps unintentionally. Regardless of that fact, however," Leon continues smoothly, regaining composure in record time, flashing a friendly smile at your direction, "it appears as though my skills are inferior compared to yours."

Before you can answer to dispel this weird tension he's suddenly experiencing, the doors to the ballroom opens and Hunnigan comes crashing in, an uncharacteristic angry look marring her usually impassive and calm expression, looking like she ran halfway across town in that heavy formal wear.

"You... you disappeared from the wedding reception just to do this?!" She shouts outraged, stomping further into the room towards the two of you with no care of getting splashed by stray droplets of paint, gesturing wildly at the chaotic mess all around.

Messy from head to toe like you were two children rolling around in a sandbox of paint, Leon and you share a look, and break into uncontrollable laughter.

The candlelight flickers gently in the spacious chamber, casting long shadows across the floor and walls. The quiet hum of the manor settles around you, muffling the noises from outside as the world winds down for the night, but the air feels thick, almost stifling, as the weight of expectation presses down on your chest. To distract yourself from it, you glance around the room, taking in the ornate furnishings, the heavy velvet drapes, the dark wood that lines the walls. It’s all so different from the simple quarters you’d grown accustomed to before marriage, so different from the sanctuaries you once found comfort in.

It’s almost impossible to believe that just a few hours ago, you were laughing together with Leon, splattering paint across your clothes, and feeling a connection that had left you almost breathless with hope. But that moment feels distant now—like a hazy memory from a different day entirely.

You stand awkwardly at the foot of the bed, the hem of your nightgown brushing lightly against the floor, and Leon stands on the opposite side of the room, near the fireplace. His back is turned to you, broad shoulders tense and rigid, his hands resting on the mantle as though he’s bracing himself against some unseen weight. It’s a stark contrast to the lighthearted, almost playful Leon you had seen earlier—his smile wide, his eyes crinkled with joy as you both painted each other’s clothes. That moment felt so real, so warm.

But now? Now, the connection between you feels cold, stifling even.

You can’t help but feel the sharp sting of confusion prick at your chest, the whiplash of his sudden emotional distance leaving you unmoored. You had been so sure that the painting, the laughter, the closeness you shared had been a turning point—like the two of you were finally beginning to understand each other. But this silence, this stiffness in his posture—it’s as though he’s putting up a wall between you. One you don’t know how to break through, even though you're the one who needs directing tonight as the both of you consummate your marriage.

You've been... informed, advised, and instructed of what was expected of you to perform your duties here tonight, but that was weeks ago. In reality, you had no clue how to accomplish your task right. What kind of acts were supposed to transpire in a marriage bed? Should you start undressing yourself, wait patiently until Leon comes forth, or should you be initiating something? The advisor on this matter did tell you to lay flat on your stomach with legs open for the lord husband to enter easily, but then it sounds so impersonal—dehumanizing, actually.

But your mixed feelings about the subject doesn't really matter, you barely know anything about intimacy in the first place other than the fact it isn't supposed to be enjoyable for the woman. So you'll try your best to give whatever's expected of you to do. It wouldn't be bad if it's with Leon is your opinion on every step of the way, however. At least, it's better than with another man you weren't close to. You just wished you had spent more quality time with him prior to this evening so you'd be able to anticipate his cues and desires, knowing how to please him without issue or question.

“Leon?” You call his name softly, but he doesn’t respond. His body remains still, as if carved from stone, and it sends a chill down your spine.

You take a hesitant step forward, the soft fabric of your gown brushing against your legs. “Is there something wrong?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper. You’re not sure what you’re hoping for—that he’ll turn around, give you one of those soft smiles, tell you that it’s just nerves. But he doesn’t move. Doesn’t even acknowledge you. The fireplace casts a halo around his silhouette, making him look larger than life, like some sort of avenging angel.

The silence stretches on, oppressive, and it only heightens the sense of wrongness settling in the pit of your stomach. Your mind races, trying to understand what could have changed between the painting and now. Why is he shutting you out like this? Why does he seem so far away?

“Did I do something?” The words slip out before you can stop them, your voice trembling with uncertainty.

He shifts slightly, his fingers tightening around the edge of the mantle, but still, he says nothing. The tension in the room seems to coil tighter, suffocating you, and you feel your heart beating faster in your chest, the sting of hurt starting to well up inside you. How could he be so open with you before, only to shut you out now? It doesn’t make sense. None of this makes sense.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, he speaks—his voice low, strained. “You should rest.”

His words are clipped, emotionless. He doesn’t even turn to look at you.

It’s like a slap to the face, the bluntness of his words cutting through the air. Rest? After everything? After the day you’ve had, after the vulnerability you shared? It feels dismissive, cold, like he’s brushing you aside, and you can’t stop the wave of hurt that crashes over you.

“That’s it?” Your voice comes out sharper than you intended, but you can’t help it. The confusion, the hurt—it’s all bubbling to the surface now. “Why are you ignoring me?”

Leon finally turns to face you, but his expression is unreadable, his blue eyes guarded, his jaw tight. It’s like he put on a mask for tonight, closing himself off from you. And the sight of it stings more than you want to admit.

“I’m not ignoring you,” he says quietly, but the tension in his voice is palpable. He takes a step toward you, but it feels like he’s still miles away. “I just... I think it’s best if you get some sleep after the stress you went through today.”

It's not exactly a lie but it certainly didn't hit you as true.

You stare at him, incredulous, unable to fathom how he can be so calm, so distant after everything. It feels like he’s pulling away from you, and the realization hits you hard—he doesn’t want to be close to you tonight. He doesn’t want you.

"But... Aren't we supposed to... consummate?" You bite your lip hesitantly, glancing down at your clasped hands, waiting for an explanation.

For one agonizing second, he stares at you silently, his expression inscrutable. Then he looks away, a strain between his low brows before responding tersely: "No. We're not supposed to do anything at all. Ever. Don't worry."

"Ah," you manage to squeak out, feeling an ugly embarrassment creeping into your cheeks. You thought there would at least be physical affection involved or mutual consent in regards to... 'intimate' interactions with each other in the future, but perhaps you had misinterpreted things along the way. You assumed Leon liked you enough to desire a familial relationship in addition to sharing a roof under, but maybe this entire arrangement had been built purely around duty--no passion required nor desired.

You never thought you'd have expectations like this, it's quite... silly when you think about it logically. Though your gut had told otherwise. The two of you seemed compatible in ways beyond simply friendship alone, why would you, to put it simply, want like this, as if you were looking forward to spending a romantic night together...?

You wish you knew the answer yourself.

Then a question comes up suddenly, startling you greatly with its implications: Did you have expectations for having relations with him, rather than performing a simple act for him as commanded? Is that the real source behind this confusing dilemma? If you did hold such desires, then where did they come from? And why is it only surfacing now that you are married to Leon?

This is so embarrassing.

“It’s not...” He hesitates, as if struggling to find the right words. “It’s not you.”

"Of course," you murmur doubtfully, biting down harder on the soft flesh of your lip, nails digging into the smooth skin of your palms, trying to hide how much his rejection hurts.

The post-wedding haze settles into a mundane rhythm, the chaos of vows and awkward wedding night fading like a distant dream.

You and Leon hunker down in his estate, grappling with your new roles in the capital's bubble. While he plows through his duties with his usual stone-faced resolve, you're drowning in crash courses on how to be a proper Margravine. Etiquette, court politics, future responsibilities—it's a never-ending barrage of lessons.

It's an odd sensation, bypassing the grand social events yet gradually becoming enmeshed in noble society. Though absent from opulent balls and galas, you’re drawn into a more intimate circle. Claire and Jill, ever by your side since before the wedding, have taken it upon themselves to integrate you into their world. They introduce you to friends and confidants who share their more laid-back perspective on court life.

The lessons are relentless—endless hours of memorizing noble lineages, perfecting the art of curtsying without toppling over, and learning to navigate conversations laden with hidden meanings. You grit your teeth through it all, determined to prove yourself worthy of your new title. But when Claire or Jill appear with mischievous grins, you feel a weight lift from your shoulders. They whisk you away to secret nooks of the estate or into the bustling city streets, where you can shed the mask of propriety and simply be. In these moments, laughter comes easily, and friendship flows as freely as the wine they occasionally smuggle in.

Nights, however, are a different story. You collapse into bed, muscles aching from maintaining perfect posture all day, only to find yourself wide awake in the small hours. The emptiness beside you yawning as a pit, an unavoidable reminder of the distance between you and Leon. That connecting door looms large in your mind, a barrier you're too uncertain to cross. Leon hasn't made any overtures to change the sleeping arrangements, and you're left wondering if this is how married life is supposed to feel—so frustratingly separate.

Leon himself is an enigma, his politeness a mask that reveals nothing. You catch his gaze lingering on you in quiet moments, only for him to quickly avert his eyes when discovered. It's maddening, this dance of stolen glances and hasty retreats.

You wonder if you've committed some blunder, some social faux pas that's driven this wedge between you. But when you gather the courage to approach him about household matters or finances, he offers that familiar half-smile and engages as if nothing's amiss.

Yet the distance remains, a chasm neither of you seems willing to bridge. The frustration gnaws at you. Is this to be your fate? A marriage in name only, two strangers sharing a title but little else? The irony isn't lost on you – married to someone who once knew your very soul, now reduced to stilted conversations and polite nods.

As you navigate this new life, you become hyper-aware of Leon's presence. It's like a sixth sense, the way you can feel him enter a room before you see him. Not intrusive, but impossible to ignore – a constant reminder of what could be, but isn't.

His presence haunts your lessons like a persistent shadow. As you pore over texts or struggle through your tutor's droning on household management, you catch glimpses of Leon. Sometimes he's lingering by the library's arched doorway, other times half-hidden behind the courtyard's stone columns, looking up at the window you’re sitting by. He never speaks, never interrupts. Just watches, silent and stoic, much like he did as your paladin.

Initially, you dismiss it as mere coincidence. This is his estate, after all. But as the occurrences multiply, doubt creeps in. Is there more to his constant hovering?

One particularly tedious afternoon, after an etiquette lesson that felt never-ending, you escape to the garden. Your fingers absently smooth your dress as you breathe in the scent of roses and fresh earth. The stone bench by the fountain beckons, and you sink onto it gratefully, closing your eyes against the warm sun.

But your moment of peace is short-lived. That familiar prickle of awareness crawls up your spine. You're being watched.

Your eyes snap open, darting around the garden. At first, all seems normal - rustling leaves, dappled sunlight. Then, beyond the perfectly manicured topiary, a flash of movement. Black and indigo.

Leon.

He stands by the old stone wall, aides clustered around him, clearly in the midst of some discussion. Yet his eyes are fixed on you, his hands clasped tightly behind his back. He makes no move to approach, just... stares. As if waiting for something you can't name.

Your stomach knots, twisting tighter with each passing second. This distance he maintains, this silent observation—what does it mean? It's as if he's unsure of his place in your world, hesitant to step fully into it despite your shared history.

You pretend to focus on the fountain's gentle spray, but your attention remains locked on Leon. He lingers for a few more agonizing moments before finally retreating, his tall frame swallowed up by the hedges once more.

This happens more frequently now. During your walks with Claire and study dates with Jill, while you’re reading in the library, or even while you sit by the window at night, lost in thought. You catch glimpses of him, hovering at the periphery of your life like a ghost.

He doesn’t approach you directly, and yet, his presence never fully leaves. It’s as though he’s trying to be part of your world without intruding, without imposing his presence on you.

And it’s frustrating.

There are times when you want to call out to him, to ask him why he keeps his distance, why he seems so determined to stay on the outskirts of your life. But the words never form. You bite them back, unsure if you even have the right to ask.

One evening, after your newest friend Lady Rebecca has left for the night, you find yourself sitting alone in the small drawing room, absently flipping through the pages of a book you can’t seem to focus on. The fire crackles softly in the hearth, casting flickering shadows on the walls.

Your gaze drifts to the doorway, where Leon stands once again. His posture is relaxed, one hand resting on the doorframe, but there’s a tension in his eyes, a hesitation that betrays his calm exterior.

For a moment, you both lock eyes.

This time, you don’t look away.

He seems to falter, his expression softening ever so slightly, but he doesn’t move. The air between you feels heavy, thick with unspoken words and the weight of everything neither of you has been willing to address.

"Leon," you finally say, your voice breaking the silence, though you don’t rise from your seat.

