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milky-aeons · 8 months ago

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— 'TIL DEATH DO US PART

ᯓ★ starring: dazai osamu, kunikida doppo, atsushi nakajima, chuuya nakahara and fyodor dostoevsky; what they would be like on their wedding day.

warnings: marriage, swearing, alcohol-intake, wife reader, w.c 3.5k

ᯓ★𝐃𝐀𝐙𝐀𝐈 𝐎𝐒𝐀𝐌𝐔

: ̗̀➛ Dazai, who never really acted like a conventional human being, also did not propose like one, either. After dating the enigmatic Armed Detective Agent for, by then, two years, you did not expect him to get down on one knee and produce a beautiful ring, like you had seen in the movies. But you also did not expect him to drop the question like it was a frivolous thing one random Tuesday evening while you both shared a drink at your favourite late-night bar.

Blinking, your glass frozen mid-way to your lips, you turned to him and said, "What did you... just say?" That mischievous smile you were so quick to fall for flashed across his face. "I said, why don't we get married, hmm~?"

: ̗̀➛ There was no other answer in your mind, your heart, than a resounding yes. For he was the thorn in your side as much as he was your other half. Through the whirlwind of months following, you found it hard to discern where one day ended and the next began. Time bled together until you didn't have nearly enough of it, and the day of the ceremony was here. It was a casual affair not bound too tightly by tradition. By the help of the agents, an old, abandoned manor sitting by the riverside had been fashioned into your very own cathedral.

: ̗̀➛ Yosano Akiko fussed over your dress, your hair, your makeup — to a point where you thought she was having way too much fun. And yet, she left no stones unturned, either. As you walked in through the building decorated with bouquets of flowers and rows upon rows of familiar faces, she hooked her arm into yours and walked by your side. Using Thou Shalt Not Die, the doctor instructed fluttering, iridescent butterflies to sit against your dress and your veil, the cornet of your hair, any place she could in order to make you glow.

: ̗̀➛ He stood to his towering height at the alter with his back turned to you in an immaculate suit of white. And when he spun to face you, you fell in love for a second time — with his brunet hair tucked behind his ear, the blue rose pinned to his suit lapel and his eyes; how they watched you. With a type of stunned disbelief that melted into adoration. When you came to stand by his side in front of the pastor, his hand reached down to twine with your fingers, and he whispered;

"You — are absolutely breath-taking."

: ̗̀➛ Kyouka Izumi played the role of ring-bearer, delivering a small white pillow with the two shining bands once it was time to say your vows. Dazai reached out tenderly, slowly, as if to preserve this moment for as long as he could, and lifted the veil from your face. His eyes shuttered. He reached for your hand and slid the smaller band onto your finger, his eyes downcast, his voice low and intimate.

"Through you I have found what it means to love, what it is to feel human, and while I am by your side — I endeavour to protect and earn that title. For as long as I shall live, I am yours. My soul, my name, they are all yours."

: ̗̀➛ As the ceremony reached its closure, when you had both been bound to each other in heart and in soul, Dazai could not wait another moment before he could reach for you. As soon as the words you may kiss the bride left the pastor's lips, Dazai had looped his arms around your waist and bent you back into a dramatic dip. Cheers and claps filled the riverside chapel, you smiled widely against his lips, expecting nothing less of him. Your soulmate. Your husband. Your Osamu, who's name you brandished as your own.

𝐃𝐔𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐀𝐅𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐘 . . .

"Kunikida-kun~!" Dazai's loud voice, a little accentuated with alcohol, swam over the crowd. "Play the thing we talked about!"

Curious, your head turned to the sounds of footsteps shuffling onto the dancefloor illuminated by pale spotlights. The afterparty was in full swing, you had been flanked by a group of well-wishing women when your husband's voice reached your ears. Each of you observed as Dazai, alongside Kunikida, Junichirou, Atsushi and little Kenji took centre stage. Excited murmurs fluttered through the throng.

"What on earth are they doing?" You wondered, and then the starting notes to All The Single Ladies began blaring from the party speakers. Your mouth dropped. Every single one of the Armed Detective Agents began to move in unison to the beat of the music.

And for the third time, you fell in love with him, again. Expecting that there would be many more to come.

