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thatbloodymuggle · 2 months ago

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MASTERMIND (vii)

SEVEN - THE MANUSCRIPT

SUMMARY: A child of light and dark, you are the Night Court’s best kept secret. After decades spent in hiding, you yearn to stretch your wings. But you quickly learn that freedom comes with a price, as you find yourself trying to outfox the fox in his own den.

PAIRING: eris vanserra x reader

WORD COUNT: 9.2k

SERIES MASTERLIST

WARNINGS: language, heavy angst, love confessions, cliff hanger

The afternoon sun filters through the curtains of your new apartment, casting a warm glow over the freshly furnished space. Velaris lays sprawled beneath you, and the fifth story height gives you an incredible view of the Illyrian mountains in the distance. The studio is modest compared to the grandeur of the House of Wind. But despite the downsizing of your bed and the slightly cramped organization of furniture, it holds a certain freedom—one you haven’t known before, one that lets you breathe more clearly.

A soft breeze seeps through the French doors you keep ajar as you settle into a chair by the balcony. You sink into the comfort of the plush seat as you begin sifting through the pile of documents that has accumulated over the past few weeks. Your work as Scholar has become a reprieve during this period of change. The intricacies of ancient texts and political correspondences offer a semblance of normalcy that have kept you grounded since your return to the Night Court. But as enjoyable as your work has been, the golden rays shining through the windows make the pile of parchment in front of you seem like more of a chore than usual. You try to immerse yourself in your work, but you keep finding your gaze being drawn to the city outside.

“Enjoying the view?” a gruff voice sounds from behind you.

You shriek and jump in your seat, sending papers flying through the air. You whip around, and your frantic heartbeat settles as you lay eyes on the intruder.

Cassian grins back at you with a devilish glint in his hazel eyes. You narrow your own into a menacing glare as you gather the jumbled mess of parchment from the ground.

“Is privacy a foreign concept for Illyrians? Or do you just take pleasure in barging in whenever you see fit?” you grumble.

Cassian chuckles as he leans against the doorframe. His gaze wanders over the mess of documents scattered across the floor, but he makes no move to help you. “Rhys sent me to fetch you. He’s called an urgent meeting about treaty developments.”

You roll your eyes, “My point still stands. You could’ve knocked.”

The general raises an eyebrow, “Where’s the fun in that?” He pushes off the doorframe and offers you a hand. You reluctantly take it, letting him pull you up from the ground. “I’m just trying to save you from drowning in paperwork. Besides, I heard the new developments are big. Figured you’d want to be there.”

You dust off your hands and meet his gaze, a mischievous smile ghosting over your lips. “How big are we talking? Fate-of-the-world big or just enough to make me question my sanity?”

Cassian’s grin widens, “A little bit of both. It’s not every day we get to negotiate peace treaties with horny high lords with a penchant for trouble.”

You sigh, stretching your limbs, “Fine, I’ll come. But only if you promise to not sneak up on me like that again. I nearly had a heart attack.”

“Deal,” Cassian lies through a toothy grin. “But only if you promise not to screech like that again. I swear you nearly ruptured my ear drums.”

You cross your arms over your chest, “I suggest you keep that in mind next time you decide to barge in unannounced.”

“Noted,” Cassian replies, “Shall we?”

You grab a jacket and head toward the door, with Cassian falling into step beside you. “Lead the way, then. And try to keep your snark to a minimum until after the meeting, okay?”

Cassian chuckles again, his tone light and teasing, “No promises. After all, what’s life without a little mischief?”

As you stroll through the lively streets of Velaris, the conversation flows effortlessly. Cassian’s banter provides a welcome distraction from the glaringly unresolved areas of your life. Most notably, a certain half-sister.

Your return to the Night Court has been smoother than you anticipated. Feyre and Elain have been incredibly kind and courteous, Amren has treated you like you never left, and Azriel and Cassian welcomed you with open arms—literally, they tackled you to the floor. You’ve even found yourself spending more time with Nesta, whom you now regularly exchange books with. All is good—all except Mor.

You know your sister well. You know that she can hold a mean, unrelenting grudge. But you’ve never found yourself on the opposing end, receiving the brunt of her anger. She hasn’t so much as looked at you since your return, evading every attempt you make to talk to her. At first, guilt consumed you. The disdainful look in her eye threw you back into the slew of emotions you felt while you were at Autumn—the feeling that you were committing a grave betrayal to your only family. But as the weeks have passed, guilt has transformed into something more bitter. How are you meant to repair your relationship, when she won’t so much as meet your eye?

“I can practically hear the gears turning in your head. Penny for a thought?” Cassian’s rumbling voice halts your train of thought.

You tilt your head upwards to meet his gaze. He towers over you, but despite his size, his playful eyes resemble that of a puppy. “Nothing,” you smile softly, “Just thinking about being back here. I missed it a lot.”

His mouth stretches into a toothy grin, “So you missed me?”

You smile turns into a glower, “I didn’t say that.”

“Don’t be embarrassed, Bookworm. I know you’re in love with me,” he drawls, “And although I’m a taken man, I’m sure Nes wouldn’t mind inviting a third into the bedroom.”

Your cheeks flare and you slap him harshly. He doesn’t so much as flinch, but his face pales at your next words.

“Don’t think for a minute that I’m above tattling on you, Batboy. I’m sure Nesta won’t be so amused at your perversion.”

“You wouldn’t.”

You cock a brow, “Don’t test me.”

“Touché,” he relents.

A proud grin curls onto your lips at the trivial victory. But the smirk is immediately wiped from your face as Cassian lunges towards you. The scream has barely left your lips when he wraps you tightly in his arms and soars into the air.

“I’m going to kill you!” Your cry is barely audible through the wind whipping around you, but you can feel the rumble of Cassian’s laugh. Despite your anger, you cling to him for dear life. This isn’t your first time flying with him, but the stomach lurching feeling of soaring through the air never ceases to surprise you. You shut your eyes tightly, willing the nausea to stay put in your gut.

The second your feet touch the ground, you lunge at the Illyrian warrior. Much to your displeasure, he expertly avoids your right hook. You send another his way, which he easily catches in his own hand.

“Let me have one,” you grunt, “I deserve it.”

His hazel eyes glisten with amusement. “You’re gonna have to try harder than that, nerd.”

A growl rips through your throat, but before you can throw yourself at him once more, the High Lady’s commanding voice slices through the air.

“Would you two quit bickering for once?”

The stern look on Feyre’s face leaves no room for debate. Reluctantly, you step away from Cassian.

“Sorry, your highness,” he dips his head in apology, but his irksome smirk remains.

“I’m not,” you glower at him.

Feyre rolls her eyes but doesn’t comment on your obstinance. Instead, she beckons you forward. “Well come on, then. Everyone else is here.”

You fall into step beside her, leaving Cassian trailing behind. As you enter the River House, you run through a million different ways to enact your revenge on him. From the quirk in Feyre’s lips, you know that she is listening to your sadistic thoughts. A delicious smell wafts through the air, eliciting a growl from your stomach. As freeing as living on your own has been, the one pitfall is cooking for yourself—hence, the drool that’s all but dripping from your chin when the doors of the dining room swing open, revealing a full feast of food.

Any lingering bitterness is swept away at the sight. You eagerly take a seat at the table, barely acknowledging the rest of the Inner Circle. Even as the chatter around you dies down, you still can’t take your eyes off the spread before you. You don’t hesitate to pile an assortment of dishes onto your plate: roasted chicken, potatoes, and vegetables galore. But before you can take your first bite, an expectant cough stops you.

“Do you have any manners?” Cassian quips.

You narrow your eyes into a menacing glare. The rest of the Inner Circle watches, eyes wide with surprise at your uncharacteristic behavior.

“I skipped lunch.”

You shove a forkful of chicken into your mouth, nearly moaning at the taste.

“Who the hell thought you living on your own would be a good idea?” Azriel grumbles from beside you, but the playful glint in his eye betrays him.

“Your High Lord,” you mumble through a mouthful of food.

Nesta crinkles her nose in disgust as crumbs fall from your mouth. Regret is painted across Rhys’s face, to which you only shovel another forkful.

“Pig,” Amren chimes in.

You give her a bright, shining middle finger.

You scan the room and frown at the empty spot beside Azriel. “Where’s sister dearest?” you ask after swallowing.

“Not feeling well,” Rhys averts his gaze as he lies through his teeth. Irritation courses through you but you merely roll your eyes, keeping the snide remark to yourself.

“In other news,” Feyre says, “Treaty negotiations have been moving along.”

Rhys nods, grateful for the change in subject. “We’ve made as much progress as possible from afar. It seems that a summit is necessary to solidify tentative agreements and work out the remaining kinks.”

Although you are still fully engrossed by the food in front of you, your ears perk up at the news. With two years passed since the War on Hybern, it’s about time the High Lords put their egos aside and meet.

“It’s about time,” Amren grumbles, voicing your inner thoughts.

Everyone nods in agreement. Despite the easiness, you can’t help but notice the way Feyre shifts in her seat and Rhys avoids her gaze. You narrow your eyes slightly at their nervous energy and set your fork down in anticipation of what’s to come.

“In an act of good faith, we’ve offered to host negotiations here in Velaris.”

There it is. A conglomerate of protests immediately erupts. Thanks to the mortal queens, Velaris is no longer a sanctuary hidden from Prythian. But the prospect of inviting a cohort of power-hungry High Lords into it is…daunting, to say the least.

Rhys raises his hand, ceasing everyone’s chattering with the gesture. His gaze sweeps over the gathered members of his Inner Circle with his usual calm authority. “I know it’s less than ideal. But think of it as an olive branch, of sorts. Hosting here in Velaris is not only a display of our transparency, but it also emphasizes the strategic importance of these negotiations.”

The tension in the air is clear. But no one dares to argue, as his commanding tone leaves little room for debate, and much to everyone’s displeasure, Rhys is right. Although the more…disagreeable High Lords were willing to overlook the Night Court’s deceptions during the war, that tolerance can only last so long now that the dust has settled.

“Who will be attending?” Azriel’s voice is quiet but sharp.

“And each court will be represented?” Amren’s eyes narrow in suspicion.

“Every High Lord and their chosen entourages,” Rhys confirms, his voice steady. “Even Beron has agreed, though I suspect his motives are less than pure.”

You tense at the mention of the High Lord of the Autumn Court. His name leaves a bitter taste in your mouth, and your raging appetite suddenly subsides. You push your plate away with a grimace. A contemplative silence hangs in the air as everyone digests the information, weighing the risks and benefits. Before anyone can voice another concern, Feyre leans forward.

“And to the mark the beginning of these negotiations, we thought it might be good to host a ball.”

The room falls silent again.

“A ball,” Cassian deadpans.

Feyre’s lips twitch in amusement. “A ball, gala, soirée, whatever you’d like to call it. A formal event to welcome the High Lords and their families into the city. It’s more than just a social gathering; it’s a statement. A public display of unity for all of Prythian to see.”

A lump forms in your throat. Not just the High Lords, but their families. Which can only mean one thing…

“A strategic move,” Amren muses, nodding slowly, “It could help set a positive tone for the negotiations.”

“It’s risky,” Azriel murmurs, his shadows swirling restlessly as he considers the implications. “But it could work.”

Cassian leans back in his chair with a groan. Nesta gives him a pointed look, silencing any impending complaints.

“Think of it as more than just a celebration,” Rhys folds his hands over the table in a subtle display of power, “It’s an opportunity to control the narrative. It’s a chance to remind everyone that Velaris is not just a city, but the beating heart of our Court—it’s a reminder of what we could build together.”

Any residual hesitation seems to vanish with his rather convincing argument. But despite the positive shift in energy, your mind is racing. The thought of seeing Eris again—of being in the same room, breathing the same air—sends a wave of conflicting emotions crashing over you: anxiety, panic, and dread, tied together by a small sliver of hope.

“As for logistics, we’ll need everyone’s help for preparation—”

“I’ll handle the décor,” Amren eagerly cuts in. A glint of excitement shines in her cold eyes at the prospect of decorating the place with jewels and gaudy, shiny things alike.

“And I’ll manage security,” Azriel adds, his wings flaring out slightly behind him. “With so many powerful players in one place, we can’t afford to be careless.”

“Good,” Rhys nods before turning to you. You can feel his searing gaze, but you focus your own on the half-finished food on your plate. “And you—your knowledge of the Autumn Court will be invaluable in these negotiations. I’ll need you close at hand.”

Everyone shifts at the indirect mention of your…escapade in Autumn. But you don’t so much as flinch at his words. Instead, you nod, the weight of responsibility settling over you like a cloak. “Understood.”

As discussions of the impending negotiations continue, you find yourself mentally withdrawing. Still, the calm façade you’ve maintained so well doesn’t crack. But your heart pounds with the suspense of what’s to come.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Over the past week, a nervous energy has been humming around Velaris in anticipation of the big day. It’s been chaotic, to say the least, with High Fae and citizens alike running around in preparation of the High Lords’ summit. Despite the severe lack of sleep and constant ache in your feet, event preparations have been a welcome distraction. But the day has finally come, effectively ending your temporary reprieve. And as you rifle through the gowns in Nesta’s closet, reality starts to really settle in.

“What about this one?” Nesta pulls out an emerald, green gown that leaves little to the imagination. You eye the deep cut and skin-tight material with a frown.

“If I want to look like a child playing dress up, then sure,” you quip. You throw your head back with a groan and sit on the edge of her bed in defeat. “I don’t have the boobs to pull any of this off.”

Nesta rolls her eyes and places yet another dress back on the rack. “I really don’t know what you were expecting. Why don’t you just suck it up and go ask Mor?”

You stare at her in disbelief.

“Don’t look at me like that,” she snips, “You know I’m right.”

You grunt in disapproval, but don’t protest. Picking an argument with Nesta is a losing battle, after all.

“Why couldn’t I be blessed with tits as big as yours?” you recline on her bed with a sigh.

Nesta shrugs, still sifting through the closet. “You could always ask Rhys to work his magic. Or Feyre. If she can sprout wings, I’m sure she can magically grow you a cup size or two.”

You launch a pillow in her direction which she swiftly dodges. “I am not asking for a magic boob job.”

You can’t help but giggle at the notion and Nesta follows suit. As ridiculous as the thought is, you long to see the look on Feyre or Rhys’s face if you did ask them.

“Maybe I’ll just wear a trash bag,” you muse aloud, “Or my birthday suit.”

“That’ll be sure to catch Eris’s attention.”

You throw another pillow in her direction.

“What about this one?” Nesta dodges your attack.

You sit up on the bed, ready to shoot down yet another dress. But the rejection halts in your throat as you take in the gown before you. Like the others, this one has a deep v-cut. But the bodice cinches at the waist before flowing down in a river of chiffon. The deep, sapphire hue is decorated with silver embroidery, delicate threads winding like constellations across the fabric. Tiny crystals are scattered throughout the design, catching the light and shimmering like stars in the night sky. The elegance is understated: a perfect blend of boldness and grace that leaves you momentarily speechless.

“That could work,” you state lamely.

A proud grin curls onto Nesta’s lips. “I suppose the twentieth try is the charm.” She tosses the dress towards you, and you swiftly catch it. “Now that that’s sorted, I think it’s time we play dress-up, then.”

You and Nesta fall into a comfortable rhythm, pinning your hair and dusting make-up over your cheeks in between bits of chatter. Despite her hard exterior, you’ve taken a liking to the eldest Archeron since your return to the Night Court. She never beats around the bush—a quality you deeply admire. Talking to her doesn’t necessarily take your mind off your worries, but rather makes them seem far less daunting.

Just as you zip up your gown, a knock sounds on the door of her bedroom.

“Come in,” Nesta calls from her seat in front of her vanity. You divert your gaze from your reflection in the full-length mirror to find Cassian in the doorway. His wings are tucked tightly behind him to fit through the opening far too small for the likes of a 6-foot-something Illyrian warrior. He’s swapped his typical attire of leathers out in favor of a sleek, black suit. His unruly hair is tied back neatly, save for a few strands of hair.

Despite his intimidating stature, he stares at Nesta like a lovesick puppy. “Wow,” he stumbles breathlessly, “You look beautiful. Both of you.”

He doesn’t so much as glance in your direction, and you roll your eyes.

“You look less slobbish than usual,” you quip. Nesta snickers, but your insult doesn’t register to Cassian, whose eyes remained trained on his mate. You wrinkle your nose in disgust as you can practically smell his arousal permeating the room.

“And that’s my cue,” you sigh. You take one last glance in the mirror before turning on your heels. You send Nesta a soft smile and pat Cassian’s shoulder on your way out. “Try to keep it in your pants ‘till after the ball, okay?”

You don’t stick around to hear his sounds of protest, swiftly slipping out of the room and down the hallway. Your heart skips a beat as you glance up at the grandfather clock down the hall. 8:06 PM. You take a deep breath before squinting your eyes shut and willing the world to twist and fold around you. Cool air envelopes you as you land outside of the River House. The buzz of Night Court citizens filtering through the front doors fills your ears. You wipe your clammy hands along the chiffon fabric of your gown before joining the crowd. You keep your footsteps steady to counter the frantic beat of your heart. You’re nearly at the steps leading to the ballroom when a hand gently grasps your elbow, pulling you aside.

“Can we talk for a moment?” Rhys whispers in your ear. You turn to find him standing in the shadows.

“Of course,” you reply, following him to a quiet corner on the side of the house.

He produces a small, green vial from within his tailored jacket. The liquid inside shimmers under the soft glow of the crescent moon. “Angel’s Blade,” he says calmly, as if discussing the weather.

Your eyes widen in surprise, and you tentatively take the vial from his hands. You know what it is. You know that a single drop is enough to ensure a slow, painful death. Yet, you still utter the word aloud for confirmation. “Poison?”

“A little something to help Eris with Beron’s assassination.” Rhys speaks lowly, wary of any potential eavesdroppers. “The plan is simple—Beron needs to sign the treaty at the summit. After that, Eris can do as he pleases with him, and our debts to him are paid.”

You’re rendered speechless as you process the implications. There’s been little to no discussion of Rhys’s alliance with Eris since your return to Velaris—probably for your sake. In fact, you’d assumed it had disintegrated entirely once Eris figured out that Rhys had sent you to Autumn to spy on him. And now, here he is, not only acknowledging it, but asking for your involvement.

“You want me to give this to Eris?” you ask in disbelief.

Rhys nods, his gaze softening as he senses your unease. “Only if you feel comfortable with it. I’m not asking you to do anything you’re not ready for. But I trust you, and I trust your judgment.”

You swallow hard and stare down at the small vial in your palm. “I’ll do it,” you finally reply. Even though it terrifies you, the decision feels right. “I’ll give it to him.”

“Thank you,” Rhys murmurs, squeezing your shoulder gently before releasing you, “Just…be careful.”

You nod, tucking the vial into a hidden pocket of your gown.

“You look beautiful tonight, by the way,” he smiles down at you. His lips curl into a teasing smirk, “Looks like you didn’t need a magic boob job to fit into Nesta’s dress, after all.”

A flush crawls up your neck, but the embarrassment on your face quickly morphs into irritation. You slap his shoulder, eyes narrowed in a menacing glare as he cackles like a madman.

“Is Azriel the only male of the house who isn’t a pervert?” you hiss, hitting him again for good measure.

Rhys reaches forward to tousle your hair, but you swat him away. “Oh, trust me, my little scholar, Az is the most perverted of us all. Don’t let the gentle giant façade fool you.”

You stifle a giggle, refusing to give him the satisfaction of your amusement. You turn on your heel to stroll back towards the crowd. As you part, he calls after you.

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

You glance at him over your shoulder, “That’s a pretty short list, oh Mighty High Lord.”

Rhys’s laughter fades into the background as you push through the crowd and make your way towards the ballroom. Your jaw all but drops as you enter the large room.

The grandeur of the scene before you is staggering—chandeliers drip with crystals, the tapestries depicting the history of Velaris adorn the walls, and the dance floor is flooded with Fae in exquisite attire. The sweet scent of jasmine hangs in the air, mingling with the soft melodies that drift from the orchestra at the far end of the room. You catch glimpses of familiar faces—members of the Inner Circle mingling with high-ranking nobles and foreign dignitaries—but you’re too distracted to greet them, your mind occupied by the weight of the vial in your pocket. You help yourself to a glass of wine to settle your unease, but to no avail.

And then, across the sea of dancers and courtiers, you see him.

For a moment, the world narrows to just him, and everything else fades into the background. The sight of him hits you like a physical blow, your heart lurching in your chest. Eris stands with a group of Autumn Court nobles, looking every bit the poised and calculated heir. When his amber eyes lock onto yours, time stops completely.

They say that your life flashes before your eyes just before you die. You haven’t thought much about death, being immortal. But for a split second, you feel yourself teetering on the brink of that quiet unknown. Those amber eyes are like a movie screen, reeling every memory, every fleeting touch, every unspoken confession. Twisted bedsheets in the watermill cottage, healing light engulfing blood-streaked skin, cool silver slipping around your thumb. Looking at him feels like throwing your freshly mended heart into the pits of fire. The alcohol running through your veins suddenly feels scorching, burning every inch of your skin. And for the first time since you fled Autumn, battered and broken, that feeling deep inside your chest transforms from a dull tug into a debilitating yank. Your body moves with a mind of its own. But just as you take a step forward, amber eyes are gone, replaced with the expanse of a broad chest.

The polite smile you force onto your lips immediately falls as you move your gaze upwards. You stifle a gasp at the sight of crimson hair, so similar to that which has plagued your mind over the past three months. But the man before you isn’t him—his face is too narrow, his nose too crooked.

“I don’t believe we’ve been introduced,” his voice is cold, laced with an unmistakable Vanserra edge. His similarity to Eris is striking—but the russet eyes staring down at you hold something more sinister. You involuntarily shiver, but force on a smile which doesn’t quite reach your eyes.

“I don’t believe we have,” you dip your head into a courteous nod.

His lips stretch into a vicious grin, “Bastion Vanserra. And you are?” The question, seemingly innocent, feels like a calculated move in a chess game.

You swallow down the lump in your throat, “Y/N.”

He repeats your name, delighting in the way it rolls off his tongue. Your shoulders stiffen as he grabs your hand in his and raises it to his lips. You fight the urge to pull away as he presses a taunting kiss to your knuckles.

“May I steal you for a dance?” he asks.

No.

“Sure,” you nod, the gesture alone feeling heavy. As he leads you to the center of the ballroom, the music swells around you—an intricate waltz that seems to mock your inner chaos. The dancers around you swirl in a graceful blur, but all you can focus on is the scorching touch of Baston’s hand on the small of your back, the way his gaze occasionally flickers to you with a scrutinizing edge.

“Forgive me if I seem forward,” Bastion says, “but you are truly…exquisite. I’ve heard much about you—Rhysand’s new scholar. What a shame he hasn’t graced us with your presence sooner.”