His name lingers, but he doesn't respond, doesn't step forward, just nods slightly before turning away. Once again, he retreats into the shadows, leaving you alone with the lingering sense of something unresolved.

The frustration builds inside you, but so does something else. A realization, perhaps. That he’s not distant out of disinterest, but because of something deeper, something he’s unwilling or unable to share. You’re left to wonder what holds him back, what keeps him from closing the gap between you.

The journey to the Margravate is long and winding, the rolling countryside stretching endlessly before you as the carriage bumps along the uneven road. You doze lightly, lulled by the gentle rhythm of the wheels, your head occasionally resting on Leon's shoulder, his scent wafting towards your senses, comforting and familiar amidst the unfamiliar landscape. The quiet company of his body next to yours makes you feel safe enough to fall asleep in his arms; you trust him that much, regardless of this distance that separates your hearts.

He only seems to take his place beside you to let you lean on him when you sleep. When you're awake, however, he's at the opposite end of the cushioned bench seats of the luxurious vehicle, looking intently out the small window. Dressed casually in a simple waistcoat over a cream shirt, sleeves rolled up, with dark blue fitted slacks and leather shoes polished to perfection—he looks every bit like a duke or earl traveling down country roads. So striking, in fact, with his gorgeous features and handsome profile, that even you steal glances from time to time at him in wonderment that such a fine man exists among human kind, let alone be your lawfully wedded husband for life.

From his appearance, it might seem like you two were still in a honeymoon period. Certainly others would assume you to be freshly fallen in love given how fondly you stare at him during these times. Your adoring gaze isn't exactly hidden nor unnoticed. Anyone who looked at you and observed your body language could tell easily enough about your feelings toward him, especially since this behavior began shortly after the wedding months ago.

But Leon seems unaffected by your affections. His reactions are impassive to everything—not rude and callous as with outsiders, but merely well-mannered. The sort of gestures you would expect of any polite, good-natured gentleman towards a young woman.

He’s been like this for the entire journey, withdrawn, the faint connection you shared before your wedding slowly eroding with each passing mile. His quiet presence, once comforting, now feels distant, like the growing chasm between the two of you. Every time you glance his way, his gaze remains distant, as if his thoughts are miles away, tethered to something you can’t reach.

Eventually, the carriage slows to a stop, and when you peer out the window, your breath catches in your throat.

The Margravate is... unfinished.

What stands before you isn’t a grand estate or a lavish castle, but rather the skeletal framework of what will one day become a home. Scaffolding surrounds the main structure, and construction workers move about, hauling stones and materials to continue their work. The foundations are in place, and the walls rise high enough to give the shape of the building, but it is far from being complete.

Leon climbs out of the carriage first, holding out a hand to help you down. His expression is unreadable as he watches your reaction, his lips set in a thin line as if bracing for something.

You take his hand, your fingers trembling slightly as you step onto the uneven ground. The air is fresh and cool, the wind carrying the scent of damp earth and sawdust. The land around you is expansive, a blank canvas of green fields stretching out toward the distant horizon. It's a beautiful expanse, but it feels empty—much like the vast space between you and Leon.

"This is... our new home," Leon says quietly, gesturing toward the half-built castle. His voice is steady, but there’s something beneath it—a thread of uncertainty that you can’t quite place, almost apologetic.

You nod, taking in the sight before you. It’s daunting, seeing the bare bones of what will eventually become your residence, but there’s a strange sense of possibility here as well. A blank slate, a fresh start.

It should feel exciting. And yet...

"It has a good foundation," you offer meekly in encouragement, wishing for the warmth in his smile to return. His countenance had faded as time passed, leaving you wanting, desperate for contact that went beyond a chaste touch on the hand meant for guiding or shoulder. "That's the most important part."

Leon looks at you, but his gaze is sharp, scrutinizing, as if he’s searching for something in your expression. "There’s still a lot of work to be done."

His tone is practical, detached, and it sends a pang through your chest. This is supposed to be your shared future—this place, this castle, this land. And yet, it feels like you’re standing at opposite ends of it, separated by more than just the distance between the carriage and the castle.

You wrap your arms around yourself, feeling the cool breeze bite at your skin. "Do you have any ideas for how you want to design the interior? The decorations and furniture?" you ask, trying to steer the conversation toward something lighter, something that might pull him back to you. "I remember you once mentioned you had preferences for architecture..."

"You can handle that," he cuts in, his voice tight. "I trust your judgment."

You blink, caught off guard by his sudden dismissal. "But... don’t you want to be part of the process? It’s your home too."

Leon sighs, rubbing his forehead, and for a moment, his carefully composed façade cracks, revealing a hint of exasperation. "I need to oversee the construction," he explains wearily. "And then there will be countless other duties that require my attention. Do whatever you think is best and would make you comfortable, okay? I won’t mind whatever choices you make."

The words land like a stone in your stomach, heavy and cold. It’s not just that he’s leaving the decisions to you—it’s the way he says it, like he’s already checked out of this part of your life together. Like he’s holding himself at arm’s length, unwilling to invest in the place that’s supposed to be your future.

You try to hide your disappointment, but it’s hard. You wanted this to be something you built together, not something you were left to manage on your own.

"I just thought..." you trail off, unsure of how to express the frustration bubbling inside you. "I thought it would be nice to do it together."

Leon looks away sharply, his jaw clenched, and you know right then that it was the wrong thing to say. There's something simmering below the surface, something buried deep in him that you can't reach. "Perhaps another time."

Then, he turns away, walking toward the construction workers who are busy unloading more materials. You watch him go, a sinking feeling in your chest, the gap between you growing wider with every step he takes.

You stand there for a moment, the wind whipping around you, your fingers curling into fists at your sides. The vastness of the Margravate stretches out before you, empty and raw, and you can’t help but feel like it mirrors the state of your marriage—full of potential, but painfully unfinished.

As Leon talks with the workers, you slowly turn back to the castle, letting your eyes trace the lines of the building, imagining what it could be when it’s complete. You picture grand halls, filled with light, rooms adorned with rich fabrics and art, a garden blooming with flowers—lilies, of course.

But all of it feels distant, as if it’s happening to someone else.

The days that follow your arrival at the Margravate are filled with work—endless decisions about the design of the estate, choosing colors, fabrics, and furnishings, overseeing the construction of the final touches on the walls, and speaking with the laborers who are bringing the castle to life. And yet, despite all the bustle around you, there’s an emptiness that lingers in the air—a tension that sits heavy between you and Leon.

You spend most of your time focused on the interior, meeting with craftsmen, selecting tapestries, and wandering through the unfinished halls, imagining what the rooms will look like once they’re complete. Your excitement for the project grows, but it’s tempered by the growing silence from Leon.

He leaves most of the decisions to you, keeping himself busy with matters outside—overseeing the construction of stables, inspecting the grounds, and working with the estate’s caretakers. His days are long, filled with activity, but the moments you share together are fleeting. A few words exchanged over meals, brief, stiff conversations at the end of the day, his gaze always distant, his mind elsewhere.

One evening, you find yourself in the library, sitting by the window with a thick book of fabric swatches spread across your lap. You run your fingers over the different textures, frowning slightly as you compare a deep crimson velvet with a lighter, airy blue. Which color scheme suits the room better? Will the blues complement the light from the large windows? Or should you go with the darker hues to add warmth and depth? The browner tones of the library make for lovely contrast, but sometimes you imagine white curtains that would frame the glass beautifully against the early morning sunrays.

You sigh, setting both options aside and reach for a third option. Perhaps a solid pattern instead of florals or stripes...

Your hand brushes against something firm, warm, startling you enough to drop the booklet on the floor. Before you can pick it up, strong, deft fingers pluck it off the rug and hand it back to you. "I'm sorry for startling you," Leon offers immediately upon delivering the materials. Then, he clears his throat awkwardly. "You seemed so immersed."

"Not a problem," you reassure him quickly, clutching the swatches tightly against your chest.

“Do you have a moment?”

"Of course," you reply, lovering the book down, heart giving a little leap at the sight of him, but there’s also a nervous flutter in your stomach, a gnawing uncertainty that’s become all too familiar.

He moves around you slowly, his expression unreadable, and for a moment, you think he might pull a chair and sit beside you. But instead, he stops by the window, his hand resting on the ledge as he gazes out into the fading twilight.

"You've been working hard," he says after a long pause, carefully neutral.

You glance down at the swatches in your lap, unsure how to respond. "There’s still so much to do," you say softly, your fingers tracing the edge of the fabric. "But I’m trying to make it... feel like home."

Leon’s gaze shifts toward you, something unreadable flickering in his blue eyes. "It’s your home. You should have it how you like."

There it is again—that distance, that indifference that feels like a wall between you. You want to ask him why he’s keeping himself entirely separate from the narrative, why he’s letting you make all the decisions without any input. But the words stick in your throat, too heavy to speak aloud.

You stand, brushing the fabric off your lap and stepping toward him, feeling the tension in the air thicken with each step. "It’s our home," you correct softly, coming to a stop beside him. "I want it to belong to both of us."

For a moment, he doesn’t respond. His gaze is fixed on the window, watching as the last rays of sunlight fade from the sky, casting the world in shades of gray. Then, with a quiet sigh, he turns toward you, his eyes meeting yours.

"It already belongs to you," he says quietly. "Everything here is yours to shape. I trust you to make it what it should be."

Your heart sinks at his words. He’s giving you control—giving you everything—and yet, it feels like he’s pulling further away, withdrawing into himself. You can’t understand it. You can’t understand why, after everything, he’s still holding himself back.

"But what about you?" you ask, your voice barely a whisper. "What do you want, Leon?"

He hesitates, his jaw tightening as he looks away. "It doesn’t matter what I want."

The answer hits you like a blow to the chest. It doesn’t matter what he wants? How could he say that? How could he think that his desires, his needs, don’t matter?

"You don’t mean that. Leon, we’re building this life together. How can it not matter what you want?"

He’s silent for a moment, his expression unreadable, and then he takes a slow step back, putting more space between you. "This is your chance to be free," he says quietly, his voice tight with something you can’t quite place. "I won’t... impose myself on that."

The words leave you stunned, your mind reeling as you try to process what he’s saying. He doesn’t want to impose himself? On you? On your life together? But that’s not what you want—you don’t want this distance, this coldness. You want him. You want him to be part of this, to share in this life with you.

You step closer to him, your hand reaching out instinctively to touch his arm. "Leon, you’re not imposing—"

But he pulls away before you can reach him, his expression hardening. "It’s late. We should both rest."

And with that, he turns and leaves the library, his footsteps echoing down the hall until they disappear into the silence of the castle.

Yet, despite the distance, there are small, fleeting moments when the delicate balance between you shifts—when his presence feels less like a wall and more like a quiet support.

One evening, after spending hours debating between colors for the tapestries in the dining hall, you find yourself overwhelmed by the pressure of the task. You’re at your desk, head in your hands, rubbing your temples as the endless decisions pile up. The fire crackles softly in the hearth, but the warmth does little to soothe your frustration.

Without a word, Leon steps into the room. You hadn’t noticed his arrival—he moves like a ghost, silent and unobtrusive. He stands at the doorway for a moment, watching you, his brow furrowed slightly, as if he’s weighing whether or not to intrude.

Then, quietly, he crosses the room and places a steaming cup of tea beside you. The fragrant scent of herbs fills the air, calming your frayed nerves. His movements are deliberate but gentle, and though he says nothing, the gesture speaks louder than words.

"You looked tired," he murmurs, his voice low and even. There’s a softness to his tone that you haven’t heard in days, a quiet concern that lingers between you.

You lift your head to meet his eyes, and for a brief moment, you see something there—a flicker of emotion, of care—but it’s gone as quickly as it came. He doesn’t stay to chat or press further; instead, he turns and walks away, leaving you alone with the warmth of the tea and the silence of the room.

It’s a small thing, but it touches you deeply. You sip the tea, the warmth spreading through your chest, and though the distance between you and Leon still looms large, the memory of his quiet kindness lingers in your mind long after he’s gone.

A few nights later, you’re still awake long after the castle has gone quiet. The plans for the Margravate are scattered across your desk, a mess of papers and sketches that no longer make sense to your tired eyes. You’ve been working late into the night, your fingers stained with ink and your mind buzzing with the endless possibilities for the estate’s future.