ᯓ★𝐊𝐔𝐍𝐈𝐊𝐈𝐃𝐀 𝐃𝐎𝐏𝐏𝐎

: ̗̀➛ Kunikida Doppo, who, at first, had not planned to marry you. After all, you only met twenty out of his proposed fifty-eight requirements that made the perfect wife. That was the thing about your relationship, however — you had come into the agent's life unplanned, uninvited, and turned every one of his rigid ideals up on their heads.

: ̗̀➛ Yet it was only telling of the Idealist and his old habits, how Kunikida went about asking for your hand in marriage. It had been early on a weekday afternoon when he had called you into one of the private meeting rooms of the Agency's office. He'd pushed his glasses up the strong bridge of his nose and laid out his terms. He'd even written a business contract for you to sign. The page had gone flying in the air when you had tackled him from across the table. Smattering a thousand kisses against his blushing, flustered face and breathing the words yes, yes, you silly man, yes!

: ̗̀➛ To concur with both your family's wishes and his own, a traditional wedding was set in motion. Kunikida Doppo was always a man to abide by rules and regulations, but it had occurred to you that perhaps he was taking this affair a little too seriously. For your parents, he gifted them the very traditional shiraga thread. During the sake ceremony, the blond sat ramrod straight, moving mechanically to take sips from the three cups. One for past, one for present, and one for your future. Together.

: ̗̀➛ He was so serious, in fact, that you had become nervous on the morning of your wedding — your most beloved of friends helping you into your garments, trying to soothe your thoughts. What if he doesn't want to marry me? You would whisper as they fashioned your hair up. What if I've forced him into this, what if he's unhappy? To one of your many anxieties, your friend had met your eyes in the mirror, and smiled.

"Oh, honey," She chuckled, leaning down to kiss you on the cheek. "You should see the way that man looks at you."

: ̗̀➛ Her words played in your mind as the traditional music was strung during your procession to meet him. The black colours he donned made his long ponytail appear golden, his body strong, his face even more handsome. As he watched you come down the shrine walkway to be by his side, the blond reached up with one hand to push his glasses away and covered his eyes. It had taken you a few months after to realise that in that moment, Kunikida Doppo had shed a tear.

: ̗̀➛ It was not tradition for vows to be spoken, and yet Kunikida asked to say a few words as the ceremony drew to a close. You watched him carefully as he picked up the microphone, curious at the intentions he had. It was in that moment that your newly wed husband faced the crowd and brought the mic to his lips.

"First, I would like to thank you all for gracing our marriage with both your presence and your blessings. It is something we will see not to squander." "Second, I would like to say some thoughts of mine, if you would all be so inclined. Marriage, to me, was initially an agreement of convenience. I had the perfect woman laid out seamlessly. And in my wife that stands with me today, I say that she is not that perfect woman I so wished to find. But she is everything more. She is my best friend, she is my support, she is the person I go to sleep thinking of and wake up searching for. To me, she is my home, and I will take care of her fiercely."

: ̗̀➛ At your small reception, Kunikida was stolen away from you by some affiliates of the Armed Detective Agency and had his sake cup topped up one too many times. He found you afterwards, and proclaimed both his love and adoration for his newly-betrothed to everyone and anyone that was within a five mile radius.

𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 . . .

"Come here," You whispered to him, now in the comfort of your own apartment walls. A considerably uncoordinated Kunikida was struggling out of his Haorihimo, cursing in drunken slurs and promises of retribution to the small sliver of fabric.

Your fingers eased the cloth out from underneath his arms and you began to loosen the knot. Your husband was staring up at you from behind his crooked glasses. He swayed a little, and you stood in front of him, ready to support him if he went toppling forward off the bed.

But then, two strong, solid arms came up to the small of your back and he crushed you against him. Burying his head into your chest, he murmured;

"From the very first day I met you... I loved you. D'ya know that?"

Your heart grew tiny wings in your chest and began to sore. Smiling, you reached up, carding your fingers through his blond locks and undoing the tight ponytail.

"The first day you met me, you told me I was inefficient and lazy, my dear husband." You mused.

He grunted. "Same... thing."