The words are pleasant, but they feel like they’re coming from a distance, muffled by the pounding of your heart. You force another faux smile, “I’m flattered. I’ve heard much about you as well.”

His eyes narrow slightly with hair-raising scrutiny. Although you know the Vanserra family doesn’t possess Daemati powers, you still double check that the cobblestone barriers of your mind are intact.

“And what have you heard?” he replies smoothly as he twirls you around.

The question hangs in the air between you, a challenge disguised as benevolent curiosity. “Only that you’re a man of considerable influence.”

His lips curl into a feline smirk. But just as quickly as the vicious glint in his eyes appears, it vanishes entirely as a rumbling voice cuts in.

“‘Considerable’ is one way to put it. ‘Inconsequential’ is another.”

The blood rushes from your face, leaving you ashen and awe-struck. You don’t register the scowl on Bastion’s face or the change in tempo of the music; all you can hear is the thundering beat of your heart. Baston’s hands slip from yours, but all you can feel is that golden thread pulling taut in your chest. The younger Vanserra brother retreats, and a pair of familiar hands slip around your waist. His touch is electrifying, giving life to breath. And when he spins you around, the bustling crowd ceases to exist.

Amber captivates you once more. Eris’s eyes are slightly darker than you remember, and the playful smirk that used to make you swoon is gone. Still, the male before you feels like home. There’s a hundred things you want to say, but the syllables catch in your throat. Instead, you let him guide you across the dance floor, resting one hand on his shoulder and placing the other in his. Déjà vu washes over you as you glide together. There is no wreath atop his head and your red silk has been swapped for a deep sapphire, but just like the first night you met, the pull between you is undeniable, magnetic; this time, accompanied by an invisible, golden string.

“So, your master has finally freed you from your leash, and the first thing you do is run into the arms of a Vanserra?” Venom drips from his lips. “I would say it’s quite unbecoming, darling, but I suppose you can’t teach an old dog new tricks.”

You take the insult in stride, letting it roll off your shoulders.

“The fox smells his own hole first,” you quip seamlessly despite the storm of emotions brewing just beneath your surface.

He wears a malevolent grin. “I see your sharp tongue is still intact. Nice to know that wasn’t a part of your little act as well.” You suck in a breath as he dips down, his breath tickling your skin as he whispers, “Tell me, Y/N, does Dear Old Dad know yet?”

You nearly lose your footing as your name—not Athena, not Little Bird—rolls off his tongue. You choose to ignore his goading question. Instead, you trail your hand down from his shoulder. The first few buttons of his silk shirt are undone, and you settle your hand on the bare skin of his chest. His eyes are void of emotion, but you can feel the rapid uptick of his heartbeat underneath your palm.

You dig your nails slightly into his chest, right where you know he can feel the bond. Your lips brush against his ear as you whisper, “You’re so quick to call me on my shortcomings, Fox—so quick to forget that you kept secrets from me too.” The invisible string between you thrums in agreement. “But I digress,” you sink your nails into his skin, relishing in the way he returns the favor around your waist, “It seems we are but two sides of the same coin, after all.”

Ire flashes in his otherwise empty eyes. He tightens his grip around you once before releasing you entirely, just as the song comes to a close. “I’m growing tired of this game. If you’ll excuse me—”

You wrap a hand around his wrist and tug him back towards you, effectively cutting him off. He tries to yank himself away, but your grip is relentless. You stand on your tip toes, and whisper into his ear, “If you want to take care of your Dear Old Dad,” he tenses, eyes widening at your brashness, “You’ll meet me at the close of the night.”

Eris grits his teeth, but doesn’t react for fear of drawing unwanted attention. “Not here,” he mumbles.

“Fine. In the city, then.” You trail your hand over the center of his chest once more, “You’ll know how to find me.” You brush your lips against his cheek in a chaste kiss. While seemingly polite, the gesture only adds flame to his raging fire. “Till we meet again, Eris Vanserra.”

You don’t dare look back as you slip away. You keep your eyes forward and your steps steady to counteract the frantic beat of your heart. The music feels far away as you weave through the crowd, tactfully avoiding all of your friends.

The moment you step outside the grand ballroom, the cool night air hits you like a wave, washing away remnants of the tension that cling to your skin. The orchestral music fades into a distant hum, leaving only the sound of your own breathing as you make your way down the steps of the side door. You glance back once, but the shadows are empty. Still, you can feel the intensity of Eris’s gaze lingering on you, even from afar.

Your steps quicken as you stroll through the open night towards the Sidra. The sound of the gentle current helps soothe your frayed nerves. You stop at the edge of the water, letting the cool breeze soothe your inner turmoil.

“Running away, are we?”

You tense at the familiar voice, your skin prickling with surprise. You turn to find Mor leaning against a nearby tree, her expression unreadable. But the tension between you is palpable.

“Just needed some air,” you counter.

She pushes off the tree and approaches. The silky, burgundy fabric of her dress ripples like water with each deliberate step towards you. “I saw you with him,” she deadpans.

You stiffen and rub your clammy hands against the fabric of your own dress. “And?”

“And I’m wondering what the hell you’re doing,” she snaps, her voice low but biting, “Waltzing back into his arms after everything he’s done—after all that you’ve been through.”

The accusation stings, but you refuse to show weakness. “It’s not that simple.”

“Isn’t it?” she steps closer, “Because it looks pretty damn simple to me.”

Your façade of indifference cracks. “You think I wanted this?” you can’t hide the tremble in your voice, “You think I wanted to feel this…this pull, after everything? Do you have any idea what it’s like to fight against something you don’t even understand?”

Her own mask of apathy slips. Her eyes soften slightly, but her lips remain pursed in a tight line. “You don’t need to fight it alone.”

Something inside you snaps. “What the hell do you know about what I need?” The words come out harsher than you intend, but you can’t stop. “You’ve been ignoring me for weeks, Mor. Avoiding me like the plague. So don’t you darestand there and act like you care now.”

Her face pales at the blistering truth of your words. You divert your eyes to the Sidra, unable to hold her gaze. You mean every single word, but this is not how you’d envisioned this conversation going.

“I’m sorry,” you finally whisper. You take a shaky breath, trying to recollect yourself. “I don’t know how to do this anymore. I’m tired, and I’m confused, and I just…I just want my sister back.”

A heavy silence hangs between the two of you. The cool winds lick your skin, but you can’t move, let alone wrap your arms around your shivering body. Mor reaches out to touch your arm, but you instinctively take a step back, not ready to accept her comfort. You’re thankful you can’t see the dejection on her face.

“I know I’ve been distant,” she admits. A scoff bubbles in your throat, but you hold it down. “And that’s on me. I was angry when you pushed me away. And that’s something I’m still getting over. But I do care, Y/N—I never stopped caring. And I’m…I’m scared for you.”

The vulnerability in her voice makes your heart ache. For a moment, the animosity between you dissipates entirely, leaving a mutual understanding in its wake. Your throat tightens, and you force yourself to swallow with a wince.

“I’m scared too,” you whisper, the words bitter on your tongue. “But I can’t let fear control me anymore.”

Mor reaches her hand out once again. You tense at the feeling of her delicate touch, but this time you don’t pull away. “Just promise me one thing,” she runs her thumb over the bare skin of your shoulder, “Don’t lose yourself in the process.”

You nod, though you’re not entirely sure how you’ll keep that promise. “I’ll try.”

With that, the soft touch on your shoulder disappears as Mor steps back, giving you the space you need. You wait until her soft footsteps are out of earshot to release the breath you’ve been holding in. Your shoulders slump as you exhale, letting the cool air soothe the raw edges of your emotions. The night is still, and for a moment, you allow yourself to breathe, to process all that’s transpired.

The anticipation of what’s to come gnaws at you, a mix of dread and hope tangled together. Eris will come; you’re certain of that. But what will happen when he does? The question hangs heavy in the air, unanswered. For now, you focus on the steady rhythm of the river, grounding yourself in the present.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Velaris is a city of breathtaking beauty. It is a vibrant mosaic of colors: the lush gardens spilling over with exotic flowers, the elegant, domed buildings. From the air humming with creativity to the labyrinth of winding streets, it is full of hidden gems. But your favorite part of the city is how the stars seem to listen—how the intensity of their shine seems to reflect your inner musings.

Tonight is no exception. The twinkling lights are bright—brighter than you’ve ever seen before. They are captivating, whispering to you to come closer. You know it’s temporary, as the night is far from over—but you can’t help but indulge yourself for a little while as you lean against the rails of your apartment balcony nursing a generous glass of wine.

You’ve swapped out Nesta’s dress for one of Azriel’s old sweaters. The cozy material engulfs you, falling mid-thigh and warming your body against the chilling breeze of the city. The deep, burgundy wine is sweet, effectively numbing you in preparation for Eris’s impending arrival.

A lump forms in your throat at the thought of him. Seeing him tonight was not something you’d properly prepared yourself for. Every fiber of your being longed to pull him close, to hold him tight and never let go. But that disdainful look in his eyes…If only life was as simple as following your heart. You are no longer in the business of suppressing your emotions. Yet, you still take a large gulp of your wine to alleviate the tightness in your throat.

Something in the air shifts, and you blink back the silver lining your eyes. Every inch of your exposed skin vibrates with anticipation, sensing his arrival.

“Drowning our sorrows, are we?”

Your heart flutters at the sound of his crisp tone slicing through the air. You clutch the glass tightly in your hands, keeping your gaze trained on the stars above.

“Something like that,” you mumble before taking another slow sip.

You can hear his soft footsteps behind you, wandering around the small space of your studio. But you don’t dare turn around, because turning around means looking into his eyes. And looking into his eyes means losing your carefully constructed composure. So, you continue to marvel at the stars, wishing them to sweep you up into their sparkling abyss.

Eris’s voice cuts through the fragile peace of the night again, sharp and unyielding. “Drowning your sorrows won’t wash away the guilt.”

“Misery loves company,” you speak softly to conceal the waver of your voice. Your fingers tremble around the stem of your glass. The wine no longer tastes sweet—it’s bitter now, tainted by the truth in his words. His cruelty has always been a defense mechanism, but tonight, it feels more personal, like he’s trying to hurt you as much as you’ve hurt him.

“Do you even feel anything anymore, or have you numbed yourself to the point of oblivion?” Each word is a deliberate strike aimed to wound.

Your silence speaks louder than words.

“Or have you finally become what they always wanted—a docile little pet with nothing left to say?” He slices through the thin veneer of composure you’ve managed to hold onto.

The stars above blur as your eyes fill with unshed tears. “Eris,” you finally say, your voice barely above a whisper, “Can we just…coexist for a moment? No accusations, no blame. Just…be.”

There’s a long, heavy silence that follows your plea. For a moment, you fear he’ll ignore you, continue his barrage of insults. But then, he sighs. The sound is filled with an exhaustion that mirrors your own. He moves closer until you can see him in your peripheral. He mimics your stance, leaning against the railing of the balcony. The heat radiating from his body is two-fold: a comforting warmth that beckons you closer and a searing intensity that threatens to burn you alive.

“You always did prefer the night,” he rasps, his voice softer now, tinged with a note of something you can’t quite place.

You swallow hard, still not turning to face him. “The night doesn’t judge,” you reply, voice steady despite the storm brewing inside, “It just listens.”

“The stars are far too forgiving,” Eris murmurs, a bitter edge to his words.

You cup your glass with both hands in a futile attempt to hold it steady. “If only people were as forgiving as the stars.”

You close your eyes, letting a single tear slip down your cheek. And when they open again, you finally turn to face him. There’s a storm behind his amber eyes, a battle between the ruthless mask he wears and the vulnerability he hides. He looks both devastatingly familiar and painfully foreign, like a memory you can't quite grasp. And as you take in the sight of him, the ache in your chest tightens.

“It was all real, you know. Everything I said. Everything I did. Everything I felt.” your bottom lip wobbles as you speak. “It was so real it nearly shattered me.”

His jaw flexes, his knuckles turning white from his tight grip around the railing. The seconds stretch into minutes as you wait for his response. Your eyes desperately search his for some sort of tell, but the walls he has built up are impenetrable. Eris abruptly pushes off the railing.

“I didn’t come here to reminisce,” he snaps. The momentary softness of his voice has disappeared. “Do you have it or not?”

You blink slowly at him before averting your gaze to the stars one more time. You tip the glass of wine against your lips, swallowing the remaining contents. The burning of the alcohol down your throat mingles with the sting of his rejection. You set the empty glass down and wipe the lone tear from your cheek with the sleeve of your sweater before turning back to him. You don’t meet his eyes as you wrap your arms around your frail body and pad back inside to your apartment. Eris follows silently, keeping his distance—as if the air surrounding you is toxic.

He watches as you round the oak desk in the corner and slide the first cabinet open. You grab the little green vial inside with a trembling hand. But before you slide the drawer shut, you pause. The completed draft of your manuscript sits inside, bound seamlessly thanks to Clotho’s help. You run your free hand over the leather cover. Its pages seem to whisper to you, beckoning you to grab it. Before you can talk yourself out of it, you listen.

Curiosity flashes through Eris’s eyes as you walk towards him, deadly poison in one hand and an equally lethal paperback in the other.

“Angel’s Blade,” you hold out the green vial, “One drop should do the trick.”

He cautiously takes it from you, careful not to touch you. But his eyes are trained on the leather-bound book in your other hand.

“What’s that?” he rasps.

Your mouth dries, your nerves running wild. But you muster up the courage to hold it out to him with a steady hand. “Something I’ve been working on,” you croak, “It’s only a first draft, but I’d like you to have it.”

He eyes the book with contempt, “I’m not interested in joining your little book club.”

You reach your arm out further, and he takes a step back. “At least read the forward,” you plead, “You owe me that much.”

Ire returns, this time with a vengeance. “I don’t owe you shit,” he snarls. “Thank you for your hospitality. Let’s never do this again.”

Your heart sinks as he turns on his heel and strides towards the door. In an act of desperation, you flip open the book.

“Confucius once posited that wisdom emerges from experience; a notion echoed throughout the annals of philosophy.”

His footsteps halt.

“For centuries, thinkers have sought to distill the essence of wisdom through the accumulation of experiences and the study of theory. Yet, as we delve deeper into the human condition, it becomes apparent that true introspection does not arise from the mere cataloging of experiences. Instead, it is forged in the crucible of pain, a particular kind of pain that sears the soul and leaves an indelible mark on our being.”

For the first time since he entered your home, your voice is steady, strong.

“It is pain that consumes, that reaches into the depths of our existence, touching the very core of who we are.”

You inhale deeply, preparing yourself for the word that is about to roll off your tongue. The word you’ve been so afraid to utter until now.

“It pain born of love—a love so profound that it defies all reason, a love that transcends the boundaries of rational thought and knowledge, a love that has the power to unravel us completely. When love shatters us, it does so in a way that is both devastating and transformative. It is through this pain that the deepest truths about ourselves are revealed.”

Your vision blurs from the tears now streaming freely down your cheeks. The air is deadly silent, filled only by your soft sniffles and Eris’s staggered breath. You approach him on wobbly legs, positioning yourself in front of the door. An unrecognizable emotion swims in his eyes, but the strain on his face is undeniable. You hold his gaze with your own tear-filled one as you finish reciting the forward, the book forgotten in your limp hand.

“In these pages, I offer not just a recounting of my life but a testament to the truth that has been etched into my soul: that it is love—intense, all-consuming love—that paves the way to introspection. It is a truth forged in the crucible of suffering, illuminated by the dim light that flickers in the wake of love’s destruction. And it is through this lens that I have come to understand myself, not as I once was, but as I am now—a being forever changed, yet made more whole by the very pain that once threatened to break me.

For darkness and all its shining stars,

Avicula.”

Your heart lays bare before him—for him to steal, to cherish, to break. For a moment, you think you see the male you once knew, the one who cherished you with everything he had. But then his jaw tightens, and he diverts his gaze to the manuscript in your hands. Finally, he reaches out, his hand trembling slightly as he takes the leather-bound book from your grasp. When he finally speaks, his voice is rough, barely above a whisper.

“Avicula…” he murmurs, testing the name on his tongue.

“It means Little Bi—”

“I know what it means,” he cuts you off swiftly.

You want to say something, to reach out and touch him, but you’re frozen in place. He takes a step closer. You’ve never felt more vulnerable as his eyes search yours. But then, just as quickly as it came, the softness in his gaze is gone, replaced by an impenetrable shield. He pulls back and tucks the book into the inside of his coat.

“This changes nothing.”

Your heart sinks to the pit of your stomach. But the dejection tearing at your insides quickly transforms into a fiery rage.

“Why won’t you admit it?” you demand, “I know you feel something.” You place your hand on his chest, right where you feel the bond in your own.

Eris’s eyes snap back to yours, and he wraps his hand around your wrist in a bruising grip. “You don’t know shit,” he snaps, throwing your hand down away from him.

“I know you better than you know yourself,” you retaliate, inching forward, “I know you put on this façade of a cold-blooded, ruthless asshole to detract from the vulnerability that lives within. I know that underneath all that armor, you’re absolutely terrified—afraid of what this means, afraid of what will happen if you’re honest with yourself.”

His jaw clenches so tightly you think it might snap. “You have no idea what’s at stake here.”

“Then tell me!” you yell, hands shaking with desperation. “Stop being so fucking stubborn and tell me!”

He shakes his head vehemently and runs his hands through his hair, pulling tightly at the roots. Your whole body trembles as you watch him pace before you. “What’s it gonna take?” you shout. “Do you want me to fall at your feet? Plead for your forgiveness? Or did I damage your ego beyond repair?” you cry, vision blurry again with tears.

“You can’t fix this!” he explodes. The trees outside cower at the rawness of his rage. “You don’t belong in this madness. And I won’t let you destroy yourself for some lovesick fantasy you have of me.”

Eris turns towards the door, but you throw yourself at him once again, intercepting his path. “You don’t get to make that choice for me,” you stammer through your cries. You reach your quivering hands up, cupping the sides of his face. You pull him down towards you, resting his forehead against yours. “Please, Eris,” your bottom lip wobbles, “I love you.”

Your confession hangs heavy in the air. His eyes flutter shut, and for a split second you can feel him sinking into your hold. But when they open, amber is once again nothing more than a frozen wasteland.

“I can’t make that choice for you,” the anger in his tone is gone, replaced by an even more deadly finality. “But I can make it for myself.”

Time stops. And that golden string between you splits, hanging precariously by a single thread.

You stand there, frozen and heartbroken, as he pulls himself away from your touch. Silent sobs wrack your body as his figure disappears through the door. You want to scream, kick, fight, anything. Not nothing comes out. It feels like drowning—like water rushing in, flooding your lungs, and stealing your life away. Watching him walk out that door with the most sacred piece of yourself is a pain like no other, amplified by the shredded bond in your stuttering heart. You can only watch as the world around you spins on its axis before you crumple to the ground, and it goes black entirely.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Throughout his 500 years of existence in an everchanging world, pain has been the only constant for Eris Vanserra. From the relentless beatings by his father to the countless deaths witnessed in not one but two wars, he hasn’t just experienced it; he’s lived it. Yet in those five centuries of misery, none has rivaled the Earth-shattering pain of walking away from the only thing that has brought him pure, unadulterated joy.

He knows this is the only right decision. He knows that she deserves more than the legacy of violence that taints his bloodline. And he knows that no matter how hard he tries, he can’t rewrite the narrative of his own tragic destiny. But that does nothing to quell the shards of glass digging deeper into his chest with each step away from her. For he is no more than a hollow shell of a male, doomed to an eternity of perpetual darkness

The lively atmosphere of Velaris seems to mock his anguish as he stumbles along the cobblestone streets. Unshed tears blur his vision, and each slow blink to keep them at bay feels like another nail in the coffin. The little, leather-bound book seems to sink further into his pocket with each uneven step, until he can no longer bear the weight of it. He limps into an alley way and sinks to the cold ground in a heap of agony. Shaky hands fumble through his coat in search of the only piece of her he has left. His heart pounds in his ears as he flips the book open.

Avicula.

Eris watches in horror as a single tear splatters onto the page. He runs his trembling thumb over the name, smudging the ink slightly. He does it again, watching as the ink blurs together. And again, and again, until she is no more than a splotch of darkness on the page. Another tear falls, and he slams the book shut—as if doing so will put an end to this chapter of his miserable story. But memories are far too cruel, for blurred ink is replaced with every vestige of her: fleeting touches between rows of books, big, brown eyes sparkling brighter than the light of a thousand stars, and the sweet scent of honeysuckle lingering like a ghost in every corner of his mind.

He pulls himself from the ground, nearly losing his footing. He tumbles like a drunkard out of the alley, past the lines of shops, and into the grass where the Sidra lies. Eris clutches the book with a white-knuckled grip. He draws his arm back, but before he can launch that last piece of her into the depths of the river, a chilling voice stops him.

“What have we here, brother?”

Bile rises to his throat as he spins around. He catches a fleeting glimpse of Baston’s wicked grin before pain explodes on the back of his head, and the world goes black.

taglist:

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@deepestmentalitypersona @lilah-asteria @goldenmagnolias @myromanempiree @i-know-i-can

@hannzoaks @olive-main @lilylilyyyyyy @stuff-i-found-while-crying @moni-cah

@6000-fandoms @melsunshine @roseodelle @rcarbo1 @paliketerson

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#acotar #acotar fanfiction #acotar fanfic #eris vanserra #eris vanserra x reader #eris x reader #eris vanserra smut #eris vanserra fanfic #eris acotar #mastermind

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deliciousangelfestival · 4 months ago

Text

"Darling, bad luck seems endless." - Bucky Barnes

Summary: You've always been haunted by bad luck your entire life, despising it deeply, until you meet someone who finds it amusing.

Character: dark!Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader

Author's Note: Hello, everyone; this story is for the sleepover event hosted by @the-slumberparty. What I chose is a strawberry sundae with gummy bears as the topping.

Chapter 1 , Chapter 2 .

Main Masterlist || support: Ko-fi

Thank you to anyone who gave a like, reblog, and left a comment. It motivated me to write more.

Bad luck.

You always felt that bad luck followed you everywhere. Growing up, you didn't realize it, but it became clear to you after becoming an adult.

There was one time when you had prepared for an exam, but two days before, you got a high fever and had to take the exam all by yourself.

When you got an offer to study piano abroad, your father's business went bankrupt.

Then, when you finally got into your dream college, your father's business went bankrupt. Again.

When you wanted to study and paid for an extra course, the teacher lied and told you to study alone. It turned out you could learn everything from the internet. You were taken in by his sweet talk because of his experience working in the industry.

After you graduated, you went to work at a studio, but it went bankrupt because the owner embezzled the money to buy a Ferrari.