The rain taps lightly against the windows, a soft, steady rhythm that lulls the rest of the castle to sleep—but not you. You’re too caught up in the details, too determined to make everything perfect. After all, Leon had given you free rein over the design choices. "Whatever you like," he had said, his indifference leaving you both empowered and... disappointed.

As the hours drag on, the chill of the night seeps into the room, wrapping itself around you. You barely notice it until your hands start to tremble from the cold.

Then, without warning, a soft warmth settles over your shoulders.

You freeze, your heart skipping a beat as you realize that someone has draped a blanket over you. You glance up, but the room is empty. Leon is gone, having slipped away as silently as he came, leaving only the blanket as a testament to his presence.

The gesture is simple, almost fleeting, but it strikes something deep within you. He hadn’t said a word. He hadn’t needed to. His actions spoke of care, of a desire to see you comfortable, even if he couldn’t bridge the emotional gap that had grown between you.

You clutch the blanket tighter around yourself, staring at the open door where he must have exited. It’s frustrating, how close he seems in these moments and yet how far away he remains. He’s there, always on the periphery, watching over you but never stepping fully into the light.

Another morning, you find yourself standing in the grand hall, examining the tapestries that have just been hung along the walls. The rich colors of red and gold shimmer in the early morning light, catching on the intricate designs woven into the fabric. It should be a moment of triumph—a symbol of your hard work, of the progress being made—but instead, it feels hollow.

As you reach out to trace the edge of one of the tapestries, you hear footsteps approaching behind you. You don’t have to turn to know it’s Leon; you’ve grown used to the sound of his quiet, measured steps.

He comes to stand beside you, his gaze focused on the tapestries. "They’re beautiful," he says softly, his voice devoid of the usual formality. There’s a warmth in his tone, but it’s distant, like he’s speaking from behind a glass wall.

You nod, not trusting yourself to speak. The tension between you is palpable, an invisible force that keeps you from closing the distance, no matter how much you both might want to.

He glances down at you then, and for the briefest moment, you think you see something in his eyes—something raw and unguarded. But before you can decipher it, he looks away, the shutters closing once more.

The storm outside reflects everything brewing between you.

Heavy rain pounds against the unfinished walls, wind howling through the half-finished windows, rattling the doors in their frames. The sky is a swirl of angry black clouds, flashes of lightning illuminating the barren landscape beyond the castle’s skeletal structure.

You’re soaked to the bone, your clothes sticking to your skin after having made sure to personally direct the laborers in positioning some materials with waterproofing oil slathered thickly on surfaces, securing them safely. Leon had insisted earlier you allow his men to do so instead, but you'd brushed it off, feeling a sense of ownership towards this project due to being the one most invested in making this place feel like a home and not simply a new job posting. It was worth it--the newly installed interior pieces weren't damaged thanks to your efforts, nor were they lost because of sudden gusts of winds carrying them astray, which pleased you greatly.

At one point after realizing telling you to go inside wouldn't work, Leon drapes his coat over your shoulders, protecting you from the rain while also hiding the state your clothing is in from prying servants. And as soon as it's deemed safe and the rains finally died down enough to warrant stopping work on the exterior portions of the castle, he sweeps you off your feet to carry you inside bridal style.

"Let me walk, please!" you demand, heat rising to your face as you hold back a shriek of surprise.

But despite your request, your arms lock around his neck to stabilize yourself, the broad expanse of his chest radiating warmth beneath your hands despite his similarly waterlogged garments.

Even through layers of drenched cloth separating skin-on-skin contact, your senses are invaded by the feeling of Leon--his scent mingling with fresh rain, the rise and fall of his breathing as he effortlessly carries you indoors, even the sensation of his pulse beating beneath the elegant curve of his collarbone. You're suddenly overwhelmingly aware of every detail about him, causing butterflies to stir in your belly when he leans ever so slightly closer, making you wonder if maybe he isn't totally unaffected by your proximity either.

Despite the weight of your combined bodies, Leon doesn't appear fatigued at all, briskly crossing through hallways and stairwells to make it to the main wing of the estate where the family living quarters are located. Some of the maids catch glimpses of the unnecessary spectacle you're trying to de-escalate, and knowing that rumors spread easily amongst servants, you fear you might be the center of gossip for tomorrow morning... but something tells you that's likely not Leon's goal here. It wouldn't reflect well on him if his bride returned to the bedroom dripping wet like this without him as protection from scandal. At least he can say he provided adequate cover in public where people might've seen you soaked through.

Reaching your bedchamber door, Leon nudges it open with his foot to avoid risking dropping you in his attempt to turn the knob, entering swiftly and kicking it closed once both of you are securely inside the private space. With one strong arm propping you up, he uses the other to flip your fur-lined cloak off you with a flick of the wrist, allowing its full length to fall to the floor in a heap. The cape has served its purpose since he shielded you with it during the storm outside, now acting as a barrier between you and the carpet should any excess water drip from your persons.

In the next moment, Leon places you back on solid ground, supporting your waist as you adjust to standing upright again. Your limbs feel weak and shaky, leaving you clinging tightly to him as if he's a lifeline in more ways than one. Your mind is spinning from the intensity of being this close to each other, so near that you can see the droplets of rain clinging to his eyelashes like dew, the way they roll down the slope of his cheekbones and jawline only to drip off his chin. His normally blond hair is dampened, darker from being completely soaked, a few tendrils falling to hang over his forehead in an appealingly roguish manner, giving him a younger, more boyish appearance that somehow makes him all the more handsome and masculine.

"I'll get a bath drawn for you," he says breathlessly after a lingering pause, displeased lines apparent on his forehead. "You need to warm up."

Before you have time to protest, he reaches up to push several strands of loose hair away from your face, tucking them gently behind your ear. For a second, his fingers linger along the curve of your temple, caressing your cheek like you're something precious. It's the most he's touched you willingly in weeks, and you find yourself leaning into his touch, longing for the intimacy that seems just out of reach.

Then, abruptly, the moment shatters as he lets go of you altogether, striding away stiffly toward the fireplace to start preparing kindling. With one movement, the connection between you breaks, and suddenly, the distance feels wider than ever.

It leaves you stunned for a moment, stuck in place where he set you down, watching him move away. You could reach out to stop him, but the tension in his posture tells you not to. And suddenly, you notice you're in the same position you were on your wedding night, with his back turned to you over at the fireplace, busying himself to keep some degree of separation between you both.

"How long will this go on for?" you suddenly cry out impulsively, fed up with being treated like a doll kept at arm's length.

Leon pauses, one hand frozen in place over a stack of logs, "I'll go get the maids in a minute—"

"You know that's not what I'm talking about, Leon," you retort, surprising even yourself at your boldness. Your hands move on their own, raising a bit to gesture wildly around the room even though he has his back to you and won't see it. "What is this? Is it me, did I do something wrong? Tell me how I can fix this."

At your plea, he stops short. There's a flinch in his shoulder, barely perceptible but noticeable enough that it sends a stab through your heart. You hate this stalemate. Hate how disconnected you feel from him right now, and you want nothing more than to break through the barriers between you. Even if there's pain underneath it all. Anything would be better than being trapped in this purgatory, neither of you able to let the past go while unable to move forward.

His posture changes, his head tilting ever so slightly like he wants to look back at you, but he doesn't follow through, remaining faced towards the hearth.

"Listen, I..." His words come out uneven, faltering as he struggles for purchase over them. Then he takes another deep breath, exhaling slowly. "We both knew our marriage would not be normal when I proposed to you."

Oh. So this is what we're doing. Going around the elephant in the room. Deflection. "That doesn't mean you get to keep punishing me."

"I'm not punishing you," he protests weakly, almost childlike. Almost sounding like how he was in the garden on his first visit to the Ethelian temple all those years ago, stammering apologies while shaking under the light of the sacred moon.

"Doesn't seem like it. It's obvious that whatever I've done is going to stand in the way of us getting closer unless I figure it out and apologize..."

"Wait, no—" Now Leon actually whirls around.

Your anger gives you a boost, taking advantage of his momentary confusion. "Do you regret proposing to me?"

The question catches him off guard, and for a second, his expression is so open and vulnerable that it steals the breath from your lungs. It's such an intimate moment; like peeling back the layers of his mask and seeing the person underneath.

Instead of answering you directly, though, what he says is, "Can you put something on? Please."

And just like that, the walls are back up. He shifts back into that composed demeanor, looking at you in a way that betrays nothing except mild distaste at your current state, breaking you free from the illusion of closeness and honesty.

"What does that have to do with anything right now? Do you even listen to anything I say?" you fume, resisting the urge to stomp your foot like a child. "I'm building this home for us, our future," you croak weakly, arms coming together to cross in front of you defensively despite there not being enough strength to raise them high enough and form a proper barrier. The desire to hide is instinctual, though. Something you picked up as the church raised you from birth. Cover yourself. Be modest and demure, a conduit for Ethelion's grace. A perfect example of sanctification for the masses. "What I want is for you to be a part of this with me. But it feels like you’re running away from it."

His tone goes flat and clinical. "While it may have escaped your notice, you're practically naked," Leon states matter-of-factly.

"It doesn't matter, you're my husband," you huff, trying to ignore how silly the situation is. Both of you drenched and arguing over nakedness.

"I can't see you like this, you're the Saintess!"

Leon winces immediately upon blurting those words out, like he knows it was a mistake to reveal so much in the moment, turning his face away and squeezing his eyes shut. A hand raises to press against his mouth, stopping whatever else might accidentally slip out and betray the feelings he hides, desperately struggling to remain composed.

So that's it. He won't acknowledge you because to him, you were the Saintess of Ethelion--someone unreachable and divine, separate from yourself as just a woman.

"You don't see me as a person, do you?"

"No, I—"

"Am I really still wearing the mask on my face?" You scoff at how ridiculous the situation is. The very same man who pleaded for you to consider him as a potential spouse now acts like you are still beyond reach, elevated high above mere mortals. "Of course. Of course I am. You married me because of this. You didn't want a connection with me, you wanted a connection with Ethelion. I'm your prayer beads, is that it? A walking shrine dedicated to Him?"

"Stop," Leon grits out, holding his hands out in front of his face to ward off the verbal assault. His head turns side to side, denying your accusation despite his lack of direct response, paling as if struck. "Just... give me a moment."

There's no escape route for either of you anymore--no retreat option besides standing still. And that isn't working either. You refuse to back down until some sort of change happens. "I've given you weeks. Look at me!"

The crackling of the wood as it burns seems too loud compared to the silence hanging thick between the two of you. Seconds pass with nothing changing until finally, with agonizing slowness, Leon lifts his head to stare straight at you with stormy blues filled with conflict. There's so much pain buried within, held deep below the surface for too long. And suddenly you realize you never actually saw him without his armor or regalia, nor him without the veil and robes obscuring your features. Like children dressing up in fancy costumes and playing pretend, except not. This whole relationship was built on two people pretending to be something they're not.

Neither saintess or holy knight but merely mortal humans, terrified and lonely.

"I'm lonely, Leon," you confess softly, dropping your gaze to the floor. All the energy seems drained out of you, leaving only exhaustion and weariness in its wake. "It's a lonely place being isolated on a pedestal. I only ever wanted to be loved, like everyone else."

The admission hangs heavily in the air for several seconds, each tick of the clock painfully slow and cumbersome. You wonder what he's thinking; whether he understands, whether he sympathizes, whether it makes any difference to him at all. If anyone could understand what you mean, it would be someone who has known suffering firsthand like the scars hidden by bandages underneath his clothing or the emptiness he hides under the guise of stoicism and duty.

A tear rolls down your cheek, splashing onto your white dress shirt, darkening the spot where it lands. Another follows behind the first, tracing down your other cheek and dripping from your chin onto the cloak you're standing on.

"I'd like that bath now, please. The cold is starting to get uncomfortable," you mumble, resigned. The fight left you the instant the dam broke on the secret thoughts you've been harboring throughout this time together. And honestly, there's nothing more to do but move past this obstacle blocking the path forward. Whatever the outcome will be after today remains unclear, and dwelling on it longer probably won't make any difference. "Alone, preferably."

Without waiting for his reply or looking up at his face, you turn around sharply on your heel and approach your dressing room closet area attached to the en suite bathroom. Stepping through the doorway into the private space allows some relief--not that you're any less aware of Leon's presence nearby, but now he can't see your expressions clearly when you pull clothes off hangers with shaking hands and begin stripping yourself.