ᯓ★𝐀𝐓𝐒𝐔𝐒𝐇𝐈 𝐍𝐀𝐊𝐀𝐉𝐈𝐌𝐀

: ̗̀➛ Your relationship with Atsushi was one that blossomed slow and tenderly. It was a natural progression, after three years of happy dating, for the agent to ask you to marry him. Everything Atsushi Nakajima did in regards to showing his affection for you was always timid and reserved — you never expected it; the elaborate surprise he had waiting in store for you that morning you came into the Agency's offices just like you always did.

: ̗̀➛ Well, perhaps he had a little help from the other agents, for the office was barren when you entered. Your eyebrows had creased at the very uncharacteristic quiet of the usually chaotic area you worked in. You had checked the time, wondering if you had showed up a little too early on accident. But then, there was a voice — the voice of agent Dazai Osamu, shouting at you to come to the nearest window and to do so urgently—!

Each of the agents stood at the sidewalk, all holding up a sign with different characters that made up a whole sentence. A question. And Atsushi — your sweet, kind, caring Atsushi, was perched in the middle, the biggest bouquet of roses in his sheepish hands. Will you marry me?

: ̗̀➛ Both you and Atsushi decide to get married somewhere far removed from the city skyline of Yokohama. You wanted somewhere special to remember this day, and perhaps, the great outdoors and stretching greens spoke to Atsushi's beastly side a little more, too. So you chose the heart of a nearby woodland where a great, ancient willow tree served as your alter.

: ̗̀➛ Atsushi wore a suit of sky-blue. You wore a simple slip dress decorated with accents of lace and flowers, Kenji had twined some wildflowers into your hair. The fauna of the forest acted as your choir when you walked down the small trail of brambles to your soon-to-be husband who waited at the base of the winding trunk.

: ̗̀➛ The reception was held in a greenhouse funded by the Agency's private books — you and Atsushi were members, after all, so Kunikida took a little less persuading than usual to move his ledgers around. For lunch, you served chazuke, and when you took the first dance, Atsushi's eyes appeared more gold than they were violet as they looked at you so lovingly the whole time.

𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐍𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐇 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐒 . . .

"Atsushi, they'll notice that we're gone." You giggled, bunching your dress up so you could step over the little bush of thickets. When you both reached the winding roots of the willow tree you promised yourselves to each other underneath, Atsushi transformed his arms and legs into their tiger equivalents.

"Dazai-san said he'd keep everyone entertained." He whispered, and then stepped forward to wrap his soft arms around you. "Are you ready?"

"It may be a little late for second thoughts." You teased, but looped your arms around his slender neck and relaxed into his hold. The new golden band on your finger glinted in the moonlight.

And using that tiger-strength, Atsushi dug his claws into the ancient tree bark and began to climb. Higher and higher until you both broke through the canopy cover and could look to the millions of stars winking at you overhead.

"Oh, Atsushi." You breathed in awe, taking in the wonders above. "Oh, it's beautiful."

Your husband nuzzled into your hair and whispered, "Each one represents all the lifetimes I'd still find and fall in love with you in."

ᯓ★𝐂𝐇𝐔𝐔𝐘𝐀 𝐍𝐀𝐊𝐀𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀

: ̗̀➛ It had initially been you and your General lover's plan to keep your engagement quiet and have a small affair away from town. Just the two of you, because Chuuya thought some of his colleagues were insufferable pains in his ass, and all hell would break loose if they were to figure out they had a wedding plan on their hands. It was, however, unfortunate, that you two had been discussing what type of ceremony you'd like to have when Hirotsu was just about to turn one of the corners. It took exactly one hour for the entire Port Mafia to know. Two for it to reach the Armed Detective Agency.

: ̗̀➛ It was no longer a personal affair. This wedding became a spectacle within the Mafia's ranks. From the lowest levels all the way to the boss himself, everyone was abuzz with ideas and anticipation, excited that one of their top brass was getting married and they could all take advantage of the time off to have a grand party. Chuuya threatened to resign several times, you always laughed at how excited the entire criminal organisation became at the prospect of celebration.

: ̗̀➛ True to the boss' word, you and Chuuya's wedding was held in one of the grandest churches Yokohama had to offer — having mysteriously skipped the two year waiting list. The building was laved in gold and stain glass windows. Chuuya wore a fine suit of blood-red and a black tie that contrasted with his wild curls, his hard blue eyes. But when they saw you come down the aisle, they softened, and when he said his vows to you, you never thought anyone would look at you with such adoration ever again.