Then, you were introduced by a relative to an investment. Because you saw her enjoying the profit, you put all your money into the investment. For eight months, it went great, but after that, everything went to hell because it was a scam. You lost the money, the money that your father had left you. It still pains you.

Each time it feels like life is going your way, it soon comes crashing down when you face another misfortune.

As a last resort, you went to a priest but received no answers. You visited a shaman but still found no answers. Then, you went to a paranormal who said, “Bad luck fucks you like Zeus fucks his prey.”

‘Well, shit,’ you thought.

Not knowing what life would bring you, you tried to find another way to make money by taking a class in jewelry making. You pretended to hate it and not enjoy making jewelry.

You were scared that each time you enjoyed or liked something, bad luck would come like judgment day with no warning and take all the joy from you.

But bad luck can't be fooled. It appeared again in another form. It turned out the jewelry store owner was actually a gangster in the diamond business. It was a risky job, but it helped to pay the bills.

Sir Galileo, with his grey hair and special glasses that he always wore to appraise diamonds, was an eccentric man. He always dressed as royalty and wore white gloves. He insisted from the beginning that you call him a 'sir.'

He always brought you with him whenever he went to see a client. Specifically, your job was to drive the car, take notes, and design jewelry for clients. The clients were unique, too: mafia, drug dealers, etc.

Of all the clients, there was only one that caught your attention. You liked him because he was a regular customer and always paid upfront.

James Buchanan Barnes, or his nickname ‘Bucky’. You didn’t know much about him, but he was loaded with money. His mansion, his vintage car collection, and the rings he wore on his fingers were all testaments to his wealth.

Every time you met him, it was always at a different place. It was never the same location.

Damn, each gold and diamond in his rings could solve world hunger. Even Sir Galileo respected Bucky.

Today, Bucky called both of you again.

When you both arrived at a new location, another mansion, you couldn't help but be impressed by its grandeur. The sprawling estate was surrounded by lush gardens and towering gates. The mansion itself was a blend of modern architecture and classic elegance, with large windows reflecting the sunlight and intricate details on every corner.

Bucky looked at you while opening his arms wide. “My Da Vinci,” he greeted warmly.

You blushed when he called you that. His nickname for you always made you feel a mixture of pride and embarrassment. You looked down briefly, trying to hide your flushed cheeks.

“I can't wait to see the design you've made,” he said, turning to Sir Galileo. “And I want you to take a look at that ruby stone I got.”

“Sure,” Sir Galileo replied with a nod.

Once everyone was seated in the lavishly decorated living room, you grabbed your tablet and showed Bucky the jewelry design you had created for him. Instead of the usual ring or bracelet, you had designed a watch that fit his character perfectly—sleek, elegant, and powerful.

Bucky inhaled his cigar, examining the design closely. “This is great,” he said, a rare smile forming on his lips.

You felt a surge of pride when your work was appreciated, but you quickly dismissed the feeling. You didn’t want another bout of bad luck to hit you like a truck.

“How did you get this ruby?” Sir Galileo asked, still scrutinizing the stone with his special glasses.

“Tsk,” Bucky clicked his tongue. “Don’t remind me. My man got hurt getting that.”

“Another incident?” Sir Galileo inquired, raising an eyebrow.

Bucky exhaled smoke from his mouth, his expression darkening. “We’ve never had a casualty like this before. I feel like we have bad luck.”

You flinched when you heard ‘bad luck.’ Could it be that your bad luck had moved to Bucky?

You hoped nothing bad would happen to Bucky because you enjoyed working for him.

But once again, bad luck visited you. This time, it came in the form of a bullet shooting through the window. It was a surprise attack.

“Fuck,” Bucky cursed as he shielded you from the bullet and hid behind a chair.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his face close to yours, making your heartbeat quicken.

“I… I'm fine,” you stammered.

Bucky took a peek out the window, his eyes narrowing. “How did they find out my hideout?” he cursed.

You stayed quiet. Could it be because of you?

Sir Galileo, hiding behind a table, said urgently, “We should run.”

“No shit,” Bucky responded. He called his guards to prepare for an escape.

The three of you stayed low until you reached the garage. You all piled into a black SUV, the engine roaring to life.

Never had you imagined you’d be in a car chase. The adrenaline pumped through your veins as the SUV sped down the driveway, bullets ricocheting off the sides.

The roar of the engine filled your ears as the black SUV tore down the narrow streets. Bucky was driving with a fierce determination, weaving in and out of traffic, while Sir Galileo barked directions from the passenger seat. Behind you, the pursuing cars kept gaining, their headlights piercing through the dusk like the eyes of predators closing in on their prey. Bullets shattered the rear window, and the vehicle swerved violently as you tried to avoid the onslaught.

The situation felt hopeless. You could see the grim set of Bucky’s jaw, the way Sir Galileo’s hands gripped the dashboard. They were in danger because of you. You had to do something. You took a deep breath and made a decision.

“Leave me here,” you said, your voice trembling but resolute.

Bucky glanced at you, confusion and anger flashing across his face. “What? You've got nothing to do with this.”

“I think I do,” you whispered, feeling the weight of your bad luck pressing down on you. You reached for the door handle and flung the door open, the rush of wind pulling at you.

“You're crazy!!!” Bucky yelled, reaching for you, but you were already tumbling out of the car. The asphalt rushed up to meet you, and you hit the ground hard, rolling painfully to a stop. Your body ached all over, but you forced yourself to sit up. Through the haze of pain, you saw Bucky’s car speeding away. Relief washed over you, knowing they had a chance to escape.

“Click.”

The unmistakable sound of a gun being cocked froze you in place. You looked up to see several men emerging from the pursuing cars, their guns trained on you.

“You’re coming with us,” one of them said, his voice cold and devoid of emotion.

They hauled you to your feet, roughly searching you for weapons. You winced at the pain but felt a grim satisfaction knowing Bucky and Sir Galileo were getting away. The men shoved you towards one of their cars, and you knew your fate was now in their hands.

🍀🍀🍀🍀

The days blurred together as you sat in a dimly lit room, the only illumination coming from a bare bulb hanging from the ceiling. Your captors had bound your wrists to the chair, and the rough rope chafed against your skin. They had been relentless, taking turns to interrogate you, their questions a mix of frustration and suspicion.

“Tell us about Bucky,” one of them demanded, leaning in close, his breath reeking of tobacco and stale beer.

“I’m just a jewelry designer,” you insisted, your voice hoarse from hours of questioning.

“No. You’re more than that,” he sneered. “Barnes never invited the same person more than twice. You must mean something to him.”

You blinked in surprise. That was news to you. Bucky had always seemed so casual, so composed. You had no idea he had such strict rules.

“I told you, I’m just a designer,” you repeated, trying to maintain your composure.

‘BANG.’

Suddenly, an explosion rocked the hideout. The walls shook, and dust rained down from the ceiling. Panic spread through the room as your captors scrambled, their plans falling apart.

“Fuck! Nothing’s going our way!” one of them shouted, his voice tinged with fear.

You couldn’t help but think that maybe this was your fault, that your bad luck had followed you here and was now wreaking havoc on these gangsters. The thought made your stomach churn with guilt.

Then, you heard gunshots. The sharp cracks echoed through the building, and you instinctively covered your ears, trying to block out the chaos. Moments later, the door burst open, and you saw Bucky standing there, a fierce determination in his eyes. He quickly dispatched your captors with a series of precise shots, his movements fluid and lethal.

“Fuck,” Bucky muttered, surveying the scene before his eyes locked onto you. He holstered his gun and hurried to your side, cutting the ropes that bound you.

Bucky helped you stand up, his eyes searching your face. “I still can't believe you."

“Me?” you began, trying to find the right words.

Bucky cut you off, a rare, almost gentle smile touching his lips. “You’re the only woman willing to sacrifice for me.”

He still can't believe that a girl like you, whom he only knew as a designer, was willing to sacrifice for him. Bucky has been interested in you because of your background, wondering how a good girl like you could end up working with Sir Galileo.

“It’s all…” You started, but then you felt something cold press against the side of your forehead.

'Click.'

You gasped in shock, your heart pounding as you realized Bucky was pointing a gun at you.

Bucky’s smile turned cold and frightening. “Now, dear, tell me why you said it’s all because of you before you jumped off the car.”

“Because I'm bad luck,” you whispered, your voice trembling.

“Huh?” Bucky's eyes narrowed.

“You probably think I’m insane, but I bring bad luck wherever I go,” you explained, your voice shaking.

“Hah!” Bucky's eyes widened for a moment before he burst into laughter. “Hahahaha…”

He laughed so hard that he wiped a tear from his eye. “This is getting more interesting.”

His laughter sent chills down your spine. He found it amusing, but to you, it was a curse. His grip on the gun didn’t waver as he stepped closer, his presence overpowering.

Bucky leaned in, his breath warm against your skin. “We’ll get along just fine,” he said, his voice a low, dangerous whisper.

Taglist:

@thezombieprostitute

@thetravelingtyper

@scott-loki-barnes

@mostlymarvelgirl

@chemtrails-club

@dexter99

@seresingirlie

@missvelvetsstuff

@kjah97

@tfatwsoldir

#bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x you #bucky x y/n #bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky barnes au #james bucky buchanan barnes #james bucky barnes #buckybarnes #dark!bucky x reader #bucky au #soft!dark bucky #bucky barnes x you #bucky x female!reader

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earlycuntsets · 3 months ago

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translation: "my chemical romance interview. "for us, the live stage is the only place where we can be ourselves."

The songs are like a collection of rock anthems from all over the world, past and present, and it sets the hearts of listeners ablaze.

Who is the emo band that rocked the Summer Sonic stage?

My Chemical Romance, from New Jersey, who just released their major debut album "THREE CHEERS FOR SWEET REVENGE" in July, came to Japan for the first time at Summer Sonic 04. MCR's music is called "screamo" because of their friendship with their friends, including THE USED, and their style, and it contains the street/garage sensibility unique to the generation that went through American punk in recent years… but if you listen to it with a calm ear, you can see that although the vocals are "screamo style," the songs have a beautiful structure and tearful melodies that are related to British heavy metal, and they also feature beautiful guitar solos. In other words, MCR is a band that plays heavy metal at the street level… That's why they must have been so welcomed right from the start in Japan, a country that has a strong tradition of heavy metal music (probably) - their first performance in Japan was a big success.

45 minutes after the end of the thunderous "Summer Sonic" stage

We caught up with the two excited guitarists!

I've never been to a show like that before! I'll never forget this experience.

--Now Frank Iero (FI): This isn't real.

How was the live show you just finished?

FI: Seriously! I've never done a show like that before. It was a memorable moment in my life. I'll never forget it!

--You seem very excited. What was so amazing about it?

Ray Toro: No, not "What". WTF! I mean, they were so welcoming! I wasn't expecting that kind of reaction at all. It felt like a hometown show. Oh, what can I say… ahhhh… anyway, it feels great!-- (Laughs)

Was the positive reaction because the new york was great? Especially the first single "I'm Not Okay" it's really exciting… It's a great song, and the song structure is well-crafted, building up from the intro, and the solo is uplifting too. Did you feel any magic when you made it?

FI: Well, let me tell you something. This song is something that you can't really call "written".

Really? Is that so?

FI: That's true. The song itself only has four chords, right? Except for the solo, it's all four. So at first, I thought it would be a boring song. But when we got together in the studio and Ray was playing those four chords over and over… Gerald (Way/vocals) started singing. The other members were silent. I closed my eyes and listened carefully. Then I realized it was an incredibly beautiful song. I felt it was worth completing. So I tried to change it up with the chorus. The root remained four.

---The guitar solo in this song creates a harmony with the guitar, creating a grandeur that is reminiscent of Queen. How did this come about?

FI: That solo was all Ray!

RT: Of course we were totally inspired by Queen! We were all saying, "Let's have a big guitar solo. Nobody does that anymore!" So I layered the guitars on it and made it as epic as possible. Also, when we were writing the song originally, we talked about making it as production-heavy as possible in the studio… Another thing I did consciously was to think of all the '80s pop and '70s bands I liked. I thought, "What would they do to make a song that's really epic…?" That's also where the two-second piano in the middle of the song came from. It doesn't really mean anything, but it's a bit like a soundtrack.

In terms of age, he was still very much alive.

FI: To tell you the truth, that second part is from the live album "CHEAP TRICK AT BUDOKAN" (1978) [laughs] I really wanted to include it. To begin with, even though some people have performed it live, I've never heard it performed in a studio album. I tried to include that as well and create the biggest anthem I could think of.

Q: Not just "I'm Not Okay," but all of MCR's songs…The composition is designed to make the listeners excited. They are all uplifting and dramatic. Is this something you do consciously?

FI: I'm totally aware of it.

RT: Yes. You can hear it in the song, but I change parts one after another. For example, We never repeat the same parts twice, and as the song progresses, new elements are added. We want it to feel like it's building from one thing to the next. Every member of the band contributes to that. The drums, the vocals, the melodies…everything helps the song to go higher and higher.

FI: Especially the new album, "It's Not A Fashion Statement, It's a Deathwish" crescendos all the way through. It just gets stronger and stronger. It all comes together in a spectacular finale. The whole band sings together for an anthemic ending. Because I like it! Our styles are completely different, maybe that mismatch is a good thing?

MCR's music tends to be dramatic. Is that due to the influence of the music you've listened to up until now?

RT: I grew up listening to heavy metal, like Ozzy Osbourne. I was obsessed with guitar heroes. I like bands that feature guitar players such as the late Randy Rhoads (g/Ozzy Osbourne) and Joe Satriani, Jimi Hendrix… In other words, Randy is the one who combined heavy metal with classical music, but his guitar playing I think he is the person who has had the biggest influence on my style. It's a bit old-fashioned, but it has a melody. And it's timeless. Melody.

FI: Richie Havens. My first woodstock. He was the opening act for the concert. He took me to an acoustic I just played it with one guitar, like a solo. There wasn't much, just sitting on the stool. He played very melodic and rhythmic guitar. But it's a completely unique style that can't be imitated. He had tiles… Such a great performer. I've never seen him before! I've seen Richie on stage about 10 times now, and I'm blown away every time. He's one of the reasons I don't stop playing guitar. I also love Greg Ginn (guitar/Black Flag) and Thurston Moore (vocals, guitar/Sonic Youth). In other words, I like dirty and emotional guitar more than intellectual style.

——————Hmm. You two have completely different tastes…

FI: Well, we are completely different types of guitarists, but maybe that mismatch is a good thing.

--You mentioned a lot of artists, but listening to your album I can sense a strong influence from heavy metal. But you also listen to a lot of different music from the '70s and '80s, right?

RT: Well, you can't just listen to one type of music, you know? There's so much good music out there. We can't just pretend not to notice it! All of us in the band try to listen to as much as we can and want to absorb as much as we can from all kinds of music.

FI: What we heard was an influence in some way.

FI: I like to use a Marshall JCM900 connected to a SUNN cabinet, and an Epiphone Zak Wylde model Les Paul as the only guitar. I turn up the bass all the way (laughs). Treble is about mid-range. I add gain here and there. But I like to keep it sounding like a real guitar. Not a "buzzing" sound with too much gain, but more of a solid sound.

RT: Yes! And we both try to only use effects when absolutely necessary, and usually plug them straight into the amp. Oh, but we do use wah pedals. Personally, I'd love to see the wah come back!

--I see. So with Frank on the bass and Ray raising the middle, it feels like you've managed to balance the band sound well?

FI&RT: Exactly!

FI: That's how I make it clear that there are two guitars. It's better to have a difference where you can hear each guitar part and it doesn't sound too cluttered.

――――So, let's talk about your playing, not just the guitar sound.

RT: I've been in the middle of it all. But the best thing to do is come to a show and see for yourself! I think there have been times when people thought it was Frank and it was me, and vice versa. We've influenced each other so we have some similarities.

---So you're influenced by each other's playing?

RT: Yeah. At least I got it from Frank.

I learned to play dirty. Not just clean, but more emotional. Instead of being super technical and perfect, I gave myself a little more leeway and tried to avoid feedback and pick-squeezing.

Frank is especially good at pick slides. He likes to make noise out of the guitar, rather than a pretty sound.

He's really good at bringing that out. Making noise, not just playing, is something I'm still learning.

FI: I'm the opposite, I'm learning to play clean, to keep things under control, but still let out emotion when necessary.

RT: A classic example of what you're talking about is "The Jetset Life Is Gonna Kill You." Frank has a really great part here. After the second chorus, it gets really quiet.

"THREE CHEERS FOR SWEET REVENGE" Warner Music Japan [CD] WPCR-11883 Sensual vocal melodies and emotional guitars, as heard on the 1st single.Their popularity is on the rise thanks to the explosive emotion of their vocals. This is the band's second album and their major label debut. Ray's strengths are in his guitar playing, which always lifts the listener up. While talking about the existing screamo sound, such as the "screamo" part, a new sense of flavoring with the essence of gothic and metal shines. And it's the same with everyday experiences! Everything that comes out of it naturally comes out in the work, and the more I shut out certain types of music or certain experiences, the less fertilizer I have. The goal is the stage. Keep playing to the limit. From what I saw on stage a while ago, the live equipment was, you both used similar things. How do you differentiate between the sounds?

RT: I'm more into distortion. I play a lot of riffs and generally like to emphasize the mid-range.

My model was the crunch guitar sound of Metallica's "Master of Puppets" (1986).

FI: On the other hand, I only use distortion to a natural degree.

Can you tell me the specific equipment names?

RT: The amps are Marshall "JCM2000" and "1960".

Cabinet. The guitar was bought by my brother for Christmas 10 years ago.

It's a very easy one to make, but the sound is great!

I also use an Epiphone Les Paul.

036 GuitarBreakers Vol.8

He said it was a good example of how the differences between the two of them are well expressed.

Can you name any?

FI: You Know What They Do To Guys Like Us

In Prison, I guess?

RT: You're right!

FI: You Know What They Do To Guys Like Us

"In Prison" is huge! The first two verses are

It's rhythmic and dirty, and then…

Ray's guitar hero-like, epic solo begins (laughs). And it has a light rhythm. And then there's "To The End" too.

RT: Yes. In some ways, I play more technically than Frank, but "To the End" has a great guitar solo, it's fast, and it's got some rhythmic, dirty parts. But I think you can hear the difference in our playing styles on every song to some extent.

---By the way, on the album, which is left and which is right?

Are you playing the channel?

RT: Well, in the verses, I mostly play on the left.

Ray is on the left. And Frank is on the right in the chorus.

Frank really blossoms in this scene. It's totally different from his previous style.

FI: Mmhmm!

---Finally, could you tell us about your future goals regarding guitar and songwriting?

FI: For now, I'd like to be able to turn the parts I've written for the next album into proper songs.

Also, we have a clear goal as a band.

But I'll keep it a secret until I achieve it (lol).

RT: For me personally, I just want to keep improving.

FI: Me too!

RT: We both love playing guitar.

That's what life is all about, so I want to keep improving both in technique and melody.

FI: For us, it was a live show that lasted less than two hours. I think that the only chance I have is to be myself, to experience a pure and spiritual moment. So my goal is to continue to play all the way to the end. There is a joy that cannot be expressed in words. I don't think you can understand it unless you have experienced it!

My Chemical Playing - A magnificent world created with guitar

The key to My Chemical Romance's songs is the twin guitars. When the two guitars intertwine, sometimes intensely and sometimes elegantly, it gives the listener a great sense of exhilaration.

Ray was crazy about guitar heroes like Randy Rhoads and Joe Satriani, while Frank loves Greg Ginn and Thurston Moore. They come from completely different backgrounds, but as Ray says, "When we get together, we don't know why, but a special atmosphere is born," which is the characteristic of the My Chemical Romance sound. In fact, Alba

If you check out his playing, you can hear many good examples of two-guitar ensemble. One of the best is the backing for "I'm Not Okay (I Promise)." As mentioned in the interview, the bass in this song is a repeat of four chords (D → Bm Em → A), but it is amazing how the performance is not at all simple. Due to space limitations, I will not post an example.

"I'm Not Okay" style guitar solo sheet music.

I'm sorry I can't introduce it, but I definitely want you to check out the ensemble in the A-melody. So, I'll introduce the solo below. This performance was inspired by Queen and was meant to be grand. The harmonies are great, but the chord progression is deliberately E/G#, even though E would have been fine in the flow. This is one of the reasons why it feels so grand.

In the harmonies from bars 1 to 8, you want to be aware of the speed at which you raise the pitch of the choking, and the speed and depth of the vibrato.

The first half of bar 12 means "play five notes in two beats."

2004 volume 8 guitar breakers from theydrewblood.blogspot.com

#english translation #2004 #ray and frank interview #the sheet is an embellished version of the i'm not okay solo #can read sheets but do not understand guitar technical shit at all lol #my chemical romance #frank iero #ray toro #gerard way #mikey way #revenge era #mcrmy japan #interviews

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once-upon-an-animation · 5 months ago

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People using “it’s a kids show!” as a defense for the PJOTV show makes no sense to me for many reasons, and one of the reason is that if the show’s questionable quality is a result of it being for children, how then do you explain or justify the removal or weakening of so many elements that kids enjoyed about the books in the first place?

You know one thing kids like? Cool action scenes, and yet most of the action scenes in the show were pretty lackluster. They were over within seconds, and largely replaced by conversations and exposition.

You know one thing kids like? Cool outfits and cool costumes, yet the costuming for the characters, especially the gods, was extremely bland, uninteresting, and devoid of any charm or personality.

You know one thing kids like? Humor. And yet the humor in this show was also very lackluster, especially in the way of Percy, who’s supposed to be a funny, snarky, and witty protagonist, and yet this depiction of him was incredibly dry.

You know one things kids like? Relatability. And yet you watered down or even straight up excluded so many of the character’s relatable traits, especially the depiction of ADHD/dyslexia, Grover’s shyness and cynical yet funny remarks, or Annabeth’s crush on an older friend figure or hear tearing up when it was time to leave the dog, or her grabbing Percy’s hand when they first get in the Underworld because she was scared.

You know one thing kids like? Bold personalities. Yet, so many of the gods are missing the elements that made them bold and memorable, and they just seem like nothing more than a bunch of grumpy adults.

You know one thing kids like? Mystery and suspense. And yet every chance this show had to build some, it was killed on arrival by the insistence that the characters needed to know everything.

You know one thing kids like? Funny references and fun twists. The Underworld was supposed to be set up like airport lines. The entrance was supposed to be a record studio named DOA (Dead on Arrival). Chiron was supposed to be in a fancy Italian suit and shoes. Each of the cabins and thrones on Olympus was supposed to be uniquely constructed and colorful to depict each god’s domain. And yet all of that got eliminated.

You know one thing kids like? Places and adventures that feel grand and magical. And yet, when it was time to show off grandeur at the Lotus Casino, we took away all the sky diving and reverse deer hunter games and replaced it with exposition, and activities that don’t seem magical in the slightest. And we didn’t even get to watch the characters play and be kids.