One by one, your soaked garments hit the floor with a thwack, forming a pile at your feet that grows larger by the second. Once fully nude, you reach over to grab a towel off the shelf in haste, intending to wrap it around yourself quickly, thinking of making a dash to the bathing area without revealing yourself to him. Yet, as soon as you spin back around, planning to hustle across the room to the washroom, you jump nearly out of your skin in surprise to find Leon standing right there directly opposite you--so close, yet just far enough apart to maintain proper personal space etiquette. You hadn't felt him sneaking up behind you at all.

His presence seems to suck the oxygen from the small enclosed chamber, leaving a vacuum effect that leaves your vision blurred for a few seconds while adjusting to being confronted with him upfront without warning. Still, the rush of surprise pumping through you doesn't let up enough to allow full perception to return as smoothly as normal, leaving everything seeming oddly foggy like a dream sequence in play.

He looms before you taller and broader than usual thanks to the heightened awareness of your own nakedness contrasting against how wetly clothed he stays, forcing you to tilt your head up somewhat awkwardly to meet his eyes that stands out in stark relief against pale skin and dark hair framing features sharpened by shadows that dance. Even if Leon doesn't step closer, he crowds the tiny closet-like space significantly compared to your frame, putting pressure on every inch of available space between the two of you.

Something seems different in the way he watches you in this moment—less intense than before. Perhaps calmer or gentler, even, considering how he isn't as tense and coiled up as before. Whatever causes this transformation leaves little doubt as to its nature because one thing that doesn't change is the fact that he's definitely checking you out shamelessly, despite trying valiantly to keep an aura of indifference around himself. Those ocean waves appear a touch hazy in shade as if clouded with lust, pupils dilated visibly until only a thin ring of blue encircles the black pits blown wide.

"Did you want something?" You manage to stammer out nervously, cheeks warming with shame.

Never in your life has anybody seen this much bare skin of yours; not even another girl back at the church growing up since those sorts of interactions were expressly forbidden outside of emergencies wherein nudity occurred inadvertently rather than intentionally due to limited access points such as shared washrooms. Especially not any adults! Such lascivious behavior went against everything they taught at services about respect and modesty.

Suddenly, he huffs out a loud laugh that surprises the both of you, although mostly yourself, judging by how fast his facial muscles tense after, realizing what sound came out of him involuntarily.

"Ah..." Leon trails off, looking embarrassed and wistful at the same time, averting his gaze briefly before refocusing squarely on yours again. "No? Yes? More or less?"

"Can it wait?" Your breath hitches slightly as you try unsuccessfully to maintain steady breathing, mind racing along with rapidly accelerating heartbeats.

"I don't want it to wait," He admits quietly, almost shamefacedly, lowering lashes halfway down half-lidded eyes.

"You couldn't have done this before I undressed?"

He has no answer to that, though something flashes across his face momentarily; a hint of something perhaps akin to remorse, or maybe guilt for having barged in unannounced on your vulnerable moment without consideration for boundaries . Although truthfully speaking, neither of you had set up much structure for yourselves other than mutual understanding regarding certain key points --such as keeping distance from each other unless necessary--and following basic common sense rules for respectful behavior like knocking beforehand.

"I do see you as a person," he mumbles softly, taking a single step towards you while still maintaining the illusion of personal space for both of you. His hand raises up hesitantly as if unsure what he intends to do with it, hovering midair in an awkward manner, fingers curling inward to form a fist at first before relaxing and repeating the motion several times, opening and closing slowly, indecisively.

You watch silently with bated breath, wondering where he might aim next. If you weren't so caught up in your own head, you might have noticed sooner that his gaze kept darting between your collarbone and your jawline, seemingly mesmerized by how they connect seamlessly together beneath smooth expanses of soft, supple flesh. It takes several seconds of staring at his face before realizing that despite appearing fixated upon one spot in particular, his focus shifts subtly every now and then, tracing invisible paths across curves that dip beneath your towel-clad figure.

"I see you as a woman," He whispers, sounding pained as if admitting defeat or confessing sins committed against someone precious to him. The hand that had previously been frozen in place descends downwards in a slow arc, tracing downward along the edge of the terrycloth fabric until it reaches the spot where it bunches together right above your navel. His fingertips brush against the fabric gently, not quite touching directly but close enough to send sparks flying throughout your nervous system at such proximity. "When... When I shouldn't. Not like that. You were the Saintess. You are... You... And I... I couldn't..."

A shuddering sigh escapes him, his chest heaving with pent-up emotions, and his head bows slightly like someone weighed down heavily by unseen burdens. He seems torn between wanting desperately to reach out further than just barely brushing knuckles over cloth covering sensitive skin and pulling back entirely to prevent himself from crossing lines better left untouched.

You don't speak up either, too afraid of breaking whatever fragile spell has descended over you both. Your body trembles slightly from nerves and cold combined, skin prickling everywhere beneath the thin layer of fabric separating skin from skin, practically feeling the weight of his eyes following the path of goosebumps. The intensity in the way his gaze traces every inch of your form sends heat pooling downwards despite your best efforts to rein in whatever it is that threatens to burst forth at any second.

"...You're not someone to be looked at with... impure intentions," Leon finally manages after another moment of tense silence passes between the two of you, lifting his head once more and fixing his stare straight into yours unblinkingly. His words come out hoarse yet sincere; a desperate plea mixed with fervent prayer for strength to resist temptation laid before him so invitingly wrapped up nicely. "To be worshiped, yes. But not defiled."

His thumb brushes over the curve of the towel that wraps around your torso, tracing upwards towards your chest where your breasts press against it, leaving dampened outlines visible through the material. The sensation of his finger sliding over the cloth-covered peak of one nipple causes a gasp to escape from your lips, followed immediately by a strangled noise that sounds suspiciously similar to groan escaping from the back of his throat.

"Leon-" you whisper breathlessly, not even aware of what else you might say beyond saying his name aloud. Your heart pounds wildly within your ribcage, hammering away like an overworked drumstick against sensitive tissue and bone, threatening to break through the cage containing it. Blood rushes in your ears, deafeningly loud and dizzying in its intensity.

He inhales sharply as if burned, his nostrils flaring, and then his entire body stiffens abruptly. Then he turns on his heels and walks briskly away, nearly colliding headlong with a nearby wall in his haste to put distance between himself and your towel-wrapped figure. His shoulders rise and fall visibly as he takes several deep, steadying breaths before finally speaking again, albeit much quieter this time, as though he fears someone may overhear even though the two of you are alone in this room.

"I won't let myself do that to you," he declares firmly, sounding resigned and defeated rather than angry or forceful. There's something sad about his tone, too—a sense of loss permeating throughout his speech that makes your chest tighten painfully with regret and longing for things unfulfilled. "I refuse. I'll keep my vow to cherish and protect you from all that might harm you. Even if that means myself."

Before you can think better of your actions, you reach out and grasp his sleeve between trembling fingers, halting him mid-stride as he attempts to flee further away. A surprised grunt leaves him at your sudden movement and subsequent contact, his body tensing momentarily before relaxing again slowly at your touch.

"I'm not something to be worshiped or preserved. I'm just a woman," you choke out thickly, tears welling up in your eyelashes. "I'm not pure and perfect. I'm just like any other person, Leon."

"Please don't say such things," he begs quietly, turning partially toward you without actually meeting your gaze directly. "Don't demean yourself like that. Don't compare yourself so…."

Your grip tightens on his sleeve, tugging lightly to force him closer despite knowing full well it won't make much difference against someone twice your size or strength if they wanted to resist.

"I don't want to be revered!" you cry desperately, blinking rapidly as hot tears spill down your cheeks. "I just want...!"

A pause. The air hangs heavy around you both like a dense fog rolling in off the ocean waves outside. The fire crackles loudly, its warmth doing little to chase away the chill seeping deep into your bones from more than just damp clothes sticking uncomfortably to your skin. You shiver violently, suddenly acutely aware of how exposed you truly are standing before him half-naked, barefooted, hair dripping wetness onto your shoulders and back.

"I just want my husband," you finally manage after swallowing past a lump forming in your throat. Your mouth feels dry and sticky simultaneously as you croak out those words, tongue heavy and clumsy against the roof of your mouth.

Silence falls over the space separating you once more, punctuated only by the sound of his ragged breathing and yours intermingling with one another. He stands still as a statue before you, unmoving save for the occasional shudder rippling through his frame at random intervals. His gaze remains fixed firmly downward at some unseen point by his feet instead of meeting yours directly, though whether out of shame or guilt or something else entirely you can't tell.

"I want you," you continue softly, barely audible over the pounding of your heart thundering within your eardrums. "Not as the Saintess or whatever title comes next after that. Just as me."

"Don't, I can't," he hisses through clenched teeth like someone trying very hard to keep themselves under control despite being pushed dangerously close to breaking point. "You don't want that. You don't understand what it would do to me if I gave in and acted on this feeling. I couldn't live with myself if I did."

"You can love the Saintess but not me?" You ask quietly, releasing his sleeve slowly as if reluctant to let go completely yet knowing there isn't anything else left for either of you to say right now without causing further harm than good. "Am I really that undesirable?"

His head jerks upward sharply, finally locking his stare directly onto yours, ocean irises blown wide open with surprise mingling freely alongside horror written plainly across his features.

"No!" He blurts loudly enough that it startles you slightly too, causing him to immediately lower his volume when speaking again afterwards. "No, of course not! How could I possibly find fault with you when everything about you leaves me weak-kneed? But it goes against all my vows and beliefs, and I can't betray them any more than I already have simply by looking at you with these sinful thoughts..."

He shakes his head firmly back and forth several times before turning away from you fully once more, shoulders slumped downward heavily as he retreats further backwards until he's nearly pressed flush against the far wall opposite yours.

"Please," he whispers hoarsely, almost inaudibly over the noise of raindrops pattering steadily against glass windows throughout the castle halls beyond your chambers' doors. "Please, let me continue serving you as your protector. Your knight in shining armor. Nothing less, nothing more. I'll do anything. I'll give you anything."

The defeat lacing every word he utters cuts through your chest worse than any physical wound ever has been able to achieve thus far; the pain sears deep within your heart, leaving behind only bitter regret and emptiness in its wake.

You want to scream at him for being such an idiotic fool who refuses to see reason or listen to anyone besides himself regarding matters concerning his own happiness and desires, especially considering how much he claims to care about yours. Yet no amount of yelling will change his mind or force him into seeing things differently from how they currently stand between the two of you now, regardless of how frustrating and maddening it may be.

"Okay," you murmur softly instead after several tense minutes pass, neither of you move or speak again nor dares break this fragile silence lest it lead down another path towards destruction. Apathy settles heavily upon your shoulders like a cloak of lead weighing you down. "I want a lover. Someone to hold me. I want someone who wants me. Someone who will make me feel wanted and cherished and desired. Someone who won't shy away from my touch or cringe at the sight of me unclothed."

His shoulders stiffen visibly beneath his drenched shirt, muscles tensing visibly beneath the dampened cloth clinging tightly against every curve and contour, outlining hard lines underneath.

"Since you made it clear it won't be you, then I can look for someone else. I'm free to do so, aren't I?"

The effect your question has upon him is immediate and palpable; a strangled sound escapes from somewhere within the depths of his throat, low and guttural and raw, filled with equal parts despair and fury. It seems almost inhuman coming from such an otherwise composed man like him, coupled with the fact that his entire body seems suddenly coiled tight as though ready to spring forth into action. Yet, he doesn't move nor speak further beyond that single noise which speaks volumes more than mere words ever could alone regarding just how deeply affected he truly is by everything happening between the two of you here today.

"...You are," he finally grinds out through clenched teeth.

"Then that's what I'll do," you state simply, without any trace of hesitation or uncertainty lacing your tone, despite knowing full well exactly what kind of reaction those words have caused within him.

"Don't," he chokes out raggedly, his expression twisted into a mixture of agony and desperation unlike anything you'd ever seen cross his features before now. He looks absolutely wretched standing there before you like some poor soul condemned to an eternity of torment for sins committed against an unforgiving god.

"Or what?" you challenge softly, slowly make your way towards him, and reach upwards to cup his cheek gently in one palm, fingers brushing lightly over smooth skin slickened by rainfall still dripping steadily down his face in thin rivulets. "What can you possibly say that will make me want to stay here with someone who doesn't even see me as anything more than an untouchable ideal?"