: ̗̀➛ The main event was held in the bowels of the Port Mafia — one of the largest show-rooms this organisation had to offer, with chandeliers hanging from the ceilings and a private band playing any songs they were requested. Chuuya, for the majority of your reception, could not seem to keep his hands off of you. If you were not by his hip, his eyes would instantly go searching for you within the throng of party-goers. When he did find you, he would place a hand to the small of your back, he'd lean in to kiss you and say;

"There you are, my wife."

: ̗̀➛ There was another reason as to why Chuuya Nakahara was originally so hellbent on taking your wedding somewhere more quiet and peaceful. And it came in the form of a brunet ex-partner waltzing into the organisation's party, a broad simper on his infuriating face. Dazai Osamu took your hand and kissed the back of it, extending his deepest sympathies and that if you ever needed to blow off steam, he could give you his number.

: ̗̀➛ The Port Mafia ballroom had originally started off with three grand chandeliers. After Dazai had purred those taunting words, there was then, only two.

: ̗̀➛ After the many shards had been swept from the floor by a cleaning crew, the private band struck an up-beat quartet. Both you and your newly-wed husband took to the floor for the first dance. Chuuya's hand splayed protectively against your back, his other gloved palm slotting into yours and guiding you to twirl, skip, spin.

𝐇𝐎𝐋𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐂𝐋𝐎𝐒𝐄 . . .

"Shit, sorry." He grumbled when your foreheads were touching, the proximity sending his breath fanning across your cheeks. His pointy canines were jutting against his bottom lip. "That motherfucker — he just makes me see red."

"Hey, it's okay." You said, catching his eyes. "Because I love you. You, Nakahara. I am all yours and no one else's."

Those words touched something deep within this man's chest. Of course, the proof that you were his sat in the form of two stacked rings on your left hand, but to hear it. To look into your beautiful eyes and see the amount of love there.

He surprised you by reaching down to your hips and lifting you up, twirling you around, around, around.

"And I'm forever yours, babydoll."

ᯓ★𝐅𝐘𝐎𝐃𝐎𝐑 𝐃𝐎𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐄𝐕𝐒𝐊𝐘

: ̗̀➛ The initial letter you received from Fyodor asking for your hand in marriage — originally, you believed it to be fake. A shallow joke from someone who knew of you and the mastermind's occasional on-and-off relationship whenever he returned to your homeland. But as you traced the delicate loops of the handwriting that looked so much like his own, in the intimate moonlight beams of late night — you'd let yourself imagine. Hope. Only for it to swell and dwindle like ashes of a flame. Because there was just no way he would ask to marry you. That he would marry, at all.

: ̗̀➛ It was fitting then; how palpable your shock was when the slender, pale man you had accidentally fallen in love with — like a fool — was standing on the other side of your door that early morning. You had blinked hard, rubbed your eyes, wondered if you were weary from too many sleepless nights. When the stars had cleared from your vision, he was still there. An amused little smile stretched against his lips.

"So? Are you ready to get married?" You stared at him. And stared. And then dropped your morning cup of coffee onto the tiles of your hallway.

: ̗̀➛ At the news of your sudden betrothal, your family were both elated with a healthy dose of scepticism. Who is this man you are intending to marry, they fluttered around you with questions when you broke the news. Fyodor? I've never heard you speak of him, why do you intend to marry this man, girl? At that, you had smiled, not bothering to hide the small heat of blush on your ears, and murmured;

"Because he's a thief, and he stole my heart a very long time ago."

: ̗̀➛ The wedding was held in an old cathedral of gothic architecture. You don't think you've ever seen Fyodor look so refined; standing there in his simple suit of stone-grey with a black shirt. He had his hair tucked behind his ears, his eyebags were a little less pronounced, his skin brighter — but perhaps that was just the early-morning light. When you stood before your husband to-be and handed your heart over to him, for him, there was a shift in his eyes. You could not explain it, but you knew it ran deep. You knew that in his own way, he was also handing himself over to you. And you would accept all of him, just like you accepted his name.