So how, just how, do y’all get off saying that we should go easy on the show because it’s “just a kid’s story”, and yet the show neutered most of the elements that endeared kids to this story in the first place?

#pjo tv crit #pjo tv adaptation #rick riordan #percy jackson #annabeth chase #pjo #percy jackon and the olympians #pjo hoo toa #pjo series #pjo tv show

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kkenma666 · 4 months ago

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(방찬) bang chan.. my dear

gender neutral reader

angst w happy ending, messy break up, miscommunication

the door opened slowly, blonde hair peeking in. chan came home expecting to see you waiting for him on the couch as always but was instead greeted by a dark room and cold silence.

weird.. he thought to himself. maybe you were just tired and went to bed. yeah, like you would always do lately..

he can't lie, he missed you waiting for him on the couch, a blanket draped over your body as you tried your hardest to focus on whatever was playing on the tv.

the way that your sleepiness would instantly disappear the moment you saw him, you immediately springing from your laying positions to greet him with a warm hug.

in fact, he noticed how your hugs had become shorter as if you were forcing your arms to wrap around him. the warmth you used to radiate is now gone.

he also noticed how your kiss which was filled with love and passion was now nothing but a quick peck on his lips.

it can't be.. can it?

chan splashed his face with water, trying to rid himself off of the negative thoughts. it's normal for every relationship to have its ups and downs. this will only be a temporary obstacle in your relationship.

or so he thought.

lately, he's been forced to work overtime causing him to come home later than usual. his work also has been piling up, from one piece of paperwork to another.

chan let out a loud sigh as he shut the door closed, wanting nothing more than to lay in bed and sleep all day long.

he wasn't expecting you to be there waiting for him, yet a small part of him still expects you to be there waiting for him.

he walked through the cold hallway, his hands twitching to get hold of you in his arms. god, he missed your warmth.

yesterday you were suddenly so.. loving with him. his fear was proven wrong as he realized that maybe he was just being overdramatic.

you even gave him a sincere and long hug after weeks of seemingly insincere ones, spouting about how much you love him, to the moon and back.

however, he was shocked to not find you on the bed dozing off. weird.. its fine, you're probably just in the bathroom right? he stormed off to your shared bathroom to find you also not there.

where could you be?

he tries not to overthink, his hand immediately grabbing his phone to dial you up. maybe you just went to the nearby convenience store.

only for his fears to worsen when he saw how he had been blocked by you.

he immediately searched the whole house for you, just now noticing how most of your stuff is already gone. " no no no.. oh god. i fucked up. "

⊹₊⋆

the grandeur hall was filled with people with status and wealth. their clothing and their mannerisms already proved that they were a level above.

each of them all held their bidder number, hands itching to take home the next prize that was soon to come.

finally, a big painting rolled out, all eyes focused on it.

" ladies and gentlemen, this is out last item of the day. this is one of yn ln's precious new work! with this being the last one sold for this specific collection. "

the massive painting revealed an abstract drawing of two figures hugging, one's face was buried into the other's neck, with his broad shoulder facing the viewer.

you watched from the balcony above, swirling your champagne. a sad look in your eyes as you think back about the inspiration for the painting.

it was an abstract depiction of the last hug you and your past lover shared. he was also your very first and last lover.

the painting was mainly blue and white, to resemble the somber mood. though you added in a few golden touches.. a sense of hope that one day the two of you could start over.

after the breakup, you still very vividly remember how he asked you for one last hug before you went. he clung to you like a koala, knowing if he let go he would lose you.

you originally didn't intend to sell the painting, wanting to just let it rot in your studio. though you couldn't handle seeing that massive painting every time you were in your studio.

so you auctioned it off.

after that breakup you decided to move back to australia, opting to focus on your painting career and building a name for yourself.

and after blood, sweat, and tears here you are. wealthy scums all itching to buy your painting, no matter how overpriced it was.

you took a sip from your glass as you watched your favorite part, the bidding.

" 3.5 million! ", it started off strong.

" 5 million! " one chimed.

" 8 million! " another.

" 10 million! " and another.

today was a bit more competitive than the other days, every one of them determined to get that painting of yours.

the biddings went on till a woman bid 50 million. moments when on, no other bidders put up a fight as if they feigned defeat.

" 70 million. "

gasps and murmurs could be heard from around the room. you nearly spat your drink out when you heard that.

no way was someone willing to spend 70 million on a random painting that only you and maybe your ex would understand. unless..

" ..then it's sold to mr. christopher bahng for 70 million! "

applause filled the room but that was all muffled as you could only focus on the man down below. your mouth was agape as your champagne glass slowly started slipping from your hand.

after all these years you never expected to see him again. much less buying a painting about both of your tragic endings.

the sound of glass shattering shocked the audience as they all clutched their pearls in fear a thief broke in.

but soon they began clapping again once they saw you, the artist themself, standing above them with a shocked look.

you quickly composed yourself and tried to play along, giving courtesy to the crowd.

yet your eyes were locked onto one person only. the very man who bought your painting.

he also applauded you while giving you that same gentle smile he would always give to you.

you quickly exited the room, needing a breath of fresh air to refresh your cluttered mind. he was back in australia and had just purchased one of your pieces.

the very man you've been avoiding.

after all this year of you healing and focusing on yourself, just for him to show up again. but were you really healed?

your mind still wonder back to him no mater what. no matter how long time passed his face kept appearing in your head. the bittersweet memories of your relationship replaying like a broken record.

" ugh fuck. do i have to attend the after party with him in it..? "

⊹₊⋆

christopher banhg was the only thing on your mind that night.

you dreaded coming to the after-party in general. the thought of having to entertain thos rich snobs for hours on end just did not seem appealing at all. and add your ex into the mix and congrats, your head feels like it's about to burst open!

but you can't lie about how your heart beats faster whenever you think of meeting him. just the sheer thought of stumbling into him gets your heart racing and you dont know if its in a good way or the bad way.

you tugged on your clothing, sweat already starting to form from how nervous you were. you fixed your hair and fixed the makeup on your face.

you can't believe this.

you usually never really tried this hard when going to an after party but here you were. all dolled up just because your ex was here.

' it's okay. you're just doing this because someone paid 70 million for your work.. that's a pretty high price for something you originally wanted to throw away. '

a stuffed smile plastered on your face as you conversed with random people. the ladies' hands touching you all over without consent.

all you wanted to do was go home and lay in your bed. yet you know you can't go back because you haven't seen hum yet.

" today's auction was another successful one, yn! " you bowed your head in response. " of course. with loyal bidders like you all my works are bound to sell with a high price. " laughters was shared among the patrons from your comment.

" yes yes, we will loyally wait for your next bid. "

your cheeks were starting to hurt from straining a smile all night long, maybe he didn't even come to the after-party. maybe you were just delusional.

an all too familiar laughter was heard behind you.

your head spun around way too fast for your own liking.

your eyes intertwined with his after god knows how long. you took in his features and realized he looked all the same. the only thing that changed was his hair and how he looked older and somehow more attractive.

" oh mr bahng! i didn't take you for a bidder. especially on that would spend 70 million in a night alone. " one of the men spoke. he chuckled, his dimples showing while shrugging. " pocket change. "

you were standing before him and the rest of the group, the random ladies still latching onto you. you tried to take this chance as an escape.

you nudged their hands off of you, " well, i will get going now. still have others to entertain. " a nod of understanding were sent to you. you tried to rush past him, only for him to hold onto your wrist.

" a word with the artist? "

⊹₊⋆

you guided him to the second floor that's only accessible to you and some of your staff. you presented him with your favorite spot in there, the balcony.

it offers a breathtaking view of the night sky, with stars sprinkled in the dark blanket. below it was the city lighting up the night. further proving how the city doesn't sleep at night.

he stood behind you, gathering up what to say to you. you yourself didn't even know what to say to him. all those countless nights spent thinking about him just for you to not be able to look at him in the eyes.

" i see your career's going well.. i've always known you'd make it big. " a soft smirk crept up on your face. god he's still the same, isn't he?

" well look at you now mister big shot. " you finally had the courage to turn around to look at him in the eyes and oh, you might get lost in them. the breathtaking view of the night sky could never compete with his eyes.

bang chan stared at you in silence, his dimples poking through his milky white cheeks. he never forgot what you looked like since the day you left him, clinging onto whatever's left of you as if his life depended on it.

the two of you stared at each other, anticipating breath. both of you were twitching to ravage one another but you knew it was so so wrong, yet so tempting.

that is until you crashed your lips onto his, perfectly molding into his. it was as if it found its long-lost home again, so foreign yet so familiar.

his hands immediately found their way onto your waist, your hands snaking around his back and onto his neck. you gripped him as if he would disappear if you were to let go. who knows maybe he might.

time went by so slowly, as if the earth stopped spinning just for this moment alone.

you pulled back first, drowning yourself in oxygen. you didn't even know what to say to him, only holding him close as you breathed in his scent.

" i miss you, my dear. "

please read!!

so this might be my last kpop fic on this acc but idk yet since i still have one last one in my draft that i might post but here's a sneak peak to my writing for the new followers uwu

#tehhyunie writes!!#kpop x reader #skz x reader #skz x male reader #skz x gn reader #skz angst #bang chan x reader #bang chan x male reader #bang chan x gn reader #bang chan angst

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veronicaphoenix · 7 months ago

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the last song | n.s.

With the new album finally completed and a new song dropping in a couple of days, Noah takes his girl to the studio, hoping to show her around without the chaos of past recording days, and maybe, he can get that last song he's been dreaming of.

one shot ✨ | noah sebastian x fem.reader word count: 2.3k tags: established relationship, fluff, fluffy sexual content (it's not too explicit), reader has a slight kink for noah's silver chain (who doesn't, let's be honest), no trigger warnings, just noah being in love and being loved back.

The studio is finally empty.

After weeks of relentless work and dedication, days blurring into nights, headaches, frustration, last-minute changes, and ups and downs not only in the sounddeck, but also in the mood of the whole team, the album was finally ready, and in a matter of days, new music would fill spaces beyond the studio’s confines.

Noah steps aside to let her in. She is enveloped in the grandeur of the space. Never before had she been in a recording studio, and its magnitude overwhelms her. The expanse stretches out before her, a labyrinth of hallways leading into rooms of creativity. There are framed records adorning the walls, a testament to the artistry that thrives within these walls. This feels like the type of place Noah would call home. Too bad she hasn’t fully realized yet that his home is her,no matter how many hours he’s spent away from her locked in this very right place.

While she is fascinated by the array of instruments, cables, and other things she doesn’t know the name of, it’s Noah himself who captivates her the most. His joy is palpable as he gives gently explanations about the use of each room, each instrument. His enthusiasm is infectious. He’s so eager to share his world with her.

This is one of the reasons why she’s so in love with him.

His passion.

And she is lucky enough that he’s equally passionate about music as he is about her.

Taking her hand, he leads her from one room to another, continuing his explanations and sharing curiosities about this and that, mentioning the guys, the places where each one usually sits while they review the recordings, the Starbucks cups that pile up in the corner of a table when they’ve been locked in there for twelve hours and start to suffer the effects of not seeing the sunlight or hearing the sounds of the outside world, anecdotes that ignite her laughter, a sound that makes Noah’s heart flutter.

She asks him about the new music, she pleads to hear at least one song, a piece, ten seconds. Nearly begs him. She knows she just has to utter the word “please” and Noah will give her anything she wants. This evening, she wants to hear the melodic cascade of his voice, get lost in the way Noah turns words into dreamy melodies. It’s not enough to hear him speak; she wants to hear him weave words into a song; she wants to drown in the melodies he has put into lyrics that speak of her, of the moments when they are stripped of all mundanity, of clothes and fear, when they are alone, skin to skin, and when all that can be heard is only the rhythm of their beating hearts and the symphony of their shared passion.

He insists he can’t. He wants it to be a surprise. He has hopes that when she listens to the album, one or two songs will get her on her knees, while others will lead her to beg him to fuck her to the cadence of those.

Embedded within the lyrics of the new songs are a few confessions, but there’s a time for those to reach her ears, and it’s not tonight.

He silences his phone and sets it aside while she occupies herself by tinkering with the buttons on the soundboard. A few minutes later, Noah sneaks up behind her, enveloping her in his warm and slipping his hands beneath the fabric of her white t-shirt.

“There’s actually... one last song missing,” he murmurs against the fragrant scent of her hair.

“One last song?” She asks, her curiosity piqued. She begins to turn round, but Noah holds her in place. He rests his head on her shoulder, and with a trail of his fingers along the curve of her stomach, he elicits a subtle shiver that she tries to ignore. “I thought you said the album was complete, that you had finished...”

“Not quite yet,” he replies, planting a ghostly kiss on her earlobe.

She can sense the cool, minty breath against her neck, and it sends a shiver down her spine. He has been indulging in a mint candy, and her mind wanders to the tantalizing thought of having his mouth between her legs at this moment. The idea of that refreshing sensation sends a rush of desire coursing through her veins, and she can’t help but wonder if it would be enough to push her over the edge.

She smells of jasmine and the promise of spring. He wants to inhale her, breathe her in.

Concerned, she wriggles in his embrace until she can face him, stepping back a few paces as she speaks. She wants him to take her seriously.

“I didn’t know, Noah. I wouldn’t have asked you to bring me here if you were still in the middle of—”

With a single step, he reaches her again, his smile widening at her endearing bewilderment. He captures her lips in a kiss, stealing her breath away. The taste of the candy is still on his lips, and his fresh breath enters her mouth as their lips part.

It’s in the way their mouths fit together that she finds reassurance that they’re perfect for each other. She knows she’s found the boy of her dreams, and the mere thought of being apart from him feels unbearable. She doesn’t know how she will survive next time he goes away on tour. For now, she will live in the way his tender kisses have a way of evolving into passionate bites that ignite a delightful flutter in her stomach.

“You’re adorable,” he says over her lips.

For a moment, she feels dizzy. Then, with a determined frown, she grabs a handful of Noah’s black hoodie, attempting to appear assertive, though to Noah, she resembles nothing more than an adorable kitten.

“You told me the album was complete, that you would only bring me here once the work was done and this was empty so that you could let me explore and touch things and…”

“And record the last song,” Noah interjects calmly, looking into her eyes, smile tugging at his lips.

Her brow furrows even deeper, her head tilting slightly to the side as Noah’s gaze traces the contours of her face, his eyes filled with admiration for every freckle, that little ever so tiny scar earned in a childhood adventure, the faint blush spreading through her cheeks.

“Noah, I don’t understand.”

“Let me show you…”

With her skin already responding to the anticipation, Noah’s hands find their way under her t-shirt, caressing the skin of her sides. It’s always just one touch and she’s already putty in his hands. She can’t help it; the man has that effect on her, that power over her. She would give him the world if she could because no one ever makes her feel as cherished as he does.

So, when he gently lifts her t-shirt, after worshipping her with light, seductive kisses along her neck and jawline, she allows him to undress her. His lips touch her shoulder, his tongue tracing a slow path until it finds the pulsing vein of her neck. A sharp intake of breath escapes her lips as he tenderly sucks at her skin, his fingers expertly finding their way beneath her skirt and underwear, eliciting a low, sweet moan from deep within her.

It’s the first of many moans to come.

Noah smiles against her flushed skin. His cock twitches. His heartbeat races.

The music is playing now.

He showers her with kisses, his hand cradling the side of her face as he traces a line with his finger from between her legs, through the valley of her breasts, up to her clavicle.

Growing impatient, she tugs at his hoodie, and sensing her urgency, he assists her in removing it. Underneath, Noah wears a black tank top, and her eyes immediately gravitate to the silver chain adorning his neck, previously hidden by the hoodie. With a heated spark in her eyes, she hesitates for a moment before seizing the chain and pulling Noah down to her awaiting mouth.

With one hand clutching his chain and the other sliding to the back of his head, she revels in the sensation of his soft hair sliding between her fingers. He emanates the intoxicating scent of masculine perfume and tastes like pure adrenaline—a potent combination that renders him utterly irresistible. He’s as addictive as a man can get. He’s tall, muscular, handsome, and fucking sweet.

And best of all, he is hers.

Noah scoops her up, intending to place her atop the sound deck. It would be a great place to fuck her on, but he quickly realizes it wouldn’t be comfortable at all, and he doesn’t want her to get hurt.

He pivots towards the couch—a place where he had envisioned her countless times before… Sitting there with pen and paper, crafting songs about her, he had often pictured her naked form, her eyes shimmering with anticipation, beckoning him to find his place between her legs, to envelop her with his body, to fill her up with every inch of him.

With care, he lays her down on the couch, positioning one knee on the cushions to remain close to her, determined to prolong their kiss for as long as possible. He doesn’t think he can breathe without her nearby.

She is never shy when it comes to showing how much she wants him, how much she needs him. She’s unapologetically about her desperate desire, and that’s something that drives him to the brink of madness. Her eagerness only serves to make her so fucking attractive that he thinks he could eat her up. He’s consumed by that need, to bite and taste her in a surge of primal instinct, yet he manages to maintain a sweet and seductive demeanor. She brings out both the beast and the tender lover in him, and somehow, it’s a harmonious blend that feels inexplicably beautiful.

With each touch, nibble, and kiss, her passionate responses start escaping from her lips, wet with lust for him. Their clothes disappear in a matter of minutes, and as Noah finds himself —and his skilled tongue— nestled between her legs, savoring her essence, and impregnating her with his fresh minty breath, the symphony of his name being carried through long feminine moans fill the studio walls in ways he could never have imagined.

But it’s when he’s buried deep inside her that the music truly comes alive.

Together, they create a melody of ecstasy, Noah playing her body like a virtuoso, eliciting the perfect notes and sounds with each touch, kiss, thrust. She’s a tangled delicious mess beneath him, but every whimper and sigh and plea for more is a testament to her trust and love for him, a hymn sung in the throes of passion.

Occasionally, a primal growl escapes him, the beast within yearning to be unleashed, but she, the angel, the muse,keeps him grounded, wrapped in her wings, guiding him along the lines of their shared musical score.

As their bodies glisten with sweat, the tempo of their lovemaking begins to slow, descending from its crescendo, their ragged breaths filling the remaining spaces of their song. She smiles against his cheek, nuzzling her nose against his skin. She holds him close, unwilling to let go just yet. Unwilling to ever let go.

“So?” She murmurs, teasingly playing with her teeth on Noah’s earlobe.

He squirms in an attempt to escape her, but her teeth follow him, leaving him with no choice but to retaliate by biting her shoulder and descending to capture on of her nipples in his mouth, coaxing one new sound from her lips.

“So?” he repeats, mumbling between clenched teeth, his tongue teasing her hardened nipple.

“Did you record the song?” she asks playfully, gesturing with her eyes towards the sound deck.

“No. No, I didn’t,” he admits with a laugh, feeling himself softening inside of her.

“Oh, well…” she licks her lips, pretending to think of what to do now. The weight of Noah feels so nice on top of her that it would be enough to just keep on holding him. “What are we going to do about it?” she continues. “Any idea?”

She does have an idea.

Her cheeky tone catches him off guard, and this time, it’s him who frowns as he gazes up at her. His chest and stomach press against hers, and with each laborious breath she takes, he feels the rhythmic rise and fall of her body beneath him. He considers moving, but before he can act, she wraps her leg around his, anchoring him in place.

She bites her lip, tempting him to do the same; to lower his head and kiss her and bite her and leave her breathless.

A second later, she reaches down towards her bag on the carpeted floor beside the couch and retrieves her phone, unlocks it, and opens the voice recording app.

“Maybe we should try again, don’t you think? And perhaps we should try to be… a bit louder?”

His eyes darken.

“Think you can do that?” she asks him, a devilish smile painted on her face.

“I can definitely make you sing louder,” he growls, feeling himself hardening once more while still inside of her. His home.

She has a way of provoking him that never fails to get him hard anywhere, anytime, in no time.

“Do I… press play now?” Her fingertip hovers over the screen.

Noah responds by pulling a few inches out and thrusting hard into her, their bodies moving in perfect synchronization against the worn fabric of the sofa they are laid on. She lets out a scream as her fingertip presses the play button. The phone falls with a thud on the floor.

And with that, they’re making music once again.

One last song.

One more time.

Louder.

#inspiration was kicking in #noah sebastian #bad omens #bad omens cult #bad omens one shot #bad omens fic #bad omens fanfic #noah sebastian x you #noah sebastian x reader #noah sebastian one shot #noah sebastian fic #noah sebastian fanfic

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hometoursandotherstuff · 8 months ago

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This 1890 home in New Orleans, LA is absolutely my favorite style and you don't come by homes like this very often. 5bds, 4.5ba, $1.35M. If only...

I love the time worn look. Apparently, buyers like the remodeled, all white look, though, b/c this home has been on the market for 275 days. Shame that no one who has the money to buy it appreciates it.

I adore this look. Wouldn't change a thing.

Love the fireplace and the addition of the cascading plants make it pop. Bet someone buys it and completely redoes it.

The pool room only has slightly worn floors and molding.

Love the faded grandeur of the sitting room. The rooms are surprisingly light and airy.

This kitchen. Amazing.

Vintage powder under the stairs is quite spacious.

Love this room. I think that the new owner should swear that they won't gut this home.

Great bath with burgundy fixtures and a clawfoot tub.

The lovely primary bedroom is like a suite with a sitting room. I like the spiral staircase.

The 2nd full bath is cute. It also has a vintage tub.

Bedroom #2 is very nice.

This bedroom is kind of a hybrid- it has a rusty tin ceiling and an exposed stick wall.

They've switched styles and I'm not sure I like that it's inconsistent. Bathroom #3 is completely renovated, even though it has a vintage tub.

There's a costume studio back here.

A lovely double porch and patio outside.

Large heated pool and Jacuzzi.

In this purple building is another suite.

It has a bed/sitting room with a small fridge.

Behind the folding screen is a pretty, vintage bath.

The home is on a 5,610 sq. ft. lot.

https://www.realtor.com/realestateandhomes-detail/1476-Marais-St_New-Orleans_LA_70116_M71059-45766

#NOLA homes #vintage decor #old house dreams #houses #house tours #home tour

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bellavitasims · 2 months ago

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200 Sunset Boulevard, Beverly Hills

64x64 Residential in Del Sol Valley: An exceptional blend of modern organic design and high-end luxury, located in the prestigious heart of Beverly Hills. This estate is perfectly suited for individuals seeking both privacy and grandeur, including celebrities, influencers, producers, and entrepreneurs.

Offering expansive indoor and outdoor living spaces, it caters to every facet of a refined lifestyle. With breathtaking views, cutting-edge amenities, and seamless transitions between leisure, work, and entertainment.