He flinches violently beneath your touch, jerking backwards so hard that it hits the wall behind him, as if burned by mere contact alone, yet he remains rooted firmly in place rather than fleeing further away from you. Instead, he merely bows his head downward, until his chin rests against his chest rising rapidly beneath labored breaths.

"I love you," he rasps hoarsely after what feels like hours spent waiting patiently for some sort of response or reaction beyond silence from him thus far. Those three little words slip past trembling lips unbidden by conscious thought or effort; they spill forth freely like rainwater cascading down a mountainside, falling heavily upon parched earth below, seeking sustenance desperately needed after months spent under scorching sun beating mercilessly overhead. "I can't bear to think about another man holding you intimately. It kills me slowly inside just imagining it happening. But I can't do it myself. I can't touch you without feeling like Ethelion himself will make me burst into flames. You were the Saintess, I was the paladin. We shouldn't have crossed those lines."

"Then stop thinking of me as the Saintess," you urge quietly yet firmly whilst stepping closer towards him still despite knowing full well doing so might very well result in being rejected outright once more should he choose to do so again. Your hand slides along the side of his neck, trailing fingertips delicately across taut muscle tensed tightly against bones beneath warm flesh, tracing downward along the curve where his shoulder meets the collarbone peeking through the partially unbuttoned shirt collar, damp fabric clinging stubbornly against his skin.

His entire frame quivers beneath your feather-light caresses as if fighting against himself not to recoil from them outright or push you away entirely, though he does neither, simply allowing himself to remain motionless beneath your ministrations instead. He closes his eyelids tightly shut, squeezing them tightly together as his jaw clenches, teeth grinding audibly within his mouth. A shudder ripples visibly throughout every inch of him at the gentle pressure of your thumb rubbing circles against his clavicle bone beneath the thin cotton shirt sticking tightly against flushed heated skin.

"Please," he whispers pleadingly through gritted teeth clamped down hard enough to leave imprints upon his bottom lip, turning his head away from yours while keeping his own lowered still.

He won't move away in pretense of not being able to, rather stay in the torment of enjoying your touch but unable to respond in kind, but you won't let him escape that easily. Not now that he's finally given in somewhat after all this time spent dancing around each other's feelings without ever truly confronting them directly.

"Sir Leon," you start, with the authority of the saintess you were trained to be, "look at me."

He freezes at your tone and words, before his head jerks back, meeting your gaze with wide, disbelieving blue orbs. You hold his chin and prevent him from turning away. His throat bobs as he swallows, and the air crackles between you two with tension. Your breath catches in your throat as you realize how close he is, how easy it would be to just lean forward and press your lips to his.

"Do you prefer it this way?" you ask, tilting your head in question, "Do you prefer me acting as your superior, instead of an equal? Will it be easier for you to listen to me if I'm on a pedestal, talking down to you?"

You watch as his expression flickers through emotions quickly, too quickly to read properly before settling into a conflicted one, brows furrowing slightly, "I..."

"Do you want to be absolved of your guilt by submitting yourself to the Saintess? Would kneeling before me and letting me do whatever I want with you make it better for you?" You continue, letting a finger trail down the front of his shirt, stopping at his heart. "Thinking you're in service of another, rather than acting on your desires?"

His breath hitches at that, and you feel his heartbeat quicken beneath your fingertips. It's a fierce thing, pounding against the cage of his ribs, a wild beast straining at the leash.

"Go kneel before the bed if the answer is yes," you command, letting a little of the Saintess's authority slip into your tone, and his pupils dilate ever so slightly. You're sure he's going to refuse, going to walk away. But to your surprise, and maybe his own, he slowly sinks to his knees, never breaking his stare away from yours.

You take a step back, taking him in, and then turn around to walk away from him. He lets out a soft gasp as you do, his hands twitching at his sides like he wants to reach out and stop you but doesn't dare.

You walk to the bed, sitting down on the soft mattress, and look at him expectantly. He's still kneeling on the floor, watching you with wide, hungry eyes, the color of a deep lake.

"Come here," you order, and he obeys, crawling towards you on his hands and knees, the movement strangely graceful for such a large man. He stops at the foot of the bed, looking up at you, waiting for you to tell him what to do next.

[ddejavvu]

Hello! May i request a fic where reader plays 7 minutes in heaven with Spencer and he's all nervous cause he likes the reader, he hasn't done anything with a girl before and reader thinks it's adorable how Spencer's all flustered? :,)

If it were anyone else, you might have been inclined to loosen up. But instead of Morgan's strong, self-assured demeanor, or Prentiss's enticing, devil-red lips, it's Spencer that's standing before you, stiff and awkward and too tight all over.

"Spence," You hum warily, sympathetically, "We don't have to do anything. We can talk for seven minutes, if you want."

You know full well that Spencer can talk for seven minutes straight, and you prepare yourself to get lost in another one of his textbook rambles. But he doesn't take you up on your offer, shaking his head disjointedly.

"No, I- you wanted to play to... do something," He grasps at euphemisms, letting them wrap like cotton around his tongue to hide their implications' foul nature from view. The fibrous politeness thickens his words, garbles them: "I- we can do something, or- if you want, like... yeah."

You reach out to take his hand, but it's apparently more mortifying for him to be gently held than to suggest that you fuck in Derek's closet. He flushes red at your touch, something you only see because you'd located and flicked the light switch by the door, something Derek would resolutely disapprove of due to the nature of the game.

"I want you to be comfortable, Spencer," You assure him, his hand limp in your own, "I mean- have you ever even... done something before?"

He nods vigorously, but you think it's out of mortified insistence than annoyance, "Yeah. Uh- well, sort of? It was- I kissed someone once. In a pool," He admits sheepishly, "But it was more- like, she kissed me? It was over before I could- like, figure out the... mechanics, y'know?"

You bite your tongue, nodding instead of telling Spencer that there's no mechanics to kissing. Kissing is really a flow, a stream of tongues and lips and sometimes teeth that depend only on the terrain that the other person offers it. Mechanics are for instruction manuals, but you don't come with one. However, Spencer's brain doesn't flow, it reads instruction manuals, and you tentatively offer it one.

"I could teach you the mechanics, if you'd like?"

"Here?" He asks, like you weren't pushed into this closet to boink.

"Yeah," You shrug, shoulders loose in opposition to Spencer's tight muscles, "Or we can talk."

He deliberates, you see it in his eyes. There's minimal light in the closet, because the bulb Derek has screwed into the ceiling is fading. But you can see Spencer draw the inside of his cheek between his molars, gnawing thoughtfully on its meat.

"We don't have to," You assure him softly, but it's that softness in your voice that seems to push him over the edge. He meets your eyes for the first time since you'd stepped into the closet together, murmuring a soft, 'Really?' that makes your knees beg for collapse.

"Really," You assure him, squeezing his hand that's still in your grip, "You want to?"

"Yeah," He nods tentatively, but bravely, "If that's okay."

"It's okay," You smile, endeared by his insistent hesitance, "Come here, Spencer."

You're perched on the edge of a shoe organizer, and Spencer steps forwards guided by the pull of your hand until he's standing with his feet between yours. He looks at them warily, like they're too close, like they're different parts of your body that he's not ready to touch yet, but you call his attention to you with a soft parting of your spit-slick lips. It's a wet sound, and his long, brown lashes flutter as it calls to him.

"Bend down," You instruct him, because his towering height is even more prevalent while you're sitting down. He hunches, and it's awkward, but you place your hands on him, one on his side and one on his shoulder, to readjust his stance.

His breath hits your face, and he seems to realize that, clearing his throat and holding his breath so that it doesn't anymore. You lift your hand off of his shoulder and set it over his cheek, brushing your thumb feather-light over his nose.

"Breathe, Spence," You try not to laugh at him, even if the gentle sound that spills from your lips isn't really a laugh as much as it is a breath, "It's okay. I won't bite you. Even if Morgan thinks I should."

His skin sears warmer beneath your hand, and you know he won't take the lead, so you do.

You lean in to press your mouth to his, and nothing more. That's all it is, a meeting of lips that fit nicely, snugly against each other, and stay in their places. You don't think he's ready for the flow yet, not while you can practically hear his brain whirring with instructions instructions instructions, and you break away before he can try to turn the page of the manual.

"Did you like it?"

He's silent for a moment, but you don't think he's deliberating, you think he's just forgotten how to speak. He blinks, once, twice, three times, and his heart beats a thousand times between each one. Your hand is still braced against his side, the other on his face, and you feel the muscles in his jaw and torso move in tandem as he surges forwards to press his lips back to yours.

Dam open, all of a sudden Spencer Reid is flowing, and tangling your hands in his hair and riding the current for the rest of your seven minutes does seem like your idea of heaven.

[windvexer]

Potentially you gotta stop making all those substitutions to the spells, witch bestie.

If you're trying to learn magic and have chosen to do so through other people's published instructional manuals, and the magic isn't working, consider asking yourself if you are actually following the rituals provided.

I've been speaking with multiple people lately who are all struggling with the same thing, so perhaps a post on this topic is germane.

Unless you understand the tradition you're working with and why certain things have certain meanings, you probably do not have the background required to make effective substitutions.

Working within someone else's established tradition is not the same as working within your personal eclectic path.

Imagine you go into a working group which is super into bioregional practice and they've developed elaborate rituals which always work for them.

They give you a purification ritual which calls for a red apple, wild-harvested cotton, and local mulberries to be worked over during a full moon.

They do not tell you why each of these things is included. They just give you the list.

We're going to substitute a store-bought cotton ball, obviously, and what to do about the mulberries? We can google "mulberry correspondences," find out they're related to "healing" which is the closest thing we can figure has anything to do with a purification ritual, then pretty much figure that since chamomile is associated with sleep and purification, and sleep is a Lunar thing, right, that we can just use a sleepytime chamomile tea bag, and there you have it!

What the working group has failed to tell you is that this entire ritual is based on local mythology where the cotton wight fell in love with the mulberry dryad and they got married under the full moon by sharing an apple, and the entire ritual isn't based on sympathetic container magic, but is a heirophany which recreates the marriage of local sacred spirits, each of whom has sworn to heal and purify those who honor their love.

A heck of a lot of witchcraft authors do not break down why every single step is taken.

And if you apply contemporary witch-lite logic to everything ("cotton is white so I'm going to relate that to color correspondences and substitute a white candle for purity"), you can end up immediately canceling out a spell.

Not understanding or connecting with certain spell/ritual steps is not a good reason to change them.

You had mulberries once as a kid and they gave you stomach cramps and now you personally associate them with hexing and sickness, so even though there is a ripe mulberry tree outside, you are going to go get a container of blackberries instead, which you personally associate with purification, and -

(You get the drift)

The spell calls for making a paper box, within which you hide the wild cotton and mulberry. Then, at a crossroads at the full moon, you unfold the box to reveal its contents, and offer an apple to the correspondences.

Which would mean we'd have to learn how to make a paper box (fun!) but also like, why this unfolding thing? Nothing I've read so far in my witchcraft books has explained the magical meaning behind opening a paper box. This is basically a container spell, right? I'll just use a glass jar.

(The plant spirits who informed the local coven about this spellwork specified an opaque, degradable container)

If you're using other people's work, you're more or less sacrificing yourself to the reality that they probably are not explaining everything to you, and that your assumptions about what makes that magic tick could be so far off base that even your most educated guesses will fall short.

Yeah, using other people's traditions can mean you don't have what's required to do everything, and that's kind of just the way it is.

I'm not trying to be Mr. Just Go And Buy Stuff You Moneybags, but I guess I am being Mr. If You Can't Do It Then You Can't Do it.

And no, I'm not saying that it's impossible to figure out substitutions.

I'm specifically referring to a situation where a practitioner is trying to figure out magic, hasn't been able to make strides, and then it turns out they've been radically modifying and altering spells from specific traditions to a point where the spell is obviously functionally DOA.

At one point I was learning some slightly advanced bit of coding. I downloaded a set of files from a code library and installed them on my website.

The thing was, at that point in my education, I had enough experience to basically understand what was going on with each file. So, I edited them as I went, modifying them to my custom specifications.

Wouldn't you know it! When I launched the code it was broken. DOA, if you will.

I went back to the code library, and the top comment was,

INSTALL THE FILES AND MAKE SURE THEY WORK BEFORE YOU TRY TO CHANGE THEM. Everyone keeps changing things before they even test launch it and then they come back here and complain that the code is broken. IT ISN'T BROKEN.