: ̗̀➛ Much to the dismay of your family, you did not hold a wedding reception after the ceremony, but that was only because Fyodor decided to walk with you through the freezing streets of Moscow. He held your hand, and even though on many nights where you lay together he was stone-cold, today, he felt warm.

𝐇𝐎𝐋𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐃 . . .

"Fyodor?"

"Hmm?" He answered, noticing the sheepish tone in your voice. You looked up at him with those big doe eyes.

"Why did you ask to marry me?"

Fyodor held your gaze for a long, pregnant second. It was at that moment that a single flake of snow fluttered down from the grey sky and landed on his immaculate suit. Then another. Each one the same colour as your dress, each one different to the rest.

Fyodor held out his hand to catch them. "Why does the snow fall? Because it is natural. It is meant to be. I married you because it is the way I wish to fall. With you, by my side."

requested by the lovely [ @cocodrilofeliz! ]

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rainrot4me · 5 months ago

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On Unholy Terms

Summary: You’re an exorcist sent by the church to investigate a graveyard deemed to be unholy. After stumbling upon a ‘demon’, your determination quickly falters.

Characters: Eyeless Jack x Exorcist! Female Reader

SMUT WARNING MINORS DNI

TW: Probably definitely blasphemous, cunnilingus, big size difference, jack fucks you on a tombstone, vaginal, shaming, forceful entry, slight humiliation, biting, some blood, choking, degradation

Words: 3.6k

A/N: There’s slight symbolism of Christianity/Catholicism, please take it lightheartedly. I don’t mean to be rude :’)

This was stupid and you knew it.

You trudged through the overgrown grass, your skirt constantly getting caught on thorns and twigs littering the ground. The rosary you clutched close to your chest was cold, giving you some stability as your fear grew the deeper you went into the woods.

The church had sent you to investigate a series of murders near an old, abandoned chapel that had been left dormant after funding ran scarce. Several years ago, you had visited the church on different occasions, but as you entered the clearing, it looked anything but familiar.

Dense fog surrounded the area, the evening sky casting a dark orange glow through the forest. The rusty flashlight in your opposite hand did little to aid your vision as you stepped closer to the overgrown building. Vines and debris had overtaken the small church, and the beautiful stained glass windows shattered or faded from the lack of upkeep. It felt depressing, the ground looking anything but holy now.

You shuffled around the side of the building, the dark oak doors boarded together, police caution tape decorating the step’s railings. You sighed, shining your flashlight onto the rest of the building, but finding nothing worth interest. You thought the church was idiotic, this was a job for investigators, police or something, not some young exorcist who barely got work as it was. However, the church had deemed this case a holy one considering it was on sacred ground. Nonetheless, if you felt this was out of your pay grade, you would give the cops a call yourself.

You walked around the back of the building, a wide field revealing rows and rows of tombstones and crosses. A cemetery. A small gravel path led to an arched gate, a beautiful design etched onto the iron bars. You signed a cross, kissing your fingers before stepping through the threshold, showing respect to the grounds.

The sun was dipping behind the trees, a dark sky looming as the fog surrounded you making it harder to see. You stepped carefully through the assorted headstones, each reading off a different name you felt too busy to acknowledge. A crow called somewhere in the distance, startling you slightly as you shone your flashlight around frantically. Your nerves were getting to you, the stale air making it harder to breathe. So far, nothing had stood out to you, no signs of life or commotion, let alone dead bodies that were so frequently reported. You felt restless wanting to leave so quickly, but you had to report something back or you would be penalized.

Trudging the gravel path, you stumbled upon a rather large mausoleum. The beautifully designed pillars lead to its gated entrance. You shone your flashlight at the doors, goosebumps running up your arms as you decided to go inside. You stepped onto the marble steps, the rusted gate creaking loudly as you swung it open. You clutched your rosary tightly, sweat running across your forehead as you silently cursed yourself. The tomb was dark and stuffy, with plaques of the deceased marking where they lay in the marble coffins. You angled your flashlight, eyeing the old but stunning design of the interior. You stepped further into the tomb, several dark doorways gained your curiosity. You stepped toward one, shining your flashlight in but seeing nothing except bookshelves lined with what you presumed to be death records and documents of the deceased outside. You gulped, stepping to another one.