-Living Quarters: 6x en-suite bedrooms 7xfull bathrooms 4x half bathrooms (including a primary suite and second bedroom, children’s room, guest rooms, staff quarters) laundry room, cleaning/washroom facilities

-Interior Amenities: Main kitchen, service kitchen, home theater, gym, yoga room, dance studio, spa, art studio, film production studio, photography studio, formal entertaining parlor, primary living room, private library, executive conference room, workspaces, Sky Lounge

-Subterranean Level: 18-car garage, gaming room, lounge area, cinema, private bar

-Outdoor Spaces: Infinity pool, private garden, hot spring jacuzzi, outdoor dining area, outdoor sofa lounge, private bar, rooftop open-air cinema

DOWNLOAD ♡ Thank you for your support!

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goblinontour · 3 months ago

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CinemaScope

no camera dolly needed for this film

series masterlist

warnings: soft!dom!alex, smut, oral (m/f receiving), piv

word count: 6.9k

La Frette Studios - France, 2017

The chateau loomed before you, its grandeur almost surreal against the bright and clear sky. It resembled a castle in a way. Yet, the most captivating sight was Alex, leaning in the doorway, a faint smirk playing on his lips as he watched you take it all in.

He’d let his beard grow out, maybe a bit too much. Thicker and more unruly than usual. It was obvious that he hadn’t bothered to trim it much lately, and while it filled in well around his chin and jawline, the sides of his face remained stubbornly patchy. It gave him a slightly dishevelled look that suited him somehow, adding a ruggedness that made him appear older.

But when you really looked at him, past the facial hair and the glasses he stubbornly never seemed to want to take off, that familiar baby face of his was still there, hiding beneath the surface. Speaking of glasses, he had these new ones he got on his last trip to this place, when he fell in love with it and decided he had to record here. They had become a near-constant fixture on his face.

His shirt was a different story. Probably should’ve been thrown out ages ago. The neckline was frayed, barely holding on by a thread from how ripped it had gotten over time from years of wear. But he clung to it, letting it become part of this character he’d built, a mix of his obsessions and eccentricities. You didn’t mind, though. It was all just part of who he was, part of the Alex you adored.

You had never minded his quirks. If anything, you found them endearing. They were part of what made him who he was, and you loved every bit of it. So, as you stood there, taking in the sight of him, in this almost-castle in the French countryside, you couldn’t help but smile. He was all yours.

He had explained how they’d shipped all their equipment here, preparing for the new album recording in France. You’d barely listened, too thrilled at the thought of having him all to yourself for a few precious days before the band arrived.

“Ready to come inside?” he called out, his voice pulling you from your reverie. You nodded, walking towards him, the gravel crunching softly under your feet.

Inside, the chateau was a labyrinth of rooms filled with tech you had no clue about and high ceilings. Alex gave you a brief tour, but your mind was elsewhere, already imagining the mess you’d make the place. No distractions, just the two of you. In a fucking castle. In the middle of nowhere France.

As you reached the heart of the building, Alex turned to you, his eyes softening. “It’s just us for now.” he said, his voice low and inviting. You felt a flutter of excitement. The space felt almost too grand for what you knew would happen sooner or later. You had just a few days until you’d have to leave and you’d be apart for who knows how long it would take them to finish everything up.

He led you to a cosy enough sitting room, its large windows overlooking the sprawling gardens. Instruments were arranged all over the place, waiting for the creative process to begin, but for now, it was just background noise.

“Did I tell you I wanna get into directing some stuff?” Alex asked, his voice casual as he perched on the arm of the chair where you’d settled in.

“You didn’t.” you replied, looking up at him, curiosity piqued.

He leaned forward slightly, fingers idly playing with the hair on his chin, smoothing it down as he spoke. “Yeah, I’ve been thinking about it for a while. There’s something about creating a visual narrative that really excites me. But…” He trailed off, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “I’ll need some practice.”

“Hmm?” you murmured, encouraging him to continue. There was something in his tone that made you suspect he had a plan in mind.

He slid off the arm of the chair, walking over to where his bag lay discarded on the floor. You watched as he crouched down, rifling through its contents with a kind of casual focus that was so typically him. After a moment, he straightened up, holding something in his hand. A relatively small, very old looking camera. Turning back to you, he flashed a grin, his eyes gleaming.

“I wanted to ask if you’d help me out.” he said, his voice dropping to that smooth, almost conspiratorial tone he used when he was up to something. He walked back over, standing in front of you, the camera dangling from his fingers. “If you would be so kind as to be ma muse.” he added, his attempt at French charmingly imperfect, still laced with his unmistakable Sheffield accent.

You couldn’t help but smile at his request, the idea of him directing something suddenly feeling so perfectly suited to him. “What exactly are you planning, Turner?” you asked, a playful lilt in your voice.

He tilted his head slightly, contemplating how to respond. “Well,” he began, slipping into that thoughtful demeanour, “I’ve got this place, right? This castle…in the middle of nowhere. And I’ve got you.” He gave you a pointed look, his expression softening. “Seems like the perfect setting for something quite...cinematic.”

You laughed softly, the idea of turning these few days of solitude into something more intentional, more ‘creative’, appealing to you. “So, what kind of ‘directing’ are we talking about?” you teased, already half-knowing the answer but wanting to hear him say it.

He leaned in closer, his eyes locking onto yours. “Nothing too complicated.” he said, his voice dropping an octave. “Just…capturing you. Us. The way we are right now, in this moment.” He paused, brushing a loose strand of hair from your face, his touch lingering. “Think of it as…documenting our time together. Something we can look back on when we’re apart.”

The flutter of excitement from earlier intensified, mixing with a warmth that spread through your chest. You could picture it, all the intimate moments you’d share regardless, immortalised on film, something tangible to hold onto during the long stretches when you couldn’t be together.

You nodded, feeling a sense of anticipation build as he moved to adjust the camera in his hands. “Alright, director.” you said, leaning back into the chair, your eyes still on him. “Where do we start?”

He grinned, the excitement in his eyes mirrored in yours. “Let’s start right here.” he said, bringing the camera up to eye level, the lens focusing on you. “Just be yourself. That’s all I need.”

He began filming, the camera capturing every detail as you sat there. You held his gaze, feeling a mix of curiosity and nerves. After a moment, you broke into a soft laugh. “I’m not an actress, you know.” you said, your voice light, though your words lingered with a bit of self-consciousness.

Alex chuckled softly as he lowered the camera slightly, peering at you over the top with a playful glint in his eye. “That’s alright,” he said, his tone playful, “I’ll give you some directions then. How’s that sound?”

“Alright.” you agreed, placing your hands on your knees as you sat up a little straighter, preparing yourself for whatever he had in mind.

He glanced around the room before his eyes settled on the large, almost floor-to-ceiling French windows that stretched along the wall behind you. “Start by opening those up.” he instructed, nodding toward them. “Go and open up the windows for me, dolly.”

You stood, feeling the camera following your every move, but paused for a moment, turning to face him fully. “What’s up with that nickname?” you asked, a playful challenge in your voice. He’d been calling you ‘dolly’ for the past couple of weeks now, seemingly out of nowhere.

He shrugged, a smile tugging at his lips. “I just like it.” he replied, as if that was enough explanation. “It suits you.” He brought the camera back up, aiming it at you once more. “Now, you should probably follow the director’s orders, don’t you think?”

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes, but there was a smile on your face as you turned back toward the windows. The nickname had grown on you, and though you wouldn’t admit it out loud, you liked the way it sounded coming from him.

The windows were tall and elegant, the kind you’d expect to find in a place like this, and as you reached for the handles, you couldn’t resist looking back at him over your shoulder. He was still filming, his focus entirely on you. You grasped the handles, feeling the cool metal under your palms, and slowly pushed the windows open, letting the outside world seep into the room.

“What was that for?” you asked, a hint of a smile playing on your lips.

He lowered the camera just enough to meet your gaze directly, his expression still playful but now laced with a subtle edge. “I want to make sure that, if anyone walks by, they’ll hear you later.” he said.

The implication of his words sent a thrill down your spine. The game had begun, and you were more than ready to play along.

“Now,” he continued, his tone commanding but still soft, “Undress yourself. But make it pretty.”

You raised an eyebrow, a teasing smile playing on your lips as you toyed with the little bow at the front of your blouse. “So, you’re saying I’m not already pretty?” you asked, drawing out the words, knowing full well what you were doing.

He gave you a look, that look, the kind that sent a shiver of excitement down your spine. “Just keep going.” he murmured, his voice holding that edge of authority you found impossible to resist.

Slowly, you pulled on the strings of the bow, feeling the tension release as it came undone. You could sense the lens of the camera following your every movement, and it made you even more aware of how you were presenting yourself. You grasped the hem of your blouse, your fingers brushing against your skin as you began to lift it over your head. The fabric slid up, revealing the lacy bra underneath, delicately sitting against your skin.

A low whistle escaped his lips, and you couldn’t help but smirk at his reaction. You could hear the soft whir of the camera lens adjusting, zooming in closer, no doubt focusing on your chest.

“Are you zooming in on my boobs, you old perv?” you teased, half laughing, enjoying the banter as much as the moment itself.

“Hey, hey, easy there. Play nice.” he shot back, though there was no mistaking the amusement in his voice.

You held his gaze, the game now fully in motion, both of you aware of the dance you were performing, each step thought out, each word a part of the intricate choreography between you.

With a playful smirk, you reached for the waistband of your pants, fingers slipping under the fabric. You made a show of it, moving slowly, sliding the material down your legs with deliberate care, knowing his eyes, and the camera, were on you the entire time. You stepped out of the pants, letting them fall to the floor beside you, then turned back toward the chair.

You sat down gracefully, crossing one leg over the other, feeling the cool leather against your skin. Your hands moved with purpose, sliding up your body, grazing over your hips, up your stomach, and finally, to your chest. You pushed your breasts together, leaning forward just enough to give him the best possible view, the kind that would make the lens zoom in on its own if it could. He followed your every move, the camera capturing each subtle shift, every rise and fall of your breath. The thrill of being watched, of knowing exactly how much control you had over the scene, sent a rush of heat through you.

You reached behind your back, fingers deftly finding the clasp of your bra. With a flick, it came undone, the fabric loosening around you. You caught it in your hand, holding it up as it swung in the air before tossing it toward him. Even with the camera in hand, Alex managed to keep it steady, his other hand effortlessly catching the bra midair before tossing it over his shoulder with a grin.

“What now, mister director?” you asked, leaning back in the chair, your hands gripping the armrests, chest pushed out, fully exposed.

He tilted his head slightly, eyes still on you, but his tone shifted, deeper and more serious. “You can call me Alexander.”

You smiled, enjoying the game even more. “My dear Alexander,” you began, voice dripping with mock formality, “I think it’s your turn.”

“Is it now?” he asked, raising an eyebrow, clearly enjoying the shift in dynamics. “Really?”

“Well…” you said, a playful edge to your voice, “I wanna have something to look back on too.” A grin spread across your face as an idea formed. “Give me the camera.” you demanded, holding out your hand expectantly.

He hesitated for a moment, looking at you with a mix of amusement and mock reluctance. “Just so you know,” he said as he handed the camera over, “You’re not getting any directing credits.”

“Sure, sure.” you said, waving off his words. “Now, get on with it and get naked. I don’t need it to be ‘pretty’.”

He stepped back a bit, but you quickly stopped him. “No, no. Step back a little more.” you instructed, adjusting the focus as he complied, moving further away so you could catch him fully in the frame.

He grabbed the hem of his tattered t-shirt, and with one smooth motion, pulled it over his head. The fabric caught on the rip at the neckline, and he spun it around on his finger with a flourish, giving you a cheeky grin before tossing it in your direction, mimicking how you’d thrown your bra at him earlier.

He held out his hand, signalling for the camera, but you shook your head, holding it just out of his grasp. “Nuh-uh. Pants too.” you insisted.

“Right…égalité.” he muttered with a smirk, his fingers already fiddling with the buckle of his belt. It took him a moment to get the hang of it, but soon he was sliding the belt out from the loops, whipping it between his hands with a satisfying snap a couple of times before stepping closer to you.

You were about to interrupt him again, but he shot you a look. “Don’t boss me around.” he warned, his tone half-serious, half-teasing.

With that, he placed the belt on the back of the chair, right next to where you sat. “Keeping it close…just in case.” he added with a wink before walking back to his spot, that same smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as he began to take off his pants.

You watched through the camera. They were loose on him, too loose, a good few sizes too big, barely hanging onto his hips without the belt’s help. But they were still obscuring your view of the parts you really wanted to see.

He unbuttoned and unzipped them, letting the heavy fabric slide down his legs and pool around his ankles. But then, as he stepped out of them and stood tall again, your focus was drawn down, your breath catching in your throat. With the camera zoomed in on the bulge straining against the thin fabric of his underwear, the outline was unmistakable.

He rested a hand on his hip, that familiar smirk playing on his lips as he looked at you. But you didn’t see that. Your attention was entirely on what the camera’s viewfinder showed you. Every detail magnified, every inch of him hard and ready beneath the material that barely concealed him.

“Wow.” you breathed out, your voice barely above a whisper, your eyes still glued to the screen.

His smirk widened, a low chuckle rumbling in his chest. “What?”

You finally pulled your gaze away from the viewfinder, looking up at him. “If I had a dick, I’d be hard right now looking at you.” you admitted, half-joking, but the way your voice wavered at the end betrayed just how affected you were.

He threw his head back and laughed, the sound filling the room and somehow making the air between you both thicker. “Well, that’s good to know.” he teased, reaching out to take the camera from your hands. This time, you didn’t resist, letting him take it with ease.

He flipped it around, aiming it at you. The change in perspective made your breath hitch as he loomed over you, the weight of his presence pressing down, making you feel small, vulnerable under his gaze.

He shifted closer, one hand still holding the camera while the other reached out to you, his fingers brushing lightly against your cheek. His thumb traced the curve of your cheekbone, then slowly slid down, skimming over your lips. He paused there, the rough pad of his thumb lingering on your bottom lip, dragging it down slightly. “Open wide.” he murmured, his voice husky with intent.

You obeyed, parting your lips, heart pounding as his thumb slipped into your mouth. The camera wobbled slightly as he adjusted his grip, trying to find the right angle to capture both of you. His eyes flicked from the lens back to you, a gleam of satisfaction in them as he extended his arm out, struggling to hopefully get everything in the frame.

Then, without breaking eye contact, he leaned down, his face inches from yours. He spat into your mouth, the action slow, a display of control and intimacy. His thumb still rested on your lip as he watched your reaction, the camera forgotten for a moment as his gaze bore into you.

Alex shifted the camera’s focus back to capturing just you, the lens zooming in closer, capturing every detail of your expression. He was meticulous, making sure the angle was just right. “I’m gonna do it again.” he said, his voice steady but tinged with a playful command. “Just to be sure I get it right.”

You nodded slightly, your heart pounding in anticipation. Slowly, you stuck your tongue out, offering yourself up to him without hesitation. His eyes darkened as he leaned in, the smirk on his face replaced by something more intense.

This time, the spit was harsher, more forceful as it landed on your tongue. Before you had a chance to close your mouth, before you could even think to swallow, he acted. In a swift motion, Alex slid two fingers into your mouth, pushing them past your lips and deeper, further than you expected.

The sudden invasion made your eyes widen, your breath catching as he pressed down on your tongue, guiding his fingers toward the back of your throat. The sensation was overwhelming, your senses bombarded all at once by the taste of him, the roughness of his skin, the force of his touch.

You instinctively wrapped your lips around his fingers, the warmth of your mouth enveloping them as you tried to adjust to the feeling, to the sheer boldness of his. He watched you closely, his eyes never leaving yours, his expression one of satisfaction as he eased his fingers deeper, coaxing you into submission.

“Ah, there we go, there we go…” he murmured, his voice low and approving, each word sending a shiver down your spine. His fingers pressed further, testing your limits, the slight stretch making your eyes water. “You look very pretty.” he added, his tone soft but commanding, as if he were admiring a piece of art he’d just perfected.

He pushed just a little deeper, his breath hitching slightly as he watched your reaction, the way you took him in. “Très jolie.” he whispered, the French words rolling off his tongue with a quiet reverence, as if he were acknowledging your effort.

He slid his fingers out of your mouth slowly, the sensation leaving a lingering tingle on your lips. As they slipped free, he gave you a quick, almost playful tap on the cheek. A silent acknowledgment, a “good job” without the words. The gesture was brief, but it sent a warm flush through you, a feeling of pride curling in your stomach.

He adjusted his grip on the camera, holding it steady in one hand as he hooked his thumb into the waistband of his underwear. He shuffled out of them, the fabric sliding down his legs until it pooled around his ankles. Your eyes were locked on him, watching intently as his cock bobbed up once it was freed, thick and hard, the skin flushed with need.

Instinctively, you reached out, your hand moving to touch him, to feel the heat of him in your palm. But before you could make contact, he pulled back slightly, a teasing smirk playing on his lips as he grasped himself instead. The sight of him holding his cock, stroking it lightly while still keeping the camera trained on you, sent a fresh wave of wetness rushing through you.

“Get down.” he instructed, his voice firm.

You scrambled to obey, quickly slipping off the chair and dropping to your knees in front of him. The cool floor was a stark contrast to the heat building inside you, but you barely noticed, too focused on him, on the way he looked down at you, the camera capturing every moment.

Your hands rested on your knees, a deliberate choice as you remembered his earlier words: “Make it pretty”. You held his gaze, your heart racing, as you waited for his next move, eager to show him just how well you could follow instructions.

Alex guided his cock to your lips, the tip brushing over them with intentional slowness, teasing you, testing your restraint. The weight of it, the heat, made your lips part instinctively, but he didn’t let you take him in just yet. He lingered there, savouring the moment before he spoke, his voice a low command, “You can suck it now.”

You didn’t hesitate, wrapping your hand around the base of his cock, feeling the pulsing warmth beneath your fingers. You leaned forward, letting your lips slide over the head, taking him into your mouth. The taste of him filled your senses as you sucked gently, hollowing your cheeks to create a soft, warm pressure. You glanced up at him, seeking approval, but he tapped a finger on the camera he held just above you.

“Look there.” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument.

You shifted your gaze to the lens, the cold glass reflecting your flushed face as you focused on pleasing him. For a moment, he let you take control, your hand moving in time with your mouth as you worked him over, exploring the smooth, velvety skin, the way he pulsed against your tongue. You could hear his breathing change, a quiet approval that fueled your movements.

But then, his hand brushed yours away, taking hold of his cock himself. You felt a surge of anticipation as he took over, his hips thrusting forward in a steady, unyielding rhythm. He drove himself deeper into your mouth, pushing past your comfort zone, until you felt the head of his cock brushing the back of your throat. The sudden force made you choke, your throat constricting around him as you fought to keep up, to take him as deeply as he wanted.

A few tears welled up in your eyes, escaping down your cheeks as you struggled to adjust, to breathe around the fullness of him. Sensing your struggle, he pulled out abruptly, the sudden emptiness almost as jarring as the force of his thrusts.

“What’s the matter, dolly?” he asked, his voice laced with mock concern as he used his fingers to wipe away the stray tears that clung to your lashes.

“Wasn’t ready.” you managed to gasp, your voice barely above a whisper.

His expression softened, but only slightly. “Be ready…action.” he ordered as he guided himself back to your mouth, the tip of his cock pressing against your lips once more. “Take it properly. Make me proud.”

You swallowed down your nerves, opening wide and bracing yourself as he slid back in. This time, you were prepared, your throat relaxing as best as it could to accommodate him. His grip tightened in your hair as he began to thrust again, deep and demanding, each movement forcing you to take more of him, to push yourself further for his satisfaction.

He began to fuck into your mouth with a steady rhythm, brushing the back of your throat with every thrust. It wasn’t too fast or rough, just enough to make your throat tickle each time he reached that sensitive spot. The sensation was overwhelming but in a way that made you want more, made you want to take him deeper, to prove you could handle it.

But just as you found a rhythm, just as your body started to adjust, he pulled out abruptly. The sudden emptiness made you gasp for air again, your chest heaving as you tried to catch your breath. A thin strand of spit still connected you to him, a glistening thread that hung in the air between you. Alex smirked as he reached down, breaking the strand off with his hand, watching as it fell away.

He shifted the camera, angling it down at his cock, capturing the wetness your mouth had left on him. He stroked himself slowly, letting the lens see every detail, every glistening drop, every slick slide of his hand over his length.

“That was good.” he murmured, more to himself than to you, his voice satisfied as he stopped the recording momentarily.

He set the camera down on the small coffee table nearby, placing it carefully as if it were something precious. Then he turned away, walking through the room with an almost aimless air, his gaze drifting over the furniture, the walls, as if he were inspecting something, or maybe just lost in thought.

You seized the opportunity, reaching for the camera with a quiet determination. You couldn’t resist, not with the way he’d looked, not with the lingering taste of him still on your lips. You brought the camera up, filming him as he moved, the lens capturing the lines of his body, the tension in his muscles, the way he carried himself with that same effortlessness.

He noticed the camera on him and turned around, his eyes narrowing slightly in amusement. “Where do you wanna fuck?” he asked, his tone casual, like it was just another decision to be made.

You met his gaze through the viewfinder, a playful smile tugging at your lips. “You tell me, mister director,” you teased, drawing out the last words before adding, “Alexander.”

The name lingered in the air between you, and you saw the flash of something in his eyes. Approval. Desire. Maybe a bit of both. He took a step closer, his expression shifting as the roles reversed again, the director now back in control.

“Okay.” he said with a thoughtful nod, acting like he was making a very important decision. “I want to fuck you on the piano.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “What piano?” you asked, your curiosity piqued.

“There’s the big one in the other room.” he replied, a mischievous glint in his eyes. Before you could ask anything else, he stepped closer, his hand reaching out to take the camera from you. He was close enough that you could feel the heat radiating from his body, close enough that the anticipation between you hummed like electricity.

“Come on.” he urged with a smirk, stepping back just enough to let you move past him. “Ladies first.”

You hesitated only for a moment before you started walking, the idea of what was to come spurring you forward. As you walked, you couldn’t resist the urge to look back over your shoulder. He was right behind you, but instead of keeping pace, he had slowed down, deliberately falling behind so he could get a better angle.

The camera was trained on you, the lens fixed on your ass as you moved through the room. His eyes, too, were glued to the sight of you, the weight of his gaze a palpable thing, making your skin tingle. The way he watched you, the way he filmed you, was almost as intimate as his touch, as he was capturing every moment, every movement for himself, for later.

The anticipation curled tighter inside you, your breath hitching as you felt the growing heat of his attention. You couldn’t help but sway your hips a little more with each step, knowing he was watching, knowing the camera was catching every detail. You reached the doorway to the other room and paused, looking back at him again, your lips curving into a playful smile as you caught him red-handed.