[magicalbats]

Sanctuary Part 2 (Childe/Foul Legacy x reader)

Rating: R-18+

Word Count: 22,687

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

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

⭐

I call upon you who are in the empty air, 

You who are terrible, 

Invisible, almighty, a god of gods

You who cause destruction and desolation, 

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

You who shatter everything and are not defeated, 

I call upon you …

*~*

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Lieutenant Ajax.” 

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

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

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

“Would you have if I’d asked?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh, if he only knew the half of it. 

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

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

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

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

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

“And you’re not a very good liar.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Blessed Mother, your pussy suddenly felt so terribly empty. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Nnghn, Ah - Ajax …!” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It wasn’t enough. You still wanted more. 

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

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

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

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

“Are you sure? Right here?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But - -“ 

“I said no!” 

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

“Here. Take it.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Come. I wish to show you something.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What in the world …” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But why?” 

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

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

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

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

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

Straight into your flesh and blood body. 

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

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

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

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

Oh, how far the righteous fall. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Erm, I am sorry, Sister …?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Brow furrowing, you settle in to read: 

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

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

Lieutenant Ajax, Eleventh Company 

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

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

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

There was only one way to find out for sure. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His grin widens. “You missed me?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It might have.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Of them? 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ajax, wait! What are you doing?” 

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

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

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

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

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

You weren’t cold. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You couldn’t do this. 

It was going to kill you. 

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

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

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

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

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

“N - no ….” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then it’s moving. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Wha - -“ 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You … I hate you! I really do!” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

⭐

Crossposted: here

[munson-blurbs]

A little Eddie x bookworm!Reader fluff for my beloved @corroded-hellfire 💚 thank you for being my soulmate. You mean more to me than you’ll ever know.

The school library is your favorite place to be. Surrounded by stillness and books, rows and rows of novels that allow you to escape into your own fantasy world. You love it so much that you’ve started volunteering there after school just to embrace its feeling.

“What’re you in for?”

The voice startles you, breaking your focus of reshelving mysteries. You turn around to see Eddie Munson standing beside you, pushing a cart of paperbacks. “Wh-What?”

“The manual labor,” he clarifies, gesturing to your book stack. “I accidentally told O’Donnell to kiss my ass, so Higgins stuck me here. Guess he finally realized that detention wasn’t helping me ‘learn my lesson.’”

You’re not quite sure how someone can accidentally tell a teacher to kiss their ass, but you move on. “Oh, um, nothing. I mean, I just help out here. For fun.” You cringe at the phrasing. Yes, while most people are out partying, I hang out in the library. Try not to be jealous of how cool I am.

Eddie just nods. “Fellow bookworm, huh? Nice.” He glances around the library. “You’re really smart, right? Probably read everything in this place.”

“Pretty much,” you agree, even though it’s far from the truth. Your crush on Eddie Munson is beyond cliché: shy honors student falling for the metalhead bad boy. He leaves you both tongue-tied and rambling. “I didn’t know you liked to read, too. What’s your favorite book?”

He brings his hand to his heart as though he’s just been stabbed, stumbling back dramatically until he bumps into a bookshelf. “That’s like asking a mother to pick her favorite child,” Eddie laments, rubbing the back of his head where it collided with the shelf. When he does, his Hellfire shirt rides up slightly, exposing a pale sliver of stomach. “I love anything Tolkien writes, but pretty much anything fantasy is fair game.” He hands you a book to shelve as he asks, “What about you?”

“Fantasy’s…fantasy’s good,” you manage, embarrassed at how flustered you got by just seeing a bit of his skin. You grab another book off of his cart. “But I’m especially partial to the classics. Like Little Women.”

You expect him to scoff at that, but he just plucks a pen from his back pocket and clicks it open, scrawling the title on his calloused palm. “Little…Women.” His tongue pokes out from between his lips as he concentrates, skin not the best medium for writing. “Okay, now I’ll remember to read it.”

You spend the next hour shelving books with him and swapping stories. Eddie tells you about his band and his D&D Club, and you confide in him that you’re working on writing your own novel. His eyes widen at the information. “No shit!” he exclaims, seemingly unaware of his otherwise quiet surroundings. “How much have you written?”

“Just an outline so far,” you admit, but he’s already excited.

“Bring it with you tomorrow,” he instructs, “and I’ll read it after we’re done.”

You cock your eyebrow at this. “How many days of manual labor did Higgins give you?”

Now it’s Eddie’s turn to be bashful. “Just, uh, just the one.” His cheeks tinge pink. “But I’d like to keep talking with you.” He lets his fingers brush against yours for just a moment, but it’s enough to tell you that there’s hope for something beyond friendship here.

“Yeah, okay,” you smile, returning the empty cart to the circulation desk and shutting the lights. “Walk me to the bus stop?”

“I’ll do you one better,” he offers with a grin. “Let me give you a lift home?”

And who are you to deny this cute, metalhead, bookworm bad boy?

—

[sameschmidtdiffname]

Lapses

Billy x Gender Neutral! Reader

Summery: In the wake of death our minds begin to wander. To better times, to little moments. Reality is so fickle in the minds of the weak. But he's coming back. Eventually.

Tags: No use of Y/N, hurt/no comfort, set mostly during the nine months Reader spent grieving before Billy returned in 'My Ghost,' disassociation, distorted reality, death, references to 'Twin Peaks' (1992).

Previous Works in Series: 'My Ghost' (original) • 'Repentance' (prequel)

Warning: You should at minimum read 'My Ghost' before reading this work in the series first. (For best reading experience, please read both previous works beforehand.)

Notes: :)

-¤°》◇《°¤-

Down comes clumps of wet snow from the grey sky, falling.

                And falling.

                         And falling.

I don't know when I wake up.

The TV has been on for hours. Flashing the same photos.

He smiled at me from across the room.

Don't think. Don't perceive. Don't focus.

"I think you look pretty with your hair like that," I told him. His cheeks are so rosy when he smiles.

Smiled.

Why is he smiling?

Where is that photo even from? Have they contacted me with any new details? Check your email.

"Is the internet working? I can't get this fucking email to go through."

He left on an errand.

"Did the auto-payment go through for the bill?"

He's coming back.

"You didn't tell me that was due, I don't have anything on the account."

He's coming back.

"You don't have anything?"

He's coming back.

"I don't have anything."

What are you supposed to do after a death?

There's no guide. There's no instruction manual. Grieve, move on. That's it. That is all we know. How am I supposed to do the second if the general public disapproves so heavily of the first?

There's a long while I don't even leave my house. I lock the doors, shut the curtains tight and nail them to the walls so he can't leave. Like he's captured in my basement, wilting in the darkness as I try to preserve his voice ringing in my ears like the sirens on the TV I eventually break when I throw the remote at it in a fit of rage and desperation.

"It's a piece of shit anyways," Billy would say when he saw it again. "I always meant to buy us a new one."

First thing I did when I found out was rip open my nightstand drawer. "William, have you ever shot a man?" I ask, bolting upright as I wipe the crust from my eyes.

"What the fuck did you do? What the fuck did you do?" I whispered under my breath. "Where the fuck is the gun?in my nightstand. And if I don't get some sleep soon, I'm going to use it. I haven't before, but I can't imagine it's hard."

I tore the house apart looking for it. He's unwell. Wasn't it just last night he was curled on my bed, so sweet and small as he stared at the wall in front of him?

He didn't feel well. He said his stomach hurts. My stomach hurts. Must have been something he ate, he mentioned a mistake. He wouldn't do this of his own free will, I know him.

He walks through the living room, pulling on a jacket to fight the cold air that seeps through the thin windows.

"Whatcha watching?"

Your report "'Twin Peaks,'" I told him.

"Oh shit, seriously? I haven't seen that since high school," he laugh'sowhodoicallabouttheremains?"

"Apparently they came out with a new season," I said. "Got us a free trial if we wanna watch."

"We gotta start from the beginning. Won't make sense if we don't," he says as he throws himself and one other dead thus far against the couch, almost landing on top of me in his excitement. It makes me scream.

Our first date was a little bit of a mess. I wasn't really expecting to meet someone when I did. But I met him. And he was sweet.

"So he didn't tell you anything about this?"

I've dated. I've seen a few guys. Not to sound easy, it was only a handful. But I'd only dated one other guy seriously. It was high school, lasted all the way through. Didn't end well.

"He was running an errand. He does it all of the time."

Billy picked me up fifteen minutes early. Claimed Google overshot the time estimate to my address, so he left early. Later he admitted it was a lie.

                                   But he's not a liar. Why won't anyone believe me?

"What does he do on the errands?"

"I don't know, get groceries or something. I never asked."

                         I never wanted to know.

Billy hasd this romantic side to him. Oh yes, Mister 'Primps and Primes in Front of The Mirror For an Hour Just To Get Drinks' had a flare for the dramatics. Who would have thought? And he showed up with this grocery store bouquet of lilies and baby's breath mixed with wildflowers from the local park.

"They price the hell out of these things for half the product. Figured I'd give you the proper amount," he said with a wink.

"Did you know he was affiliated with gang activities?"

"No!" Yes. "Of course not!" I helped him pack a bag of coke about a week ago.

Did you know that I love the color blue?

                                                                        No.

Mm hmm. Had it on everything. Even dyed my hair that color in high school.

      You with blue hair? You're full of shit.

No, I'm serious! Hated the bleaching process though. Do you know how bad it looks when you grow out dark hair from neon blue?

                          I imagine It'd look co-

Ld.

                              It's cold.

It's been a week. The police have decided I have nothing to do with this. The town has nothing to do with me.

The house is in shambles. But some things are prestine. Like his ashtray sitting on the kitchen table. I kept the surface clean for him, for when he comes back. A string of photos is on the wall from when we went to the arcade and found a photo booth. Half of them are photos of us just looking at each other. Not kissing. Not smiling. Just looking. He has such gentle eyes, you know? I tried to draw them once. They're really hard. They're just so soft, just the right angle. The skin on his eyes crease so specifically. And if you don't draw them right, it doesn't look like him at all. Told him I was gonna get it perfect eventually.

"I may have to go away for a little bit."

They won't give me anything to bury. They won't let him come home. One time Billy was trapped at a bus station during a snow storm and couldn't come home. He'd been running an errand for a friend. I think I know who that friend is now. Billy could hardly even call on the phone from how bad the storm was. He was so cold. Said he wished I was here. Said how much he misses me. Said there was a rerun of 'Twin Peaks' at the station keeping him company. So I put on the same episode and stared at the TV while I waited for him to regain service and let me know where he was. I told him to give me a call when he could.

I'm at the bottom of his closet. Our closet. I don't know why I'm here.

       When I was a child, I liked small spaces

Yeah?

"This is a hard time. It's only natural that you're grieving," says my mother on the other side of the phone.

A month ago Billy sat across from me, eyes trained on the TV as we smoked our way through season two.

"If I have a psychotic break, would you reenact history for me?" He teased around his joint.

"Why don't you go to church?"

"No one talks to me there. I've tried, momma. They hate me. They keep thinking I was in on it." I helped him pack a bag of coke.

"God won't judge you."

Scientists aren't really sure what happens to your mind when you die.

I've looked it up. Once. Read an article. Well, read is a strong word. More accurately I stared at it on my ancient computer I'd had since college while I disassociated for hours on end trying desperately to concentrate. Maybe it's morbid, but when your soon-to-be husband dies in a fire one is prone to wonder about such a thing.

Recent articles suggest DMT- a psychedelic drug that can occur naturally in plants -can actually be produced by your brain in the final moments of brain activity.

"Do you think there's anything after this?" He'd asked me one time as we layed beneath the stars, sand in our hair from the beach of the lake.

"I think we see what we need so that we'll be content as we drift away."

"Studies of animals undergoing brain death have found that the organ begins to release numerous signaling molecules and creates unusual brainwave patterns to try to resuscitate itself, even as it shuts down external signs of consciousness."

I'm sorry. I can't focus anymore. On anything. I feel like my lungs are being squeezed from bottom to top like a tube of gogurt.

We were hardly paying attention to the show anymore. So smoked out it was hilarious to us, laughing at everything as we focused on nothing except for the feeling of each others skin. My hands on his cheeks, his hands covering mine so soothingly. It was so sweet when he guided me off the floor where I lay. Julee Cruise sang on the old TV. Falling, falling. All I can feel is falling as he guides me into a gentle sway across the old shag carpet lit with the mid-July sunset, holding me like I'll fall far, far away.