Your breath caught in your throat. Your flashlight landed on an assortment of blankets and pillows nestled into a corner, several water bottles and books askew across the floor nearby. Your heartbeat became uneasy, fear creeping into you as you took a step back, the rosary pinching your hand as you clutched it tighter. Maybe it was nothing, maybe some squatter had used the building to camp out for the night. You tried to calm yourself, wiping the sweat from your face with the back of your sleeve. A cool breeze wafted into the tomb, fluttering your skirt around your ankles as you continued searching the rooms. Suddenly, a loud screech filled your ears, sending your blood cold and you stumbling back onto your backside. You screamed as you threw your flashlight up quickly, frantically searching for the noise, panting heavily. Shining a flashlight on a crow desperately flapping his wings to escape the building, screeching again as he flew out and into the night.

You closed your eyes, taking deep breaths in you steadied yourself, blaming your imagination on your jumpiness. It seemed there was nothing but annoying birds and dusty graves, but no sign of any ghostly killer. You hoisted yourself up, reaching down to dust off your skirt before collecting yourself and shining your flashlight up again. That’s when you saw it, a tall figure resting his weight against the door frame of a darkened room. You held your breath, begging your body not to move as you could feel the tears well in your ears. The figure's ragged breaths echoed off the marble walls, his head angled to the side as if he was gawking at you. Your eyes flickered quickly, scanning his moves and praying he by some miracle moved on and let you leave. You prayed you would leave with no story to tell, but now you feared you wouldn’t leave at all.

The man pushed himself off the doorway, shoving his hands into his hoodie pocket and leaning in to meet your gaze. He towered over you, a good bit too. You wanted to run, to turn around and sprint out the doorway and never look back, but he interrupted your thoughts. “You’re a pest,” he grunted, looking you up and down as he slid the hood of his hoodie off of his head. He seemed to be wearing some creepy mask, the dark eyes sending your heart pounding in your chest. But his voice was calm, soothing almost, if it wasn’t handing you an insult. You gulped, standing up straight and letting go of the rosary hanging from your neck as you gripped your flashlight tighter.

“Why are you here? Who are you?” You croaked, voice catching in your throat from fear. You didn’t know why you were interrogating him, but this newfound bravery was short-lived as he stepped closer to you abruptly. You gasped, clenching the flashlight closer to you as he towered over you, head cocked and pressed too close for comfort. You whined, tears emerging again as his ragged breaths filled your ears. The rotten stench coming from him was consuming the whole room and your senses alike, making you close your eyes before tears threatened to spill.

“I think a better question,” he snarled, sending a shiver through you. “Is why are you here?”

You peeled your eyes open, bringing your hand up to grip your rosary again. “I was sent… sent by the church.” You squirmed, knees slowly buckling under you as his presence pressed down on you. “Oh..” He groaned, standing straight again, running a hand through his spikey brown hair. “A holy little thing, huh? Come to catch some ghosts?” You could hear the grin in his voice, his hand leaving his pocket to rub the back of his neck until he caught sight of your rosary. He reached out sharply, taking the cross from your hands and pulling it to him, straining your neck to come towards him. You squealed, throwing your hands out and placing them against his chest as he examined the charm, trying your damnest to keep distance between the two of you. He chuckled, following the necklace up and squeezing the ends together, choking your neck slightly from the tension. “I’m afraid God won’t help you here, little thing.”

He tugged your necklace tighter, pulling you flush against him as his hands landed on either side of your face. He forced you to look up at him, tears pricking your eyes again and again. “Such a pretty thing, though. What a shame some old church sent you away to your death.” He lifted his hand to slide his mask up over his nose, revealing the jagged smile hiding behind. He separated his teeth, a long grotesque tongue slinking out and falling below his chin. It was inhumanly long, your eyes blowing wide at the horror as you began to tremble under his grasp. “Oh, God…”

He leaned closer, passing your face and finding the crook of your neck, sliding his long tongue against the bare skin with a growl. You tensed, a slight moan leaving your mouth at the chill running down your spine from the sensation. The man stopped, retracting his tongue from your neck and leaning back slowly, bringing his face to meet yours. His unsure face turned to a manic grin, his jagged teeth shining in the night light as his hands slid down from your face to wrap around your neck and slowly grip. He squeezed every so gently, applying just the right amount of pressure to make your breath hitch. “How unholy…” He chuckles, sliding his hands down further to sit at each side of your waist. You freeze, embarrassment hitting you as his gaze looks all over you now. “Now that I look at you, you ain’t half bad. Your little church get-up is… rather tempting for someone so ordained.” He purrs. You flush red, your mouth running dry at his lustful comments towards you as you squirm under his grasp. He leans down, mouth inches from yours as he stares directly into your eyes. “You’re not as godly as you let on, are you?” He whispers, tucking the tip of his tongue between his teeth as he taunts you.