“Enjoying the view?” you teased, though the question was more a statement of fact than anything else.

He didn’t answer, but the smirk that tugged at the corner of his lips was enough to tell you that he was, indeed, enjoying every second of it. He motioned for you to keep going, the camera still focused on you, capturing the way the light played off your skin as you led the way to the piano, your pulse quickening with each step.

You stepped up to the piano, eyes drawn to it and the way it was dominating the space. Curious, you pressed a couple of the ivory keys, the sound that emerged surprisingly not too horrible to your untrained ears, though it was clear you had no idea what you were doing. Music had never been your forte, despite quite literally dating a musician.

Alex followed close behind, and as you turned to face him, he carefully closed the fall board over the keys with a soft click, ensuring there would be no more accidental notes interrupting what was about to happen. He placed the camera down gently on the closed lid, abandoning it for a moment as he focused on a more important task.

His hands found your hips, the touch firm and almost possessive as he pulled you against him, sliding back to cup your ass in his palms. He squeezed, his fingers digging in just enough to make you gasp softly, the sensation shooting straight through you. Then he kissed you, his lips capturing yours with an urgency that made your knees weaken, his tongue slipping into your mouth, claiming you as he pulled you even closer. You could feel his fingers teasing the lace trim of your panties, slipping just underneath the fabric, feeling the soft skin beneath.

He pulled back slightly, his lips hovering just above yours as he whispered, “You know I always think you’re pretty, right?”

The words were simple, but the way he said them made your heart skip a beat. You barely had time to nod before he was guiding you backward, his hands steady and sure as he led you toward the edge of the piano. The cool wood pressed against your skin as he continued to nudge you back, his hands never leaving your body.

“Sit.” he encouraged, his voice a quiet command that sent a thrill down your spine.

With a gentle push, he encouraged you to sit on it, helping you up. The edge dug slightly into the back of your thighs as you shuffled back, moving until you were sitting properly. The piano’s surface was smooth beneath you, a stark contrast to the rough need simmering. He stood between your legs, his gaze fixed on you, his hands still on your hips.

He grabbed the camera once more, bringing it up to capture every detail of the moment as his hand slid down your chest. His touch was slow, tracing the curve of your breasts, before pushing you back gently, encouraging you to lie down on the cool, polished surface. The slight pressure of his hand guided you, your back meeting the smooth wood.

His hand moved lower, fingertips brushing over your stomach until they reached the hem of your panties. He paused there, his eyes following the movement of his hand as he toyed with the tiny pink bow in the middle, twisting it between his fingers with a playful smirk. The sight of his large hand playing with that delicate detail made your breath hitch, anticipation building as he hooked his fingers into the waistband and began to tug them down your legs.

As they reached your ankles, he caught them before they could fall to the floor. Carefully, he placed the white lace on the surface next to you, adding to the visual allure of the scene.

Satisfied with the arrangement, he put the camera down again, ready to focus on you, needing both hands free to devote all of his attention to you. But you reached for it before he could. You couldn’t resist the urge to take control for a moment, to see the world through the lens as he saw it.

He didn't seem to mind. In fact, the corner of his mouth lifted in a small, approving smirk as he lowered himself to kiss the inside of your thigh. You adjusted the camera, pointing it down at him as he leaned in, his lips making contact with the inside of your thigh.

The sensation of his beard against your skin was both rough and tantalisingly soft. You could feel the rasp of it as he kissed his way up your inner thigh.

When his lips finally met your core, he left a soft kiss there. The intimacy of the moment was magnified through the lens, the camera capturing the way he looked up at you, as he held your gaze through the viewfinder.

He didn’t hesitate as he began to lick at you, his tongue moving with an unhurried precision that made your whole body tense with pleasure. His hands held your thighs firmly, keeping you in place as he worked. The sensation was overwhelming, and you couldn’t help but writhe beneath him, your back arching slightly off the piano as the pressure built inside you.

You managed to gasp out a question between breathless moans. “When do we get to the climax of the plot?”

He paused just long enough to lift his head, a smirk playing on his glistening lips. “Have patience, baby,” he murmured, “I need this.”

With that, he dove back in, his mouth reclaiming its place against your core. This time, his movements were more intense, his tongue delving deeper, lapping at you with a hunger that left you gasping.

Each stroke of his tongue, each subtle change in pressure, was designed to drive you wild, to draw out your pleasure until you were trembling under him. The heat in his eyes matched the fire in your belly. You couldn’t look away. His hands gripped your thighs tighter, holding you in place as you instinctively tried to buck against him, your body desperate for more, for everything.

The need in his eyes mirrored the need building inside you, the pressure mounting. It was almost unbearable, the way he kept you on the edge, pushing you closer and closer to the brink without letting you fall over. But even as the desperation clawed at you, you couldn’t help but give in, letting him take what he needed.

Alex snatched the camera back from you with a quick motion, the lens focusing intently as he pulled back, capturing the view of the wet mess that had pooled at your entrance. His fingers moved over the slick, glistening folds, spreading the moisture around with a slowness that made you squirm.

“Will you talk to me in French while you fuck me?” you teased.

He glanced up, a smirk on his lips. “I don’t even know how you say ‘fuck’ in French.” he replied with a playful shrug, his gaze shifting back to the viewfinder.

As he spoke, he guided his cock to your pussy, his eyes locked on the camera as he filmed the moment. He positioned himself carefully, his thick head pressing against your entrance as he started to push inside. The lens captured every detail, the way he stretched you, the slow motion of his cock sliding into you.

“Fuck.” he moaned as he finally entered you, the sound of his voice mixed with the low, guttural pleasure he felt from the tight, warm embrace of your body.

He continued to film, holding the camera as steady as he could as he began to thrust, the details of your connection laid bare for the lens to see. The combination of his body’s rhythm and the camera’s unblinking gaze made the scene even more intense, every sound and sight magnified as he lost himself in the feeling of you, in the undeniable connection between you both.

“Oh god.” Alex groaned.

In his haze, he set the camera down, but the action was rougher than intended, the device slamming onto the piano with a loud thud. Neither of you cared, too caught up in the moment.

He reached for you, strong hands pulling you up from the smooth surface of the piano until your chest was flush against his. Your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist, ankles locking behind him as you clung to his shoulders. His grip on you was firm, one arm wrapped tightly around your back while the other supported you under your thigh.

Without a word, he started moving back, his cock still buried deep inside you. The room seemed to spin slightly, your senses overloaded as he carried you with ease. As he walked away, he reached out to turn the camera slightly from where it had landed, a half-hearted attempt to capture more of what was happening. But you could see the shift in his focus, the way he no longer cared as much about the filming. He was too consumed by the feel of you wrapped around him.

He moved until his back hit the wall with a solid thud, the impact making you gasp against his neck. With his body braced against the wall, his hands freed up to grip your hips tightly, he began to thrust into you again. The change in angle meant he could get deeper. And you clung to him, your arms wrapped tightly around his neck, your lips brushing against the shell of his ear as you moaned his name.

The pace he set was relentless now, fast and rough, every thrust pushing you closer to the edge. His breath was hot and heavy against your skin, his groans filling your ear as he pounded into you, each thrust bringing you both closer to release.

It consumed you both, everything narrowing down to the feeling of him inside you, the sound of your breathless moans, and the way your bodies moved together. The tension built with every stroke, every frantic heartbeat, until there was nothing left but the inevitable release that came crashing down over you both.

You buried your head under his chin, seeking comfort in his closeness and he took the opportunity to press his face in your hair, his breath mingling with the scent of your skin. The moment was a blur, highlighted by his body shuddering as he let out a soft groan, the warmth of his release flooding inside you. You could feel the wet mess already beginning to slide down your legs, mingling with the sweat that dripped down both your thighs and his, though it was hard to tell what was what in the heat of the moment. He couldn’t discern whether it was his cum or simply sweat dampening his legs, but he didn’t care either way.

His knees nearly gave out, and for a moment, it seemed like he might drop you. But he quickly adjusted his grip with a grunt, his arms tightening around you as he carefully lowered himself to the floor. You landed on his lap, the sudden shift making you acutely aware of the pulsing warmth of his cock, which had slipped out but was still pressing against your thigh, making you aware of every subtle twitch.

Despite the mess and the precariousness of the position, he didn’t move you. His breathing was ragged, the exertion of the moment evident in every breath he took. As he steadied himself, catching his breath, he looked down at you with a mixture of satisfaction and exhaustion.

“And…cut.” he said, his voice a little breathless but still carrying that familiar authoritative tone. The command was as much a signal of the end of the recording session as it was a release of the tension that had built up. The camera was still rolling, capturing the aftermath of the scene.

a/n: i don’t like how this turned out. i guess it’s alright but meh.

tags: @st7rnioioss @theonlyoneswhoknowsblog @rentsturner @yourstartreatment @avxoxo1 @jqsvi @turnersfav @youresodarkbabe @psychedelicrocker @aacheinthejaw @zayndrider @humbuginmybones @tedioepica

#alex turner #alex turner x reader #alex turner x you #alex turner smut #alex turner fic #alex turner fanfic #smut #goblinontour #what would dolly do

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doormatty3 · 11 months ago

Text

Sinner's Salvation: Chapter 2 (Ed Warren x Reader)

Masterlist Ao3

Summary:

[Ed Warren x Female Reader] [Ed Warren x You] You don't believe in the supernatural and superstition. Witchcraft and demonic occurrences are nothing but quackery to you. But when the room starts spinning, days start blurring into each other and shadows start dancing in every corner you wonder what is wrong with you. No doctor can tell you more about your condition - each and every one is insisting that you are fine and perfectly healthy. Seeking alternative help, you stumble across Ed and Lorraine Warren. They promise to help you, rid you of the demon that has taken hold of you - to drive it out. But you didn’t know what you signed up for and what an exorcism by Ed Warren entails. OR: Ed shows you how well he can possess your body - and your cunt

Wordcount: 12055

Chapter: 2/2 (Chapter 1)

Warnings: 18+, fingering, facefucking, unprotected sex, cream pie, breeding, dubious consent, spanking, improper use of catholic rituals, church sex, rough oral sex

A/N: Well, that’s my ticket to hell for defiling church stuff - if my soul can be saved I’d happily let Patrick Wilson exorcise me

Previous Chapter

CHAPTER 2

A weight settles in your chest as you gaze upon the imposing facade of the Warrens’ house. It feels surreal, as if the reality of being here now is a fragile dream.

In the glow of a well-lit yard, your attention is drawn to a chicken coop, complete with a nestled henhouse and a bustling assembly of a dozen or so chickens. The surroundings reveal a sizable and inviting house, adorned with the quaint charm of a small chapel adjacent to the garden.

After a moment’s hesitation, you press the doorbell, the sound resonating through the stillness. A few heartbeats later, Lorraine swings the door open, a beacon of warmth and smiles. A radiant figure framed by the doorway, her eyes alight with a newfound calmness that seems to have settled since the lecture. The weight of the outside world appears to have dissipated, replaced by a sense of ease that only home can bring. Her long brown hair cascades freely around her shoulders, a tangible reflection of the comfort found within these walls.

“Hey there! You made it,” Lorraine exclaims, her voice filled with genuine enthusiasm.

“Yeah, it’s... it’s really something,” you reply, still taking in the grandeur of the place as you try to calm your nerves.

Lorraine chuckles, seeing right through you: “Well, come on in, Ed’s waiting inside! I’ve got some fresh tea ready in the kitchen.”

The creaking wooden floor beneath your feet echoes when you step over the threshold. The air carries a timeless quality, and the scent of well-maintained woodwork envelops you, adding to the charm of the old house.

Glancing around, you observe the meticulous care evident in every nook and cranny. The cleanliness of the space speaks of dedicated upkeep, preserving the essence of the dwelling. The walls are adorned with a collection of pictures and paintings.

Upon closer inspection, you discover that the signature on each painting reads Ed Warren.

Lorraine notices your intrigued gaze and smiles, “Ed loves to capture moments and emotions on canvas.”

The images and brushstrokes weave a narrative of the Warrens’ interests, adding depth to the character of the house. Each stroke of the brush tells a story, and within the confines of those well-kept walls, and you can’t help but imagine Ed sitting in his studio, painting for hours. Would his brow furrow in concentration as his big hands paint such delicate things?

Lorraine leads you into the kitchen and you sense Ed’s gaze on you before you actually see him. Turning around, you find him seated at the kitchen table, a newspaper in one hand and a coffee mug in the other. His gaze is studying you intensely, magnified by the large glasses that obscure his eyes.

His eyes, perceptive and playful, travel down the length of your body before meeting your eyes again, a playful smirk gracing his full lips. The gesture leaves you flustered and shortly rendered breathless.

The room seems to grow warmer as you become acutely aware that Lorraine is watching your interaction, her keen eyes capturing the nuances of the unfolding situation.

Lorraine, her face still reflecting worry, chimes in: “We’ve been looking forward to having you here. Is everything all right? You seem a bit off.”

You attempt a reassuring smile: “Just a headache, nothing major. Must be the change in weather.”

But even as the words leave your lips, you sense they see through the facade.

“Well, we can't have our guest in distress. Perhaps a cup of tea will help ease that headache. Come, sit down”, Ed, ever perceptive, raises an eyebrow.

He rises from his seat with a deliberate grace, pulling a chair out with a courteous gesture. As you lower yourself into the seat, he subtly guides it in, his hands lingering on your shoulders for a moment longer than necessary. Through the thick fabric of your sweater, you feel the warmth of his touch.

“Make yourself comfortable, ” Ed says with a smile and a wink before walking away and sitting down opposite you, next to Lorraine.

Lorraine, with a caring demeanour, inquires further: “Have you experienced anything unusual lately? Dreams, strange occurrences, perhaps?”

You hesitate before answering: “Actually, there have been some strange dreams, and a few odd happenings. That’s partly why I took you up on your offer.”

Ed nods knowingly: “The supernatural has a way of making its presence known. We’re here to help, and we appreciate your trust in us.”

You delve into the details, your words weaving a tapestry of the dream’s vivid imagery.

“I..thought I was awake. I was sitting at my computer when I heard the sound of the front door opening. Given the day I had, I dismissed it as just another product of my imagination. However, curiosity got the better of me, and when I investigated, I saw that the door was open. I grabbed a knife from the kitchen and started to search the rooms. There was someone in the living room, I pleaded for them to leave, but... the figure charged at me. Without conscious thought, I stabbed the stranger. I was so disgusted and horrified by what I had done but… “

Lorraine listens intently, her eyes reflecting empathy. “Go on,” she encourages.

“But I reached for the knife lodged in the stranger's stomach and pulled it out. And I stabbed them again. And again. And I couldn’t stop. It was only when I removed the hood that I realised it was me, but not really me.”

As you recount the vivid dream that haunts your thoughts, tears well in your eyes and a heavy silence settles over the kitchen. Ed and Lorraine exchange a glance, their expressions turning serious, mirroring the gravity of your revelation.

Ed leans back, contemplating your words: “Dreams often manifest our internal struggles, the battle between conflicting emotions or aspects of our psyche. This self-inflicted act might be a symbolic attempt to confront and overcome a challenging part of yourself.”

Lorraine, her expression empathetic, adds: “They can be a mirror to our subconscious, reflecting what we might not be fully aware of during waking hours. Understanding their symbolism can be a key to unravelling the mysteries within. What emotions did you experience during the dream?”

You take a moment to gather your thoughts: “It was surreal, a mix of fear and confusion and just uncontrollable frenzy. It was as if I wasn’t myself. I feel - feel- so guilty…”

“It isn’t only the dreams, right?”, Lorraine looks at you as if she sees through you, “It’s also the headaches and the feeling of another presence?”

Lorraine's inquiry hangs in the air, and as she mentions the possibility of a lingering presence, a sudden surge of pain grips your head. Shadows dance in your vision, an unsettling display that feels akin to a lightning strike. Instinctively, you close your eyes, attempting to shield yourself from the overwhelming sensations.

Concerned murmurs from Lorraine and Ed surround you, their worry palpable. Ed, quick to respond, rises and kneels before you. His hand rests on your thigh, warmth seeping through, a comforting touch amid the storm within.

Despite the pain, there’s an unexpected allure in the strength of Ed’s presence. His voice, deep and reassuring, coaxes you to open your eyes. As you comply, the pain begins to recede, replaced by a sense of calm emanating from his reassuring presence. The room, once flickering with shadows, gradually steadies.

Ed, still kneeling, his gaze steady, asks gently: “Can you tell us more about this presence? Understanding its nature might be the key to understand these distressing episodes.”

Lorraine, her concern etched on her features, leans in: “We’ve encountered various entities in our work, and understanding their nature is crucial. Can you describe the feeling accompanying this presence? Any specific details or sensations?”

You take a deep breath, attempting to articulate the ineffable: “It’s like a heaviness in the air, a feeling of being watched even when I’m alone. Sometimes, there are fleeting glimpses of shadows, shapes that vanish when I try to focus on them. It’s been escalating, and with each occurrence, this headache intensifies.”

“It sounds like you're attuned to something beyond the ordinary. These manifestations might be a manifestation of psychic sensitivity, and we're here to help you navigate through it”, Ed’s hand still remains on your thigh, a grounding force.

As Ed’s hand gently leaves your leg, the warmth and reassurance it provided dissipated, leaving an emptiness that resonated within you. Rising from his previous position, Ed chooses a spot next to you.

Lorraine, sensing the shift in dynamics, delicately broached the subject, her concern evident in the furrow of her brow.

“Are you feeling alright?”, she inquires, her voice carrying a blend of empathy and curiosity.

You brush off the significance of Ed’s withdrawal with a nonchalant response: “It’s nothing, I'm fine.” Though the unspoken weight lingers in the air.

Undeterred, Lorraine leanes in, her eyes reflecting a genuine care. “We're here to help; you don’t have to face this alone”, she reassures, her words a lifeline in the sea of unspoken emotions.

As Ed subtly adjusts his position, and your thighs make contact in a dance of unspoken connection. In response, you press against him, not just to maintain the touch but to signify a shared sense of comfort and solace.

Turning your gaze towards Lorraine, you confess: “Perhaps you can offer a different kind of help, one that conventional medicine couldn't provide.”

“I wonder what is wrong with me”, you say, your voice carrying the weight of countless bewildering moments, “every day the room starts to spin, days become an indistinct blur, and shadows dance in every corner.”

Ed leans forward, his concern etched on his face. “That sounds disconcerting, to say the least. Have the doctors given any insights into these symptoms?”, he asks, his inquiry a testament to a genuine desire to understand.

A wistful smile flickers across your face as you respond: “Unfortunately, no doctor has been able to shed light on my condition. It’s baffling; they all insist I’m fine, perfectly healthy, while I feel like I'm unravelling.”

The frustration in your voice is palpable, a poignant reminder of the gaping disparity between the reassurances of the medical professionals and the persistent enigma of your symptoms.

Lorraine, sensing the gravity of the situation, speaks softly: “It must be incredibly challenging. But remember, we’re here for you, even if the answers elude conventional medicine.”

The sincerity in her words weaves a thread of comfort into the room, a fragile but genuine support in the face of the mysterious ordeal you're enduring. And for the first time since your headaches started you feel heard and seen.

Lorraine’s gaze holds a mix of understanding and curiosity as she asks: “Is that why you attended our lecture at the university? Searching for answers beyond what conventional medicine could offer?”

A subtle nod confirms Lorraine’s intuition.

As the ache in your head rekindles, Ed’s intuitive response is instant – a gentle press of his thigh against yours. A wave of warmth engulfs you, not just from the unexpected intimacy but from the acknowledgment of shared moments in this intricate dance of connection.

Turning your gaze to Lorraine, you find her eyes locked onto the point where your limbs connect. There’s a flicker of something in her expression, perhaps recognition or empathy, but certainly not discomfort.

“You may have encountered an inhuman spirit that gained possession of you”, Lorraine tells you gently.

Lorraine's revelation about a potential inhuman spirit leaves you perplexed, prompting Ed to provide clarification. His gaze, tinged with a grave seriousness, meets yours as he explains: “An inhuman spirit is something that has never walked the Earth in human form. It's something demonic.”

The weight of his words settles in the air, and a shiver runs down your spine as the gravity of the situation becomes palpable.

With a knot of uncertainty in your stomach, you ask: “What does that mean for me? What should I do?”

Ed's expression remains solemn, his response measured: “We need to investigate further, understand the nature of this entity. It means we’re facing a force that’s not bound by human constraints. Our priority is to help you, to confront and neutralise this inhuman spirit.”

“You’re not alone in this. We've encountered and triumphed over such entities before. Our combined efforts will guide us through this challenge”, Lorraine adds reassuringly.

Ed’s hand returns to your thigh, a gesture of comfort in the face of the unfolding supernatural challenge. The warmth of his touch, coupled with the gravity of the situation, evokes a subtle blush on your cheeks.

His gaze meets Lorraine’s, his hand a grounding presence on your leg as he proposes: “Lorraine, perhaps we should take her to the chapel.”

There’s a subtle acknowledgment in their shared look, an unspoken understanding that transcends the immediate situation.

You catch Lorraine’s eyes briefly flickering down to where Ed’s hand rests on your thigh. It is a short moment, but it doesn't escape your notice. Her agreement, when it comes, carries both assurance and determination.

A fleeting thought crosses your mind, wondering why Lorraine doesn't address the proximity and the tactile comfort Ed provides. It’s a realisation that, under different circumstances, such closeness might prompt a discussion. Yet, amidst the urgency of the supernatural situation, unspoken boundaries seem to blur, and you find yourself navigating a realm where the paranormal takes precedence over the ordinary.

_____

Approaching the small chapel nestled discreetly within the verdant grounds of the Warrens' estate, you find yourself captivated by its unassuming exterior. The façade, adorned with ivy and weathered by the passage of time, hints at the hidden sanctuary within. As you step through the entrance, a hushed awe envelops you.

The door, worn with the touch of countless hands seeking solace, opens into a world of quiet grandeur. The interior, a harmonious blend of history and reverence, embraces you with its inviting warmth. Your gaze is immediately drawn to the mesmerizing stained glass windows that adorn the chapel's walls. Each pane is a work of art, depicting scenes of profound spirituality with meticulous craftsmanship.

“Quite a sight, huh?” Ed remarks, his eyes reflecting the appreciation of someone intimately familiar with the mysteries of the divine.

Lorraine, her presence exuding a calm serenity, adds: “The colours in those windows are said to carry the essence of prayers and hopes over the years.”

The soft, diffused light that filters through these intricate creations casts enchanting patterns on the polished wooden pews below. As you move deeper into the chapel, you become aware of the ethereal dance of colors that paint the space. The sunlight, filtered through the kaleidoscope of stained glass, plays upon the floor, creating an ever-shifting mosaic that seems to breathe with life.

The wooden pews bear witness to the passage of time and whisper stories of shared prayers and quiet contemplation.