"I think I've fallen in love with you," Billy whispered against my ear. His breath is warm.

"Yeah?" I'm too high for this conversation. I didn't even realize how low my tolerance had gotten since the last time I smoked. "You make me feel like I'm in high school again."

We'd danced the whole night. He didn't know hardly any of the songs, causing him to be off beat. I was too drunk to keep time, so I stepped on his leather boots enough times there was a visible scuff on the top of one by the end of the night. I always felt bad, offering to replace or help pay to fix it. He wouldn't let me.

"I could die tomorrow and I'd be happy," Billy confessed in a strained voice, finally letting all of the walls come tumbling down around us to the gentle beat of the song. "I'm so glad I got to meet you."

I was so nervous during our first date that I forgot how to eat hummus properly. It sounds so silly, doesn't it? But there was something about him. He wore this white button up shirt, basic jeans that were tight on his thighs. Not that I was looking. Much. His hair was combed neatly, gelled away from his face in a chic manner. Really, he took the whole thing so seriously he almost looked like some youth pastor they would have shuffled into a room with high schoolers to play a guitar and say 'you know, I was troubled once'  before offering his story of repentance. It was so different from how he usually looked. Was he scared?

But anyways, I was so nervous that when they brought us our tray of hummus and bread to share, I took my little triangle slices and barely dipped them so to not look greedy before shoving the whole piece in my mouth one by one. I didn't even remember I was supposed to tear them apart until a week later. I was just trying to avoid double dipping.

"I think that's the first time I fell in love with you," Billy confessed. I giggle so stupidly, so incredibly high as I float on air.

"Because I was stupid?" I ask.

"Because you were sweet," he said.

There's a long moment of silence, the music swelling and making the cheap TV vibrate from the bass it was unequiped to handle.

"Tell me you'll marry me one day," he whispered.

What do you do with a ring that no one wants you to wear? I'm sorry I couldn't help you.

"Isn't it a little early for that?" I laughed softly.I'm sorry you went out on a romantic whim and borrowed money you shouldn't have for the ring I was too ashamed to wear on the proper finger. "It's only been a year." I don't even think we're dancing anymore. I think I'm sorry you couldn't come back for me.we're just swaying softly to the music flowing around us in a blind stupor, the humidity so suffocating outside that Billy shoved an electric fan in the living room window to try and blow in the cool air earlier that afternoon.

And I'm sorry for hating you when you showed up unannounced at my door.

“It shuts the door to the outside world and takes care of internal business because the house is on fire,”  says biomedical scientist Charlotte Martial of the University of Liège, who studies near-death experiences.

He looks guilty sitting on the bed, watching me fiddle with the small container in front of me.

"You can't bring much," he tells me. There's sadness in his voice, honest and tired. His clothes smell like lavender.

"It's fine," I said.

He simply stares at me, bags heavy under his eyes. He had this spark of life before he returned to me that evening. I'm so glad he's home. Things weren't the same.

"Your hair looks so pretty like that," I said, stepping closer to cup his face in my hands. The contents of my nightstand drawer stabbing the bare skin of my feet as I walk to him. He blushes, looking away in shame.

"You can't ever come back if you leave with me," he says softly.

"I have nothing to return to. Everything is gone," I insisted. But I can see he's having second thoughts, glancing down the hallway. "You can't leave me again."

"What the fuck is that?" I screamed into the phone.

"Baby, I don't know-"

"There is a manhunt for my fucking fiánce who can hardly kill a fucking spider and all you want to say is you don't fucking know?!"

There's an article staring at me. Sent by my mother just a few minutes prior. Billy had been gone for a couple hours after leaving me with a small little keychain on the kitchen table and a soft kiss on my forehead, saying he had some plans for that evening. But he'll be back soon. He wasn't lying.

"I want you to come. But you have to be sure."

His eyes are desperate, staring up at me as I stoke his hair away from his face. His clothes smell like lavender.

They finally sent him home today. Took nine months. First they had to confirm it was his remains. Then I had to decide where I wanted him to go. It's such a hard process trying to get your loved ones back, especially when you were running out of the pills that kept you sane. Kept you wrapped in the thick fog of memories left behind to damn the living in a house that has turned more into a tomb. No sunlight, no visitors. My mother came over to see us once, but the smell was so bad she left soon after. I got a new bottle today. Might as well, after all.

He looks so tired on my bed. Curled in on himself. You could fit him in a box. So small. So tired.

It's so cold.

                  "You know, today would've been our anniversary?"

Zemmar says, because “death is sort of a mystery—we don’t really know what it is.”

I wonder who found me alone in the closet of our room.

                    We were too busy dancing to notice.

▪︎》◇《▪︎

Taglist:

@cassiecasluciluce @gh0u1ishly @joshhutchersons-slut @schmidtsbimbo @sugarevans @wompwompwomp57 . Thank you for your support pookies!!! <3

Masterlist • Article

[rust-is-a-car-disease]

'What if i kms in front of someone and forevrr change the trajectory of their life?' And went and actually did it

(I didnt finish the novels theres just a lot of spoilers so most of these are just based off spoilers ive read or up to the parts i read only)

Regressor instruction manual:

Lee kiyoung dying in front of kim hyunsung bc he made a bet and didnt think he would die or smtg

Omniscient reader viewpoint(1 out of a gazillion):

Im sure this is familiar to yall. Ive been seeing posts abt this part recently

[Your fate has been realised.]

Reborn as the enemy prince:

Bern dying in front of Chase

Trash of the counts family:

Choi Jung Soo and Lee Soo Hyuk dying in front of Kim Rok Soo.

Honorary mention

Alien Stage:

Sua dying in front of Mizi. Ivan dying in front of Till.

Hyunwoo dying in front of Hyuna ig????

(Till quite literally changing his opponent life(death) by killing freddie)

[albertasunrise]

Hope - Getting Your Hopes Up

Masterlist

Summary: After Joel loses his wife and your best friend during childbirth. You support him as he takes on parenthood on his own at 22. But when feelings start to develop, you battle with the guilt you feel for falling for your best friend’s husband.

Relationships: Joel Miller x Reader

Warnings: Like AO3 I choose to give none. Read at own risk. 18+… this is to avoid spoilers! (So first chapter's a little short but I promise its building... Gonna be away for a few days one a work trip but will try get some more updates out in a few days)

Series Masterlist - Part 1

Joel had instantly sensed that something had changed between you both after the visit to Tommy’s and not for the better. You were more guarded around him. Kept a sort of, metaphorical and sometimes physical, distance from him at all times and he just couldn’t understand what had changed. He had thought the visit had gone well. You and Tommy had hit it off and his brother hadn’t stopped thanking you for the help you were so generously bestowing on him and his daughter.

Maybe that was it.

You were fed up with the sleepless nights and taking care of not only Sarah but him also. When you said you were going to move in and help, he hadn’t thought to ask how long you planned to do that. It had been a few months now. Perhaps you were at the end of your tether and he couldn’t expect you to do this forever.

You on the other hand were wracked with guilt. The feelings you had developed for Joel and the statement he’d made at Tommy’s had led you to avoid any sort of close contact with him. You thought by distancing yourself from him that it would get easier to cope with them but you were wrong. It just confused you further. His sad eyes would follow you as you flitted around the house cleaning or cooking or tending to Sarah. You knew you weren't dealing with this in the right way but there wasn't an instruction manual on this.

'Idiots guide to dealing with your crush on your dead best friend's husband.'

Yeah, there wasn't anything out there to help you navigate these feelings you felt. Then, on a rare and much-needed night out 3 months later with the girls, your friend Linda suggested you try something new.

"Speed dating?" You snorted as you sipped your Mojito.

"Don't knock it till you've tried it." Linda defended, pointing her forefinger at you as she smirked at your reaction "My sister met her fiancé doing it and they're an amazing couple."

"I'm not exactly looking for a husband right now." You chuckled, glancing at Hanna that was watching this interaction with amusement.

"Well, my tall dark and handsome over there would probably happily help you with your dry spell." She chuckled, motioning at the man who had, unbeknown to you, been glancing at you all evening "He's not been able to take his eyes off of you."

"I don't know." You grumbled, smiling at him sweetly before looking back at your friends "I don't know if I-"

"He's coming over." Linda grinned as she playfully elbowed you.

"I think it's time for another round." Piped up Hanna, winking at you "Linda, could you help."

"No… No, no Pleas-" You didn't get to finish your sentence before they were up and leaving you to fend for yourself.

Mr tall dark and handsome seemed to falter a moment before schooling his features and heading over to your table.

"Hi." He said softly, giving you a sweet smile and you felt yourself relax a little as you replied with a quiet "Hey." Back.

"Your friends are about as subtle as a dump truck." He joked and you snorted.

"Understatement."

"I'm Alec." He said, holding his hand out to shake which you accepted as you gave him your name in return.

"I uh… I gotta confess something." He said, scratching the back of his neck bashfully and you felt your pulse quicken "I uh, I'm not very good at this. I just got divorced and my buddy over there dragged me out to find someone to wet my wick."

"Think my friends were trying to achieve something similar." You chuckled "Been going through a bit of a dry spell." You confessed, your cheeks burning in embarrassment.

"Well, I guess what I'm trying to say is that I pretty much noticed you the moment you walked in with your friends and I… Well, I decided that if there was anyone I wanted to try this whole 'dating' thing with again, it was you."

"I could be a psycho for all you know." You scoffed "How could you possibly know that I was the girl you wanted?"

"Because you're the most beautiful woman I have ever seen." He stated plainly, ripping the air from your lungs "You have honest eyes."

"Honest eyes?" You chuckled and he nodded.

"You can tell a lot about a person from their eyes."

You smiled at his statement. Finding yourself taken by his dark hair and piercing blue eyes. You continued to talk, even when your friends returned with the round of drinks they had promised. They eventually left, demanding you call them with the details to which you rolled your eyes before hugging them goodbye. You stayed at the bar a little while longer. Getting to know Alec intimately. What he liked to read, cook, and do on the weekends. You learned that he had a two-year-old that he had sole custody of. The mother not wanting to be tied down by family. He lit up when you asked if he had a picture and he was quick to pull out a Polaroid that he kept in his wallet.

"My uh… My parents have Noah for the night." He said, smiling nervously at you as he took his shot "Did you uh… do you fancy coming back to my place?"

"Definitely!"

Joel was sitting staring at his mug of coffee when you made your entrance that following morning. He looked up at you briefly before returning to staring at the mug in his hands, watching the steam rise from the drink and fade into nothingness.

"Good night?" He asked, desperately trying to keep his voice steady.

"Great night." You replied, pulling a mug from the cupboard and pouring yourself some coffee from the machine "Really needed it."

"Good." He replied plainly "Glad you enjoyed yourself."

"I did." You continued, completely unaware of the tone Joel was setting "I didn't realise how badly I needed to let my hair down. The last few months haven't allowed for much fun." You chuckled and Joel scoffed.

"Sorry, we're such bores." He grumbled, taking a large swig of his coffee and your brows drew together as you turned to face him.

"You know I didn't mean it that way." You argued, feeling your heart tug a little at the thought he would think you didn't enjoy his company.

"You didn't come home last night." He stated and you felt even more confused by his attitude.

"I uh… I met someone last night and we hooked up." You replied casually, shrugging your shoulders as you blew on the coffee in your grasp.

Joel felt jealousy lick at his soul but he knew he had no right to feel that way. You were only there to help him with Sarah. He had said it himself. You and he were just friends. Nothing more.

"Right, well, would have appreciated a heads up that you weren't coming back." He grumbled, downing the last of his coffee before standing to grab himself a refill "I was worried."

You opened your mouth to argue but stopped in your tracks. You were living under his roof and you should have probably given him a heads up.

"I know sorry." You sighed "Didn't mean to worry ya." You continued as you scraped a hand over your mouth "I wasn't really thinking about you at the time."

"Figures." He snarled and you felt your fuse burn out.

"You know, I think perhaps I should move back home now." You piped up and Joel's eyes widened as he turned on his heel to look at you "Sarah's nearly 5 months old now. You don't need my help anymore."

"I-"

"I'll still be around if you need help but I think it's best if I just go home. I'm only getting in the way now."

"You're not…" Joel trailed off as he tried to find the words to say to stop you from doing this.

From leaving him.

"Sarah's so used to you being around. What if she doesn't like just me being there."

"She'll forget about me in no time." You said softly, starting to feel guilty about the decision you were making "It'll be fine Joel." You assured him "You're a great father!… You don't need me."