Your face blows red, eyes refusing to look at his face and deciding his hoodie is much more interesting. He laughs, standing up straight and sliding his arms under your legs, hoisting you up over his shoulder with your butt sitting high in the air. You squeal, gripping the back of his sweatshirt and pulling desperately as he walks out into the night air, a cool breeze blowing your hair into your face. “I’ve decided to treat myself tonight,” He boasts loudly to you, walking you over to a rather large headstone and setting you on top softly. “Thank you, Lord, for this meal.” He taunts, sliding down to his knees in front of you and sliding his hands up and down your thighs. You begin to panic, gripping the cold concrete under your hands as you try to balance yourself and focus on the man’s movements at the same time.

“W-Wait! Please!” You beg, bringing your knees to your chest as he tries to slide your skirt up your legs. “I don’t even know your name…” You croak, eyes wide as he stares into your fearful face. He grins, gripping your ankles and bringing them back down to dangle in front of him. “Jack. It’s Jack. And I promise, you won’t forget it by the end of tonight.” He chuckles, gripping the bottom of your skirt and sliding it up your legs, scrunching it up at your waist so he gets a full view of your lacy panties. You shove your thighs together, blocking his view as you shudder a breath. Jack slides his cold hands between your locked thighs, prying them open as he places each leg on his shoulders. He hooks his fingers under the hem of your panties, sliding them down and hooking them on your ankle as he slides closer, his face moving in closer to the apex of your thighs. You hold your breath, your core aching as you feel his hot breath pant against your soaked lips. “Hallelujah.”

Jack grips your thighs tightly as he licks a thick stripe between your folds, a ragged gasp shooting from your mouth as you slam your eyes shut. His tongue circles your entrance, flicking lightly against your clit as you arch your back against the feeling. He groans at the taste, pressing his tongue into you slowly, relishing in every flavor of your pussy he can taste. You moan out, his tongue lapping at the juices leaking out of you as your arousal grinds your hips against his face. Jack chuckles against you, sucking on your lips as he curls his tongue inside of you, making you whine. He grips your thighs tighter, your legs dangling off of his shoulders as his fingers hold onto you so tightly you’re sure they’ll leave bruises. “Ahh- Jack…” You groan, sliding your hand into his hair and gripping tightly to stabilize yourself. You feel the white heat coming over you as you groan against him, hips bucking as his tongue continues to curl and throb inside of you. Your release comes quickly, an unfamiliar ecstasy overtaking you as you come on his tongue.

Jack groans against you, continuing to slide his tongue in and out of you as his nose brushes against your clit. He’s not stopping, if anything he’s speeding up his movements and driving his tongue deeper into your cunt. You whimper loudly, the sensitivity overriding you as you begin to squirm away from his touch. He only grips tighter, pulling your hips up and off of the tombstone as he presses his face deeper into your folds. Your thighs spasm, gripping tightly around his head while he laps at your pleasure. You begin to sob, gripping his hair tighter and pulling forcefully as you try to pull his head from your core. “Please! Please, it hurts… God- Jack!” You grip your hands in his hair, accidentally knocking his mask back and off of his head as you stutter your hips against his tongue. All of a sudden his movements stop, his tongue slowly sliding out of you as you stop in horror. His face, rather, his eyes. The lack of them makes your stomach drop. His eye sockets are nothing but pools of black tar, dripping down his face and staining his gray-ish skin. It’s like you can’t move, your pulsing cunt still sitting inches away from his face as he glares, or seems to be glaring, into your eyes.