“Imagine the tales these pews could tell”, Ed says, running his hand along the polished surface, “Joys, sorrows, and moments of quiet reflection—each one etched into the wood.”

The flickering candles, arranged with deliberate care, add another layer to the sacred tableau. The flames dance in harmony, casting a soft, golden glow that kisses the air with a tranquil warmth. Their rhythmic dance is a silent hymn, echoing the sacred stillness that envelops the chapel.

“These candles”, Lorraine observes, “they’ve witnessed the power of faith. Lighting a candle is like sending a silent prayer into the universe.”

The air itself seems imbued with reverence, carrying the intertwined scents of aged wood and the lingering fragrance of consecrated incense.

You marvel at the intricate details that the chapel holds. The walls, adorned with religious artefacts and delicate carvings, hold a silent narrative of faith and devotion.

“This place is a testament to the enduring power of belief”, Ed comments, his eyes scanning the adorned walls, “Every detail speaks of the profound connection between the human spirit and the divine.”

The ceiling, an architectural marvel, arches gracefully overhead, creating a sense of sacred space that transcends the confines of the physical realm.

In this intimate haven, the union of soft light, vibrant colours, and evocative scents creates a sanctuary where your soul finds reprieve.

“It’s a place where the heart finds peace”, Lorraine says softly, her eyes reflecting the wisdom of a life devoted to the mystical, “A refuge for the weary soul, a haven for those seeking a moment of serenity in the tumult of life.”

Ed and Lorraine share a knowing glance, and with a gentle nod, they invite you to join them as they make their way towards the altar. The polished wooden floor echoes with a soft whisper as you follow in their footsteps.

As you approach the altar, the atmosphere seems to shift. The open space surrounding it exudes a sense of sacred gravity. The stained glass windows cast their intricate patterns of light on the altar, creating a celestial backdrop for the ornate religious artifacts that grace the sacred space.

Ed gestures toward a beautifully crafted lectern, its intricate carvings catching the flickering candlelight.

“This is a place where many have stood to share words of solace and wisdom”, he notes, his eyes reflecting a deep respect for the sanctity of the spot.

Lorraine, with a gentle smile, approaches a small arrangement of flowers near the altar: “Sometimes, a simple offering of nature speaks volumes in this sacred space. It’s a reminder of the beauty that exists even in moments of reflection and prayer.”

The altar, adorned with sacred symbols and with candles, becomes a focal point where the convergence of faith and tranquillity is palpable. It's as if the very air around it carries the whispers of countless prayers and the energy of contemplative moments.

“We find solace in these quiet moments”, Ed says, his voice a low murmur that resonates with reverence, “It's a place to connect with something beyond ourselves, to find answers or simply to be in the presence of something greater.”

With a subtle gesture, Lorraine invites you to stand beside them, facing the open space near the altar. The three of you share a moment of silent contemplation, enveloped in the sacred stillness of the chapel. The colors from the stained glass dance on the floor, the candles flicker in harmony, and the air carries the essence of aged wood and incense.

“It’s a sanctuary”, Lorraine whispers, breaking the silence, “A place where the soul can find peace and where the mysteries of the heart can unfold.”

Ed nods in agreement: “Sometimes, in the quiet of this chapel, people discover answers within themselves. It's a journey of the soul, a communion with the divine that transcends words.”

The timeless serenity of the chapel lingers as Ed and Lorraine turn to you, their expressions a blend of reassurance and understanding. Ed’s eyes reflect a genuine warmth, while Lorraine’s serene gaze seems to hold a depth of insight into the unseen.

“Are you ready?”, Ed asks, his voice carrying a comforting weight.

You meet their gazes and, with a nod, convey your readiness to partake in whatever profound experience they have in store. There’s an unspoken trust that bridges the ordinary and the extraordinary, connecting your presence in the chapel to something larger than the moment.

“Good”, Ed says, his voice a steady guide and his eyes locked on yours, “Kneel.”

You swallow dryly, shortly wondering if you understood him correctly. Ed, sensing your confusion just raises one eyebrow, a silent prompt urging you to comply with the task.

With a deep breath, you lower yourself to your knees on the polished chapel floor. The cool surface beneath you grounds you in the physicality of the chapel even as the atmosphere vibrates with unseen currents.

“Now”, Ed continues, his tone carrying a sense of purpose, “close your eyes and let the stillness of this place envelop you. Focus on your breath, on the quiet rhythm of your heartbeat.”

As you comply, the air around you seems to thicken with an almost palpable energy. The flickering candles cast a warm glow through closed eyelids, creating an inner landscape where the boundaries between the material world and the mystical blur.

Lorraine’s voice joins the symphony of the chapel’s sacred silence: “Imagine a connection between your heart and the energy of this place. Feel the threads of the unseen weaving through the fabric of your being.”

Ed’s voice follows, a soothing guide through this meditative journey: “In this sacred space, let your thoughts flow. Allow the chapel to become a vessel, a conduit for the energies that seek to guide and comfort.”

As you delve deeper into the meditative state, a profound sense of tranquility envelops you. The chapel, once a physical space, now feels like a bridge to the spiritual, a conduit for energies that transcend the ordinary.

“Open yourself to any sensations or insights that may come”, Lorraine encourages, her words a gentle prompting.

In the quiet of the chapel, with closed eyes and a receptive heart, you become attuned to the subtle shifts in the environment. The colors behind your eyelids seem to dance in response to energies unseen, and the air carries a charge that resonates with the sacredness of the moment.

As you open your eyes, the vibrant colors of the stained glass windows and the flickering candles greet you with renewed clarity.

“Pray the Pater Noster”, Ed instructs, his voice carrying a weight that transcends the confines of the chapel.

You take a deep breath before you start speaking, in an attempt to collect yourself. It occurs to you that you cannot recall the last time you had to recite the Lord's Prayer and you try your hardest to recall the correct wording from your memory.

As you commence the prayer, your voice resounds in the sacred halls of the chapel: “Our Father, Who art in heaven, hallowed be Thy Name; Thy kingdom come…thy.”

The unfamiliarity of the setting causes the recitation to stumble, and you find it challenging to regain the rhythm.

“Start again, focus on the words. Let the prayer guide your thoughts”, Ed, patient yet resolute, interjects.

You take a steadying breath and begin anew, the rhythm of the prayer echoing in the chapel’s confines. The flickering candles and the colored hues from the stained glass seem to respond to the spiritual endeavor.

“Our Father, Who art in heaven, hallowed be Thy Name; Thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven.”

Completing the initial lines, you prepare to resume, but cast your gaze towards Ed.

You notice how his broad silhouette is bathed in the chapel’s ambient light, casting a soft glow on him and accentuating the contours of his features. A breath catches in your throat as you observe the ethereal quality that surrounds him. Mesmerized, you find yourself marveling at how the light plays upon his brown hair, creating an almost transcendent aura.

You open your mouth again to continue praying: “Give us this day our… Give us this day our”

The distraction broke your concentration and your words tumble once again, and Ed intervenes once more.

“Concentrate. Let the prayer flow through you”, he encourages, his voice a calming presence amid the challenge.

As you attempt the Pater Noster once more, the words still elude you, stumbling over your lips like an unfamiliar language. There’s a growing impatience in the air, and you sense Ed’s frustration.

“Start again”, Lorraine interjects, her tone tinged with impatience and a hint of anger at your perceived inability to concentrate. The pressure intensifies, and the chapel, once a sanctuary, becomes a stage for the inner struggle between the earthly and the supernatural.

“Our Father, Who art in heaven, hallowed be Thy Name; Thy kingdom come, thy will be done, thy…”

The failure to recite the prayer triggers a sudden escalation in tension. Without warning, Lorraine steps forward, her frustration boiling over. A sharp, echoing slap reverberates through the chapel as her hand connects with your face.

Stunned silence hangs in the air, the lingering sound of the slap contrasting sharply with the sacred stillness of the chapel. The unexpected act leaves a mark, both physically and metaphorically, in the unfolding drama of supernatural confrontation.

Stunned and cradling your cheek, you feel a wave of fear washing over you. The unexpected slap has left you speechless, grappling with the sudden turn of events.

Lorraine’s voice, now cold and impatient, cuts through the chapel's stillness: “Ed, it seems she has never been properly educated in the way of the Lord.”

The frustration in the chapel intensifies, and Ed’s resolve hardens.

“I’m gonna give you a proper lesson”, he declares, and Lorraine, in agreement, adds an air of authority to the unfolding scene.

Ed instructs you to get up, his demeanour leaving little room for hesitation. The chapel, once a sanctuary, now feels charged with an unsettling tension.

Ed's voice, though firm, holds an edge of frustration.

“This lesson is necessary”, he asserts.

Lorraine, her impatience palpable, adds: “We were hoping for cooperation, not resistance.”

He guides you up to the altar and positions you with a subtle push.

As you bend over the altar, the cold surface presses against your hands, and the weight of the situation becomes tangible. The shift from the warmth and camaraderie earlier to this stern lesson feels disorienting, leaving you questioning the motives behind this abrupt turn.

Despite the overwhelming tension and unease, a fleeting and disconcerting thought crosses your mind. In the midst of this unexpected turn of events, you find yourself reflecting on how, under different circumstances, you might have appreciated being in a situation with someone like Ed.

The complexities of the situation—his firm demeanor, the unexpected discipline, and the palpable energy in the chapel—leave you grappling not only with the supernatural but with a disconcerting undercurrent of conflicting emotions. The boundaries between the earthly and the metaphysical blur in this unsettling chapter of your encounter with the Warrens.

Surprised you let out a gasp when Ed hooks his fingers into the waistband of your pants and just pulls them down, leaving you in your panties.

“What-?”, confusion taints your voice as you attempt to push yourself up, palms pressing against the smooth surface of the altar. Before you can fully rise, Ed’s strong grip seizes your neck, compelling you back down and firmly holding you in place.

Panic flickers in your mind, a whirlwind of thoughts racing to make sense of this unexpected turn. The cool surface beneath your trembling hands becomes a stark reminder of your vulnerability. Images of the chapel, once a haven, now feel tinged with an unsettling uncertainty. The rhythmic prayer that once echoed in the sacred space is replaced by a disquieting silence.

As you struggle to process the abrupt change, the grip on your neck tightens forcing you to lay completely flat.

Ed bows down, and you feel the warmth of his breath against your ear. Goosebumps rise on your arms as his proximity sends a shiver down your spine. The unexpected closeness heightens the intensity of the moment, leaving you momentarily breathless.

“Let this be a lesson to know your prayers”, Ed’s voice, low and commanding, echoes in the hallowed space.

As Ed speaks, you catch a familiar scent—his cologne, a subtle and intoxicating fragrance that lingers in the air. The scent envelops you, and for a moment, you're intoxicated by its familiarity. Somehow the combination of his nearness, commanding voice, and the alluring aroma arouses you. That whole scenario should not be that hot, you figure, but you can’t help feeling that way so you accept your fate and stop struggling.

Ed pulls back and loosens the grip on your neck, sensing your lack of resistance. As you catch your breath, you instinctively glance toward Lorraine, anticipating disapproval or concern in her eyes. To your surprise, her gaze meets yours, and you find something unexpected—approval and support.

Lorraine opens her mouth, breaking the charged silence, and says: “Start again.”

Her voice, though calm, carries a directive force that commands your attention.

“Our Father, Who art in heaven, hallowed be Thy Name”, you start, but panic begins to set in your bones as you speak. Your head starts pounding again, the weight of the situation pressing down on you.

Unable to ignore the rising distress, you stop mid-prayer and say: “Look, can I just go, please?”

In the charged silence that follows, you sense the disappointment radiating off Ed behind you before you hear the sound of his disapproval, a quiet clinking of the tongue.

Your heart pounds in your ears as you wait, the seconds stretching into an uneasy silence.

Just as you muster the courage to say something again, you feel Ed’s big palm connecting with your ass. The unexpected impact resonates through the stillness of the chapel.

Surprised you let out a loud yelp as you feel your ass burning from the slap. You cannot believe that Ed just spanked you for messing up the Pater Noster. Arousal pools low in your belly as you feel the warmth radiating of him behind you.

You notice Ed’s strong hand caressing over the just-hit place to soothe the pain. Part of you wants to say something, but you are completely overwhelmed by the unusual sequence of events.

“Start again”, Lorraine’s voice sounds clear through the chapel, and your head snaps up to look at her form. Lorraine looks at you expectantly, her gaze carrying an unspoken command. Overwhelmed and reluctant to face the potential repercussions, you submit.

“Our Father, Who art in heaven, hallowed be Thy Name; Thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven”, you gulp nervously before continuing, “Give us this day our daily bread and forgive us our trespasses…as… as”

As the words falter once more, Ed’s hand makes contact with your ass once again and you cannot fully surpress the whine that escapes your mouth. This time it feels like his fingers linger longer on the globes of your behind leaving a hot trace that makes you squirm involuntarily.

“Again”, Ed’s order cuts through your thoughts, his voice sounding more gravely and deeper as it resonates through the chapel and his hand still ghosts over your ass.

That should not be that hot you think, trying to rationalize the conflicting emotions. But you cannot ignore the warmth and dominance that Ed radiates behind you. You cannot ignore the way his hand softly kneeds the skin of your ass while he waits for you to continue.

The entire situation strikes you as bizarre, and you find yourself questioning the authenticity of the footage they showed at the university. No one explicitly mentioned an exorcism, but the proximity and personal nature of Ed’s actions leave you wondering about the true nature of the spiritual encounter.

Under any other circumstances you’d be very willing - downright happy - to fall to your knees for him, but here in a chapel that just feels wrong and out of place. And not to mention that he is married and Lorraine is watching you.

Ed withdraws the hand on your ass and steps back a bit, only keeping control over you by his other hand on your back. He denies you any further physical contact and a plaintive whine espaces you, yearning for more touch as you lie bent over the altar in the dimly lit chapel.

Your senses are dulled and shrouded by a curtain of pleasure as your head and mind are in a blissful silence.

Lorraine says something to Ed but her words become distant echos, lost amid the overwhelming sensations. You watch through a haze as she steps forward towards her husband, handing him a big, leather clad bible. Mesmerised you marvel at the way his arm and back flexes when takes the book.

In a tense moment, Lorraine’s voice cuts through the sacred air and you hear the words but cannot make sense of them: “Ed, it's time she learns her place. Give her ten, one for every commandment.”

He steps back behind you, and you feel him—the warmth and dominance his body radiates. And you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding in.

“I want you to count and thank the Lord”, Eds deep and gravely voice sounds behind you as his hand caresses the skin of your ass.

Before you have time to properly process the words the cool leather of the Bibles makes contact with you ass. The force of the hit catches you off guard, a surprising jolt that resonates through your being. This was definitely the hardest he had hit you so far you think as you catch your breath.

Ed’s hand digs into you hip sharply and you remember his command from before: “One. Thank you, Lord”.

He makes a pleased low hum in his throat and smoothes over the hot skin before hitting you again.

“Shit… I mean: Two. Thank you, Lord.”

Ed continues to bring the bible down on your ass and you can’t help but imagine how he looks right now. You wonder if his carefully groomed hair has fallen out of place, becoming slightly tousled with single strands brushing his forehead. You wonder if he had to roll the sleeves of his arms up, fuck you’d do a lot of things to see the way his muscles tense whenever he brings the leather-bound book down.

Shamefully you admit to yourself that it turns you on immensely, arousal pools low in your belly and with every hit you feel yourself getting wetter.

After the sixth time Ed spanked you with the bible, you cannot help but squirm involved when his hand caresses the hot, raw and burning skin of your ass.

But rather than pulling away from his touch you lean into it, desperate for friction.

You hear Ed chuckle silently as his long fingers continue to stroke over your skin, causing goosebumps to form all over your body. When his hand ventures lower you suck in a breath and stop moving.

Painfully slow Ed lets his fingers wander lower until he reaches your clothed pussy. You are pretty sure that he can feel how wet you are, that you must have drenched the thin material of your panties.

It almost feels like humiliation to you when his hand ghosts over your pussy for a second before he drags one long, thick finger through your slit. The whine, you were not able to suppress sounds loud in the chapel walls as you push back against Ed, desperate to feel his hand on your cunt again.

“Maybe she's even further gone than we thought”, Ed's voice is rough and stained with something that you cannot place when he speaks to Lorraine, “she really seems to enjoy her lesson too much…”

A wave of humiliation surges through you, shame crashing through your veins and igniting a bright blush on your cheeks. Each word from Ed feels like he’s cast a spotlight on you, exposing your vulnerabilities to Lorraine.

But Ed interrupts any chance for you to dwell on your feelings, his hand tracing a path over your skin and returning to your cunt. He drags his finger roughly through your clothed slit, tracing the shape of your pussy before applying pressure to your clit.

You feel a hot throb inside you, spreading all through your veins as you involuntarily buck your hips into his hand and moan quietly before biting your lip to avoid making any more sound.

Ed leans in, bending over you, so his warmth is enveloping your back and the subtle pressure of his presence against your skin sends a wave of arousal through your veins. His hot breath grazes your ear as he speaks roughly: “Don’t you, slut?”

Your only response is to push back against him and whine as you hide your head in your hands. Contrary to your previous thoughts that he was completely unaffected you feel his hard cock straining against his pants on your raw ass. But the contact is only short lived because Ed pulls back from you.

“Try to cleanse her, Ed”, you hear Lorraine’s voice through the aroused haze that swirls around your mind.

Before you can wonder what exactly she means, Ed’s fingers have hooked on the waistband of your underwear, ripping the flimsy material off, making you gasp. The cold air of the chapel hits your wet cunt but instead of cooling you down it riles you up even more since you remember where you are - a holy place.

But there is nothing holy about you bending over the altar with your cunt and ass bare and yet it feels absolutely divine when you feel Ed’s fingers on your cunt without a barrier for the first time.

You feel the palm of his hand against your ass as he forms a V with his middle- and forefinger to enclose the other sides of your cunt. Ed rests his hand there for a moment, making your stomach flutter in anticipation before he closes them slowly and pulling back to the edge of your cunt.

Your clit throbs and you squirm on the altar, desperate for Ed to continue.

A strangled moan escapes your lips when he pushes his thick fingers between the lips of your pussy and spreads them, effectively opening you up. You are pretty sure that he can not only feel but also see your wetness glistening in the dim light of the chapel.

Ed’s thumb brushes against your neglected clit and you groan loudly as electricity shoots through you, making you arch your back into his hand.

All the desperate sounds you make and the way you buck against him does not make him go faster and you really want to curse him out - you want to be filled by him, you want his fingers and his cock. So when he finally pushes his middle finger in your cunt a loud moan along with a please escapes you.

The haze in your mind thickens, rendering you blissfully obvious to your surroundings. The only reality matters right now is Ed. His presence dominates your consciousness, eclipsing everything else, as if the world beyond him and his hands on you has faded into insignificance.

“So good for us, sweetheart. You’re doing so good, taking what I give you so well”, Ed rasps behind you, his voice strained with satisfaction and barely constrained self restraint.

He curls his fingers inside you and starts shallowly and slowly thrusting before he adds a second finger.

You whine at the stretch of his long fingers when he pushes them all the way inside your pussy and grinds his palm against your clit.

Ed’s fingertips graze over the sweet spot on the wall of your cunt and your knees buckle under you as a wave of pleasure washes over you. With a dark chuckle he repeats this motion again and again while his palm steadily rubs your clit.

The distant echoes of Lorraine’s footsteps lingers off the edges of the fog in your mind as she approaches her husband. Yet, your concentration remained unwaveringly fixed on Ed and his long, thick fingers that are buried in your wet cunt.

A subtle jump courses through you as you feel something small with delicate round beads on your clit. Ed rubs it around the nub and you feel every cool and smooth ridge touching you as his fingers continue to thrust and rub deep inside your pussy.

“Shit Ed, please”, the words escape as a desperate plea, your voice raw.

Your cunt throbs and pulses to the rhythm of his hands on you and inside you as wave after wave of pleasure slowly builds up your orgasm.

“Be good and cum all over my fingers and Lorrain’s rosary. Let us cleanse you”, Ed’s warm breath against your sensitive skin sends shivers down your spine.

When the wave of pleasure shatters and courses through you, you cum for him with a loud moan that echoes off the chapel walls. Your back arches into Ed, who keeps finger-fucking you through your high, your hips grinding frantically against his hand, desperate for him.

Your breathing is ragged and loud when you come down from your high and your senses slowly come back to life, your cunt still tingling with the warm aftermath of your intense orgasm.

“Good girl, you did so well”, Ed praises you and pulls his fingers out with a wet noise before wiping them against your inner thigh.

Ed presses himself against you from behind, his closeness is palpable as the warmth of his body surrounds you and you feel the hard outline of his dick on your ass again. Instinctively you press back against his bulge, making him groan and suck in a breath.

He digs his fingers into the soft skin of your hip, a hidden warning for you to behave when he dangles the rosary in front of you. A belated realisation dawns in your mind - this is Lorraine’s rosary, this is what you felt dragging around your clit and wet cunt just minutes before.

A pang of shame courses through you as your eyes catch the sight of the rosary beads glistening with your wetness in the chapel’s light.

“Clean them”, Ed commands, his voice a low murmur that echoes through the church, laden with a mixture of authority and desire.

Without a hint of resistance, you comply with Ed’s command, opening your mouth and letting him guide the beads between your lips. Your tongue traces a path along the wet rosary beads as you taste yourself on them. The whole act feels positively sinful and you can’t help but feel more aroused, involuntarily you clench around nothing.

When you accidentally lock eyes with Lorraine, you freeze for a short moment. You had almost forgotten that it was not only Ed and you in the chapel but that his wife was also there. Your entire focus had been consumed by Ed and his commands and presence.

But contrary to what you would have expected Lorraine does not look angry, her emotions are unreadable but undeniably intense as she cocks an eyebrow, prompting you to continue your work.

A blush of humiliation sears through you and the burning sensation in your cheeks intensifies as you start cleaning the rosary beads again under Lorraine’s watchful gaze.

“Ed”, Lorraine starts, her eyes still locked on yours, “I don’t think it worked. Something still grips her.”

Ed withdraws, but he trails his hands and the rosary over your back, making sure to touch as much as possible before he straightens. Still bent over the altar, your legs wobble and feel unsure, making it impossible for you to get up. Yet, you don’t want to leave.

There is only one thing that you are currently sure of wanting and that is Ed.

“I think you’re right, hon”, Ed’s gravelly voice acknowledges, heavy with desire.

Lorraine walks over to her husband and you turn your head to look at them. As they stand together in the muted ambiance of the chapel, you catch glimpses of their exchange. She leans into Ed’s direction and speaks to him, her hushed words elude you.