You moved out that night. It didn't take you long to pack the clothes you'd brought with you, packing them into your car before saying your goodbyes to Joel and Sarah and driving home. Tears flowed freely down your cheeks as you watched them disappear in the rearview mirror. You hated to leave them but you knew that if you wanted to remain friends, you had to leave. It was the right thing to do.

In the two months that followed, your and Joel's relationship started to mend. You were able to laugh together again. You continued to take care of Sarah on the days he wasn't able to but your evenings were taken up by your new relationship with Alec and his adorable son. The relationship flourished with each date and kiss you shared.

Joel watched from the sidelines as you fell hard and fast for this man. The green monster he had tried to tamp down was trying to crawl its way out every time he was near the two of you. Weekends with you, Alec and Noah had become a common occurrence. Noah seemed to enjoy showing Sarah how to play and she seemed to be just as taken by him.

"Maybe there are wedding bells in their future." Alec joked one Saturday as he watched Noah lay on his tummy on Sarah's play mat beside her. playing with her assortment of toys as she watched him with a wide grin on her face.

"They are super cute together." You piped up, chuckling as Alec wrapped his arm around you and pulled you close so he could kiss you sweetly.

"Not as cute as you too." Chuckled Tommy from his seat beside his brother "It's actually a little sickening." He said as he mimed himself vomiting and you rolled your eyes at him and flipped him off.

"You're just jealous." You teased the younger Miller as you returned to arranging the sides and cutlery on the table.

"Not much time for relationships right now." He replied with a shrug as he took a swig of his beer "What about you brother?"

"Hmm?" Joel hummed as he looked at his brother "What about me?"

"You been on any dates?"

"I'm a widow with a baby." Joel scoffed "Not much time to date between naps, changed diapers and bottle feeds."

"You know we would happily have her for an evening if wanted a night off!" You piped up, looking up at Alec who smiled and nodded at you in agreement.

"I hear there's a speed dating event going on this weekend and the Rising Sun." Alec announced as he scooped up the burgers and placed them on a bun "Didn't a friend of yours meet her fiancé at one?"

"Friend's sister but yes." You replied, "They're like the perfect couple I swear!"

"I'm not looking to date right now." Joel growled, wishing desperately for this conversation to end.

"Oh come on brother, you can't remain alone forever."

"My wife, Sarah's mum, has been dead less than a year." He snapped and rendered you all silent "I lost…" He tried off as his eyes zoned in on you, noting Alec's hand on your hip and how you leaned into him as he planned a tender kiss on your temple.

"Sorry, Joel." Piped up Tommy, pulling his attention away from you and to his brother beside him "We didn't mean-"

"I know." Joel stopped Tommy in his tracks, giving him a reassuring look as the necks of their beers clinked together "I'm just not sure I'm ready for anything new right now."

"You know where we are when you are." Alec piped up "We're here for you."

"Always." You said, giving Joel a nod before looking up at Alec adoringly.

Joel said nothing more. He watched as you and Alec shared what could only be described as a loving kiss and Joel could do nothing but watch. Muttering what he was about to say under his breath as he sipped his beer.

"I lost my chance with her." His eyes didn't leave you as you giggled at Alec cheekily grabbing your ass as you started to carry the burgers over to the table "I blew my chance at loving her."

Next

For updates follow @albertasunrise-ficsblog

[bloopitynoot]

Reading SVSSS: Bonus- Chapter 29

For those who don't know, I am reading SVSSS for the first time and sharing my thoughts!

If you have not read it, there will be spoilers! Consider this a warning.

Also- if you want to follow along, I am aiming to post updates daily. You can find all the posts in the tag bloopitynoot reads SVSSS. You can also check out the intro post for context on my read.

Thank fuck it's saturday and I have nothing to do because it has been a busy time!

Today I have a sad protein shake (because I bought an entire container of it and I WILL use it all even though it is deeply unpleasant). I've got cute little pumpkins though?

Alright- let's get into this absolute disaster of a chapter LOL.

Pre chapter reading thoughts based on the title: I have been WAITING the entire book for this moment. I can't wait to start this omg.

I'm SCREAMING. I thought this was going to be the actual story/song but instead it's just them reading porn about themselves. ahahah pp305-306

Good for SQQ for being pissed on Binghe's behalf! The author of that story wrote smut about an underage kid with an adult yeah that is very fucked. p306

"flirtation in the water prison" I'm wheezing at this chapter title. p308

Jesus. If anyone thought there was even a bit of truth to this story... I can see why people were shaken when they found out the two were actually together. (the cultivators/gentry being upset- not so much the common people). p309

Also. the fact that SQQ is not upset at the graphic scene where consent is very dubious (if there is any at all) but rather he's upset at the fact that the crying is unrealistic LOL it would NEVER be him but LBH who would be sobbing during sex. p309

omg. and the necrophilia. p311 This is everything I feared the actual story would be.

not related to chis chapter but a reflection on other chapters LOL Tianlang-jun fucking LOVED this story and now that I know what is in it- WHAT THE FUCK LOL. He was just over there straight up reading the most unholy porn about his kid being like "aww that's nice"

Dang this story is really just about these two exploring every kink and taboo sex act while SQQ get's repeatedly railed. p314

omg I can't. This is not "instructional material" pls omg. Someone in this time must have made actual manuals/educational material this baby can study. this isn't it. pp314-315

oh god. Not Bingqiu pt 2; electric boogaloo. Where the second book is worse than the first. p315

If I had an eject button, I would hit it right now. Fact about me- one of my undergrad majors was in sexuality and I-; 1. pls let that not be actual wine because this man is about to see god with how drunk he will be. 2. GLSS!! especially GLASS NOT BUILT TO BE IN A BODY. 3. ALWAYS USE A FLARED BASE. I AM SO SCARED RN. pp216-317

SQQ and I have the same question "You..what exactly did you read?" p322

What the fuck

That was more of an experience I wanted for 9am on a Saturday.

[froggywritesstuff]

lego flowers | teddy lobo

ship/pairing: Teddy Lobo x g/n!reader

fandom: Renfield

request: anon: pleasseeee teddy x gn reader fluff??? Post movie, renfield revives him and he's learning how to be a good person?? Xx

content warnings: ooc (probably), mentions of death/murder, idk how to write endings, swearing, teddy's insecure and an idiot, fluff, confessions of love, barely proofread

word count: 1357

A/N: i started and rewrote this three times cause i got so embarrassed thinking someone actually wants to read this and they specifically asked me to write it like ahh

When you’re dating Teddy Lobo, you say goodbye to most of the normal things in life. One thing being you never have to wait in line at the shops anymore. You don’t love the fact that it’s because half the people in the room are terrified of the Lobo’s and the other half are basically owned by the Lobo’s but what can you do? You could end the relationship, cut off all contact and start a relationship with someone not so dangerous and unpredictable. But your heart tends to speak louder than your brain some days.

Unfortunately, you had found yourself rather infatuated with Teddy. While he was rough around the edges, you really did love his company, and he had shown you that he loved yours. While engaging in romantic relationships with any member of the Lobo family - or any crime family for that matter - definitely isn’t the smartest thing to do, you can’t deny how happy you are with him. 

You weren't expecting him to die... then be revived by the same person who killed him. Any-who, you postponed going to therapy and helped Teddy move into your apartment (since he was legally dead and that's kind of an issue when it comes to renting a place to live in). There really wasn't much difference to your relationship since you basically lived with him before. However your apartment had much space less than the Lobo mansion had. Teddy however? He was acting differently. You supposed that dying and being brought back to life would do that to someone. Though physically, he was the same - he still had the black slicked back hair he thought made him look badass, and the big brown puppy dog eyes that severely contrasted his supposed badass look. But when he spoke, he seemed more reserved and careful, like he was overthinking every word he said to you. It was almost unnerving hearing him talk to you for the first time since he had been brought back. His cocky, arrogant demeanour was there but so faint you could barely recognise it. He reminded you of how he acted when you first started dating

When he texted you for help, you assumed he was still an idiot - something not even death could change - and hurt himself or got into more trouble with the police. You weren't expecting this.

You rushed home to your now shared apartment, welcomed by Teddy's loud swearing from your bedroom. You make your way to him, and knock on the door, your ears picking up the sound of his voice muttering a string of curses in frustration.

”Teddy? It's me.”

“Fuck- one sec.” you hear him sigh. The door is pulled open and you’re met with Teddy. His hair is dishevelled and his face has a frustrated expression, but his face soon softens when he sees you.

"What'd you need help with?" you ask, and you can just make out the red hue on his cheeks. 

“Uh…” he presses his lips together, before stepping out of the door frame. On the floor you see a pile of lego bricks, spread out in no particular order. The instructions are discarded off to the side, so you’re sure Teddy didn’t spare a glance at them. You walk further inside his room and inspect the lego further, seeing majority of the pieces resembling red flower petals.

"You're making lego flowers?" you see him nod his head, "Ok sure, why not…" you mutter, sitting cross legged in front of the pile of lego.

"So can you help me?"

You grab the instruction manual, “Yeah I’ve nothing better to do.” 

Teddy follows you, sitting beside you on the floor. He leans toward you to see the instructions, but you know he’s not registering anything he’s reading. You don't think he's even reading.

"I'm guessing you didn't read these?" you ask, despite knowing the answer.

An exasperated and embarrassed sigh leaves his pink lips, "They were too confusing, they didn't help."

You can't help but laugh softly at his words. He looks at you, eyebrows furrowed slightly, "Teddy it's lego. You just add one piece to another piece."

He rolls his eyes, the corner of his lips turning upwards, "Don't act like I should be ashamed for being bad at lego."

"Oh, you should definitely be ashamed."

"Well if you're so good at lego then help me already."

"I am and I will." you smile at him before grabbing some bricks from the pile and putting them together as the instructions say. You see him looking at the lego in your hands so you make sure to make the flower slower than usual, hoping he'll pay attention and be able to make one on his own. In a matter of minutes, you're holding a completed lego flower. "One down, eleven more to go."

"Eleven?!" he almost whines as he holds his head in his hands.

You roll your eyes, "Don't be a baby, it won't take that long." you shuffle closer to him to give him a better view of the instructions, "Come on, let's both make these and we'll get it done quicker." You're certain he'll slow you down but you know it'll be more fun doing it with him.

He lifts his head away from his hands and hesitantly grabs some pieces that match the ones printed on the instructions. After quite a bit of struggling and rebuilding (somehow he managed to completely break the lego into pieces just when he was almost finished), he successfully put together some lego.

He rolls his eyes when you start applauding and pretending to tear up, "I feel like you're patronising me."

"I can't imagine why."

You almost don't want to finish this bouquet. You haven't been able to spend genuine quality time with him in a long time. And you're not complaining about how pretty he looks in the evening sunlight, his face screwed together in concentration. But surprisingly it doesn't take as much time as you thought it would. Teddy places the last piece onto the rose which he adds to the bouquet and lifts it up hesitantly.

"Do you feel accomplished?" 

He thinks before answering (something you're still not used to), "No, not really."

"Great. So now what?" he just shrugs, staring intently at the bouquet. You stand up from the floor, "We should probably start making dinner."

“Wait,” he stands up, awkwardly looking down at the lego in his hands. He looks bashful as ever holding out the lego bouquet to you. “Fuck this is stupid. I wanted to make these for you, cause real flowers just die. And I wanted to thank you for still being with me and helping me through everything. You’re a beautiful fucking person who deserves flowers that don’t just die... I wanna be better than I used to be, and you're a big part of why. It took me literally dying to come to this, but I don't wanna die and not come back and leave you with a bunch of shitty memories of me being an asshole."

"You did this for me?" you can barely process his words as he places the lego in your hands, and his hands wrap around yours in the process.

"I-I know they're dumb, I just thought it would be cute and dumb." he sighs.

Your hands grip the lego tighter, your heart swelling, "It is cute Teddy. And I think you're really sweet for doing it. Even if I did most of the work."

"Can I make dinner for you? You won't need to help me at all, I promise."

You smile at him, "I'd love for you to make dinner for me." your hand reaches out to cup his cheek, "If you want to and not because you feel like you have to prove you're not an asshole." his eyes meet yours and his eyebrows knit together slightly, "I love you and whatever shitty memories you think I have of you being an asshole do not affect how much I love you."

He smiles at you, and you know it's a genuine smile, "I love you too."