Uncertain of the decisions the Warrens’ made in their whispered exchange you find yourself indifferent when Ed seizes your hair and pulls you to your feet from the position over the altar. He places his other hand on your hip, gripping in firmly to stabilise you as his thumb traces calming circles on your skin.

After a few moments you find your footing and Ed’s hold on your hair eases, allowing you to turn around and face him.

Purely on instinct, you suck your bottom lip between your teeth, an unconscious response as your gaze locks onto Ed. He embodies what you imagined - but the reality is so much better.

His short hair is slightly dishevelled and frames his face. A lone strand has fallen onto his forehead, resting there. A subtle blush tinges his neck, visible where the top buttons of his dress shirt are undone, exposing a glimpse of his chest. The soft blue of his eyes is almost entirely engulfed by blackness, revealing the depth of his desire.

Your attention descends to his arms, where you notice he’s pushed up the sleeves of his shirt, unveiling toned forearms.

His gaze locks onto yours and you notice the hunger and intensity burning in his eyes. Ed’s hands, strong and confident, cradle your face, their warmth seeping into your skin. As his lips descend, the initial softness gives way to a fervent kiss that depends, exploring the contours of your mouth with a tender yet insistent dance.

The kiss deepens and you instinctively wrap your arms around Ed, drawing him closer. Your hands find their places, one resting at the small of his lower back, while the other rests on his shoulder. You feel a canvas of strength beneath your fingertips, his muscles firm and well-defined. He pushes his clothed erection into your bare cunt, grinding against you. You whine into the kiss when the rough fabric of his pants scrapes over your clit.

As you part, you are breathless, overwhelmed by the sheer intensity of Ed’s kiss and in a quiet and almost intimate gesture, your fingers trail over to gently push back the strand of hair that had fallen onto Ed’s face.

Ed’s face lights up with a radiant, toothy smile that seems to melt away any of your worries. In that moment, the intensity gives way to a genuine warmth that spreads through your veins.

When he leans in again, he places a kiss on your nose, causing a subtle fluttering in your chest to blend with a quiet contentment.

“Ed”, Lorraine’s voice cuts through the intimacy with a sharp edge, “Remember why we are here.”

His gaze shifts, the warmth fading as the reminder settles in.

“We can’t lose sight of our purpose”, he says, his tone carrying acknowledgement.

Despite Lorraine’s reminder Ed pulls you in one more for another linger kiss. The intensity of it feels like it has a direct line to your cunt. Pleasure that had been simmering is once again ignited into a full fire.

As the kiss concludes, Ed speaks again: “We should get back to work”.

Ed steps back from you, his words carrying a command that intertwines his authority and desire.

“Kneel again, be good for us”, he instructs, the request echoing through the chapel’s sacred space.

Without a hint of hesitation, you step out of your pants and sink to your knees, a swift and obedient response to Ed’s command. Your reaction is just automatic, there is no coherent thought in your mind as you follow his orders.

The coldness of the stone floor beneath your bare knees serves as a start reminder of the reality and you wince as the cold spreads through you.

Looking up to Ed through your lowered lashes, you see him visibly swallowing, his Adam’s apple bobbing upon having you on your knees before him. While you want to reach out and take his cock from his pants, free him of his prison, you don’t dare, sensing that it would displease him and Lorraine.

“We will try something different now”, Lorraine declares with a gentle voice, prompting your eyes to snap from Ed to her. In her hand she holds the rosary once again, and a blush raises to your cheeks as your clit throbs in remembrance of what Ed did to you with it.

Lorraine continues: “Take him wholly and accept him into your mouth. That he may drive the evil out”

You divert your attention from Lorraine back to Ed. His eyes meet yours, and in that moment, he winks at you playfully before reaching down to grab the hem of your shirt. In one fluid motion he pulls it off you, leaving you kneeling naked in the chapel.

His gaze lingers on you, a slow and deliberate appraisal as he looks you up and down, taking in every nuance of your form, making you squirm under the intensity.

Mesmerised, you watch as his hands find the front of his pants, unzipping them and pulling them down so his cock and balls are exposed. His dick obscenely framed by his pants and underwear that is pushed mid thigh as well as his shirt that has the last few buttons undone. He is big, slightly curved, with a protruding vein on the underside and the head is already glistening with a drop of pre-cum. Your mouth waters at the sight of him and you lick your lips in anticipation.

Ed steps up to you, burying his fingers in your hair and pulls your head against his exposed cock, rubbing against your face. So you open your mouth and flick your tongue towards his dick to lick the drop of pre-cum away.

Both Ed and you let out a groan simultaneously - you at the salty, musky taste of him that settles in your mouth and him at the feeling of your tongue on his hard cock.

When you open your mouth again he slides the head of his dick in, it’s heavy on your tongue as he just looks at you in wonder. You keep your eyes trailed on his and watch him swallow heavily before pushing himself deeper into your mouth with in a single, swift stroke.

The sound of surprise is muffled by the cock in your mouth that already feels too deep.

Ed tightens his grip on your head and he pushes his dick further in until the head hits the back of your throat.

Almost instantly, tear well up in your eyes, an involuntary response to the deep intrusion of his cock. Your hand instinctively finds his muscular thighs as you attempt to push him away or prompt a retreat.

Despite your efforts, Ed’s strength prevails, the grip on your head and hair remains firm and unyielding.

“Be a good girl and take it”, Ed’s commanding voice cuts through the air, his words heavy with desire as he groans above you.

You swallow around his cock and try to breathe through your nose but it doesn’t feel enough. Drool starts to collect in the corner of your mouth and around his dick before it drips down.

For a few seconds, Ed just holds your head in place with his cock buried to the hilt in your throat and balls pressed against your chin. Black spots start appearing in the corners of your vision and soon they morph into shadows that encroach your field of view as you struggle to breath.

Mercifully he pulls you off his cock ending your struggle.

You greedily inhale, the sudden rush of oxygen burning in your lungs, eliciting a cough. As you gasp for air your tear-stained eyes fixate on Ed.

The chapel light embraces him, casting a radiant glow that accentuates the contours of his form. Ed’s chest rises and falls with the rhythm of his laboured breaths, the play of light illuminates his muscular form. Dishevelled strands of brown hair frame his face, catching the light in a cascade of radiant highlights. Each lock seemed to shimmer with its own luminescence, creating an almost halo-like effect.

As he continues to stroke his hard cock the light also casts shadows on his hand as if intensifying the nuances of each movement.

“It’s no use, hon”, Ed says to Lorraine without averting his gaze from you, still stroking his cock.

Your eyes flicker over to Lorraine. She appears completely composed and unbothered by the recent interaction between you and her husband. With a calm nod she signals her agreement to Ed’s statement.

He exerts a gentle but firm pull with his hand that is still entangled in your hair as he guides you up from your kneeling position until you are standing. In a swift motion, Ed brings you into a tight hug, bringing you flush against him, his erect dick pushing against your stomach.

With that hand in your hair, Ed gently tilts your head upwards, locking eyes with you before bringing his mouth down to capture your lips in a searing kiss. Arousal pumps through your veins when you return it with the same fervour and grind your hips against his cock.

You part, both breathless and Ed steps back from the embrace, creating a sligh distance to gaze at you. His eyes are clouded by pleasure and linger on your breasts.

Under the scrutiny of his gaze you swallow dryly and feel your nipples involuntarily harden.

Ed’s hand, once entwined in your hair, delicately withdraws and he speaks with a raspy tenderness: “You’re something else, you know?”

He strokes along your cheek, a featherlight touch of his long fingers against your heated skin before he cups your chin.

“I think we’re gonna have to try something different”, he says to Lorraine as he runs his thumb over your lower lip, keeping his gaze firmly on you.

You can’t suppress a moan when he places his hands on your bare waist and drags his palms up until he reaches your breasts, cupping them. Ed gives them a slow, leisurely, appreciative squeeze and lifts them slightly, feeling their weight before stroking his thumb over your nipples. A jolt of electricity courses through you at his soft ministrations and you feel his cock throbbing.

The intense connection breaks abruptly when you feel a small, warm hand on your bare shoulder, causing you to jump slightly.

“Jesus”, the exclamation slips from your lips.

Ed cocks an eyebrow and a subtle amusement etches into his features, as his lip twitches: “That is indeed what you need. But don’t worry, we will take care of it - of you.”

With those words, he steps away, leaving you with Lorraine who’s hand tugs at your shoulder again, prompting you to turn and face her. She looks at you with a faint smile, her head tilted slightly to the one side. She motions for you to follow with a graceful gesture of her hand, leading you back to the altar.

“He’ll be right back, dear. He is just getting what is necessary for us to help you”, Lorraine speaks in a gentle, quiet and soothing tone while rubbing small circles over your bare arm as you stand there.

Ed’s heavy footsteps resonate in the quiet of the chapel when he returns only minutes later. The candles placed in the chapel that surrounded him flicker in response, their flames dancing. The play of light and shadows creates an ethereal aura around him.

As he strides back towards the altar purposefully you see his cock bobbing with each of his step, the head coated in presumed glistens in the light. You notice that he has completely unbuttoned his shirt by now, the two halves falling open to reveal his strong chest.

A look of fierce determination is etched across Ed’s face as he carries a small leather bundle under his arm.

“Get on the altar”, he declares, his voice a low rumble that reverberates in the quiet of the chapel. The flickering of candles cast dynamic shadows on his face, enhancing his determined expression.

The edge in Ed’s voice sends a surge of arousal through your veins.

Without clear instructions, you instinctively use your hand to push yourself to sit on the altar. A hiss escapes your lips as he cold stone makes contact with your bare skin,

You hear Ed hum in approval as he notices your compliance. Placing the bundle on the altar next to you, your curiosity piques, and you watch intently, wondering what he brought with him.

He hands Lorraine the big leather-bound Bible - the same one he used to spank you earlier. The memory makes you squirm lightly as you recall how it all felt, feeling yourself getting wetter again.

She takes the book from Ed’s hands and tenderly touches his cheek. The delicate gesture lasts a few moments before Lorraine removes her palm from his face, and as if in silent agreement, Ed returns his attention to the bundle on the altar.

Ed unrolls the bundle with a practised motion of his hands, and your eyes remain glued to the mesmerising movement. Watching his hands, you marvel at their appeal. They are undeniably handsome - strong, adorned with veins that trace a map of strength and boasting long, thick fingers. You clench around nothing when you remember how perfect they felt inside you.

As Ed unveils the contents, a myriad of items come into view, each carrying its own significance. Various crosses, some made of metal and some of wood but all different in size, catch the ambient light of the chapel. Candles, meticulously arranged, follow suit. A lighter is poised beside them.

Transparent bottles filled with clear liquid stand out. You can only speculate, but the faint scent in the air and the placement of the bottles hint at the possibility of holy water.

Furrowing your brow, you watch his hands move with purpose as he arranges these items in a precise order. The answer as to why he needs these items eludes you for now.

Finally, Ed shifts his attention to you, stepping in front of you. Almost on instinct you open your legs and he positions himself between them.

Your attention remains fixed on Ed as the rhythmic clicking of the lighter echose in the background. The ambient sound suggests that Lorraine must be lighting the candles.

But that soon fades again, you cannot concentrate on anything other than the handsome man in front of you.

You tangle your fingers in his short hair to tuck him down and kiss you. When your lips meet you let out a soft moan that is swallowed by him. He returns the kiss with fervour and grips the back of your head with one hand. He uses the other hand to rub the head of his cock against your cunt.

You buck against him in response to finally feeling him there and moan into the kiss again. Ed rubs himself against you, massaging your clit with the smooth head of his dick and coating it in your wetness.

He keeps up with this slow, steady and careful rhythm - and it’s driving you mad. Each thrust causes a small spark of pleasant sensation to course through you.

When Ed breaks the kiss to nod at Lorraine you whine at the loss of contact. Currently, you don’t care about her, the only thing you care about is him and his big cock.

Through the blissful haze in your mind you hear Ed speak: “My Lord, you are all powerful, you are God, you are our Father”.

The words puzzle you but every thought is banished from your mind when you feel the warm, bulbous head of his cock entering your cunt. Slowly but steadily he fills you until he is nearly completely buried in you.

He grabs hold of your hair, tugging it backwards as you groan, the pain almost forcing more pleasure upon you, making you look at him.

Ecce crucem domini, fugite partes adversae

Goosebumps erupt all over your skin as Ed begins to speak in Latin, the words resonating within the sacred surroundings.

What?

Before you can fully grasp the significance of the Latin words, Ed seals your lips with another kiss, momentarily grounding you in the sensation of his touch. He begins sliding in and out of your pussy before he breaks the kiss and gently pushes you down until you lay flat on the altar. The stone is cold beneath you.

Exsurgat Deus et dissipentur inimici ejus: et fugiant qui oderunt eum a facie ejus

Lorraine's voice, though quiet, possesses a commanding presence as it weaves through the chapel. Each word is delivered with a deliberate cadence, the measured tones resonating in the hallowed silence. There's a certain grace in the way she speaks, a calm assurance that adds an ethereal quality to the unfolding ritual. Her words, like tendrils of incense, linger in the air, filling the sacred space with a sense of purpose and reverence.

But you don’t have time to think about that because Ed starts thrusting inside you, emphasising each sentence with a stroke of his hips. He pulls out until only the head is inside you before pushing in again and stretching your walls to accommodate him. You whimper beneath him whenever he fills you completely.

Sicut deficit fumus defíciant; sicut fluit cera a facie ígnis, sic pereant peccatores a facie Dei

Ed's hand is back to rub your clit in circles following the rhythm of his cock. You moan loudly as a slow sensation starts in your clit, growing more intense with each thrust of his dick and every movement of his fingers.

Princeps gloriosissime coelestis milítiae, sancte Míchael Archangele, defende nos in proelio

He gives his hips an extra hard push when he is fully sheathed inside your wet cunt and you feel his balls slapping against you. Waves of heavy and delightful pleasure and sensation course wash through you as you fail to comprehend what they do to you.

Et colluctatione, quae nobis est adversus principes et potestates, adversus mundi rectores tenebrarum harum, contra spiritualia nequitiae, in coelestibus

The pressure inside you rises as Ed keeps fucking you and rubbing circles around your clit. You feel yourself tightening as pure and unfiltered pleasure courses through your veins. His dick seems to hit all the right places inside you, the wide shaft stretching you deliciously and the sensations radiating from your clit, making you balance on the edge of an orgasm.

Veni in auxilium hominum; quos Deus creavit inexterminabiles, et ad imaginem similitudinis suae fecit, et a tyrannide diaboli emit pretio magno

Ed uses your body like a drum, everything he does vibrating through you like a steady beat as you feel the prickling sensation of need pulling at you, filling your veins.

You watch him through hooded eyes and you clench around his cock upon his sight. His brow is furrowed in determination as the muscles in his chest and arms ripple with every thrust.

You feel the pleasure cresting, the wave of sensations stacking higher and higher, but just then, just when you’re about to reach your peak, something wet and cold hits you.

Exorcizamos te, omnis immunde spiritus, omnis satanic potestas, omnis infernalis adversarii, omnis legio, omnis congregatio et secta diabolica, in nomine et virtute Domini nostri Jesu

The unexpected sensation interrupts the rising tide of intensity, making you hiss. You smell a faint scent of holy water lingering in the air.

Turning your head slightly, you search for Lorraine, attempting to make sense of what just happened. You see her standing near you, the bible open as he holds a veil of what you guess is holy water.

Christi, eradicare et effugare a Dei Ecclesia, ab animabus ad imaginem Dei conditis ac pretioso divini Agni sanguine redemptis

Lorraine continues to sprinkle holy water onto you, the rhythmic pattern synchronised with the cadence of her words and Ed’s smooth thrusts.

The holy water feels cold on your overheated skin, a stark contrast that intensifies the sensory experience. The dichotomy of warmth and cold adds a layer of complexity to the unfolding ritual, leaving you caught in a paradox of sensations.

Non ultra audeas, serpens callidissime, decipere humanum genus, Dei Ecclesiam persequi, ac Dei electos excutere et cribrare sicut triticum

As your attention remains captivated by Lorraine, you're caught off guard by Ed's discreet move. Unseen, he seizes a burning candle, and the sudden cascade of hot wax onto your stomach elicits a sharp gasp from your lips. The contrasting elements of the cold water and the hot wax introduce a surprising twist, the unexpected sensation intertwining with the ambiance of the chapel.

The candlelight flickers, casting dancing shadows on Ed's face as he continues to drizzle the wax. Each drop leaves a transient mark on your skin, tainting it red.

Imperat tibi Deus altissimus, Imperat tibi Deus Pater; imperat tibi Deus Filius; imperat tibi Deus Spiritus Sanctus

The tension inside you breaks and waves crash and cascade over you as you cum almost unexpectedly. You clamp down around Ed's cock, clenching your cunt and bucking your hips. You arch your back when the orgasm courses through your body, riding out every single way as he continues to massage your clit and drive his hard dick into you.

Your scream echoes off the chapel walls, the sound resonating in the sacred silence, marking a moment of raw intensity. The juxtaposition of pleasure and the unexpected pain manifests in the resonance of your cry, creating a haunting echo that lingers in the hallowed atmosphere.

Vade satana, inventor et magister omnis fallaciae, hostis humanae salutis

Part of you is sure that you will go mad with all the sensations filling your mind, tending to overwhelm you.

Ed’s fingers playing with your clit, rubbing patterns you don’t understand.

His cock fills you up and hitting that spot makes your nerves sing so beautifully.

The mix of holy water and candle wax that assaults every fibre of your being, keeping you finely balanced between pain and pleasure.

You’re grateful you don’t have to stand because you feel your knees buckle under the onslaught.

Lorraine and Ed work in perfect harmony, alternating between hot and cold in such a way that you don’t know what will come next.

Da locum Christo, in quo nihil invenisti de operibus tuis

Every touch on your clit makes it throb, sending wave after wave of pleasure through your body and building up to your next orgasm. As Ed continues to slam into your cunt with a force that would drive you up the altar had he not been holding you down.

Whenever another drop of the cold holy water or the hot candle wax hits your bare skin you moan loudly at the sensation - you may as well be screaming you would not be able to discern it.

Da locum Ecclesia Uni, Sanctae, Catholicae, et Apostolicae, quam Christus ipse acquisivit sanguine suo

Ed buries his cock to the hilt, rotating his hips as if he could push it even further inside, making you arch your back against him.

“Beg for forgiveness”, his voice is deep and laced with arousal as he fucks into you in short, hard, deep stabs, “Beg for forgiveness from our God. Beg that He may allow us to cleanse you from your evil by my seed.”

“Please - please”, you start to beg desperately just as Ed had asked from you, “Please, Ed, please.”

Nos eriperes de potestate diaboli

You stammer incoherent words and sentences, the intensity rendering your attempts at communication fractured and disoriented. The echoes of your disjointed utterances sound throughout the chapel, as Ed quickens his pace again, hitting that spot deep inside you.

Ab omni hoste visibili et invisibili et ubique in hoc saeculo liberetur

Lorraine’s words grow louder, ascending to a crescendo that reverberates through the chapel. The rhythmic cadence of her speech becomes a pulsating backdrop as you come again, the explosive pleasure hitting you all at once. Your vision goes black and you shudder against Ed violently.

With a loud groan Ed comes inside you as your cunt contracts around him, your high having him brought to the peak too. You feel his dick twitching and pulsing as he keeps his hips flush against yours.

The waves of your orgasm keep washing over you as he keeps pumping you full of his cum.

Slowly your vision and senses return to you and Ed slides his slowly softening cock out of your cunt with a satisfied sigh.

You feel a drizzle of his sticky cum oozing from your pussy and dripping down on the altar.

Your eyes meet Ed's, and he graces you with a wide, warm smile that transforms his dishevelled appearance into a moment of genuine warmth as he tucks his dick into his pants.

Ed looks thoroughly fucked out, a layer of sweat covering his bare chest that glistens whenever he moves in the dim light. His hair points in all directions, some strands sticking to his forehead. Yet, in this vulnerable state, you find him more attractive than ever.

“I think that did it”, Ed remarks to Lorraine, his voice carrying a note of satisfaction. As the surroundings gradually come back into focus, you look at Lorraine.

In contrast to you or Ed, she has maintained her composed demeanour, her clothes and hair still neatly in place.

She nods at his words as a subtle acknowledgment, then her gaze shifts from Ed to you and back at him.

“I’ll head back to the house, hon. You both should join me when you’ve cleaned yourselves up.”

Before she leaves, Lorraine steps over to you, her touch gentle as she cradles your face in the palm of her hand.

“You did well”, she says softly, warmth evident in her voice.

With that, she turns to leave, her steps echoing through the silent air as she heads towards the exits leaving you alone in the chapel with Ed, who in the meantime picked up your discarded clothes.

Ed places the clothes next to you on the altar and with a tender gesture he smooths your sweaty hair out of your forehead before leaning in and kissing you in a lingering, sweet kiss.

He starts picking the dried wax from your skin with a careful touch, his fingers tracing over the sore skin softly.

“You did so good”, he murmurs, his words carrying a mixture of pride and tenderness.

As continues to remove the wax he whispers words of affirmation, telling you what a good girl you are, how strong you are and that he is proud of you.

When he reaches your cunt he gives you a cheeky wink before gathering the cum that dripped out of your puffy cunt on his fingers and pushing it back in. You moan when you feel his thick fingers in your sore pussy: “Shit, Ed!”

“I know, sweetheart. Just cleaning you up… And wouldn’t want to waste my cum, right? It has to go where it belongs”, Ed slushes you softly and pumps his fingers into you a few times before he pulls back, satisfied with his work.

Ed helps you down from the altar, his arms enveloping you in a tight hug. You sigh softly, when the warmth he radiates seeps into your bare skin. As you hug, you feel the steady rhythm of his heart beating against your chest. Softly, you stroke his shoulders and back, letting your hands wander over his broad frame.

“Thank you”, you mumble, “for helping.”

You really are grateful for them to try their unorthodox methods on you. Judging by the soreness that inhabits your whole body, you enjoyed it immensely and even if it didn’t help, you’d be more than happy to return for a second session.

He parts from you with a soft kiss to your forehead: “Not for that, sweetheart. It was my pleasure… Just say the word, I’d be more than willing to help you again”.

Blushing at his words, you meet his toothy grin that reflects the genuine warmth when he hands you your clothes. His touch is gentle as he helps you to dress again. Wanting to return the favour, you take the initiative to button up Ed’s shirt.

His voice is soft when he thanks you before he grabs all the things on the altar and stores them in the leather bundle again.

Ed leads you out of the chapel with a hand on your back and you appreciate the soft gesture as you walk away from the stone altar. He opens the door for you and motions you outside with a gentle gesture of his hand before stepping next to you again.

Blinking against the light, you notice that while it is a bit darker than before, it is still brighter than in the chapel. The first thing that strikes you is that the shifting of light does not trigger your headaches - you are blissfully pain free.

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