“W- What in hell’s name…” You croak, Jack slowly releasing your thighs and sliding his hands up your legs, pressing against them to stand himself up. He chuckles. “Hell exactly, little thing.” Your eyes hold wide, your fear unallowing you to move. “D- Demon…” You whimper, your legs dropping back down and dangling off the end of the tombstone. He smiles, reaching to unbutton his pants slowly, your eyes shooting between them and his terrifying face. “A demon who just made you cum,” He slides his zipper down, pulling his cock out and slowly stroking it as he looks down at you, the red angry head pulsing as he slowly chews his lip in between his teeth.

“What would God say…? Hm? His holy little thing lusting after a demon spawn?” Jack grins, stepping forward and hooking his hands under your knees, bringing them around his waist. He pushes your skirt back up, exposing your dripping cunt to his large cock as it twitches between your legs. He’s very large, actually, fear striking you as you wonder if something like that would even fit inside of you. Jack notices you eyeing him, sliding his hands around your back and gripping you tightly as he positions himself at your entrance. Jack leans forward, placing a soft kiss against your forehead while he reaches his thumb to slowly circle your clit, a breathy moan escaping your lips.

You watch carefully as he pushes into you, his tip stretching your entrance open and stopping when you begin to whine, gripping the shoulder of his sweatshirt tightly. Jack presses kisses against your forehead, breathing deeply as he works your clit trying to get you to relax on his length. He’s barely even in yet and you’re already so tight.

Large tears threaten to spill as Jack slowly nudges his dick inside of you. He’s so big, the girth of him catching on your entrance as he’s forced to press deeper and deeper inside. You whine and squirm, his hold on your hips not allowing you to back away from the stretch and sensitivity. Jack’s thumb rubs your clit quicker, his breath becoming labored as he slowly begins to thrust into you. It won’t slide easily, so he becomes contempt with tugging and shallowly nudging his cock-head into your warm core. Tears spill from your eyes, your mouth hanging open as you try to babble your pleas. “S’bigmm.. Shit-” You hiss, whining as you sob through the stretch of your cunt. Jack presses kisses against your forehead, licking your tears up as they fall. He whispers to you, cooing his praise into your ear as he grunts and curses. “You can take it…” He mouths your neck, licking against your skin as his eyes begin to slowly roll. “We’ll make it fit.” He grunts, nudging your thighs open with his legs as he grabs your back.

Jack shoves his cock inside of you, your cunt pulling him in and throbbing against the stretch and pain of it all. He can’t hold back, your cunt so warm and wet that he moans into your neck, lapping at it before he bites down on the skin, sinking his jagged teeth in and making you scream. He latches on, the taste of warm blood coating his mouth and sending him into a frenzy. He pulls his length out all the way to the tip before slamming in and reaching so deeply inside of you that it makes your breath catch in your throat. You moan loudly, tears streaming down your cheeks as your head lulls back, Jack’s thrusts sharp and deep as you grip his sweatshirt for stability.

Jack retracts his teeth from your neck, lapping at the blood trickling down as he thrusts into you like an animal. He holds you tightly against him, his fingers gripping into your back as he groans his pleasure into the crook of your neck. “Ssgood.. Mm- fuck! You’re suckin’ me so good..” You grip his hair, hips stuttering against his thrusts and matching his pace. You hook your legs tighter around his waist, pulling him in as deeply as possible. The stretch of his cock feels so glorious with each press against your g-spot.

He kisses against your neck, moving up to your cheek and then meeting your lips, pressing them roughly against yours as he makes out with you. You groan into his mouth, his tongue sliding in and muffling your sounds of pleasure. He slides his hands out, hooking them under your legs and hoisting you up. He holds you against him in the air, fucking up into you like his personal fleshlight. You moan loudly into his mouth, his tongue exploring every crevice of your mouth as you roll your eyes. He slides his hand out from under your leg, gripping the rosary around your neck and pulling it tightly, cutting off your airway. He smiles against your mouth, hearing your labored breathing gasping as he pulls the necklace tighter. “You just love this don'tcha? Little thing milking me so good.” He groans, his hips stuttering faster inside of you, his cock jabbing deeply inside of you.

“Mmcomin- Jack-” You moan, air escaping you as you feel your cunt squeezing tightly around Jack’s length. He grunts, mouth hanging open as he stares into your flushed face, his cock twitching inside of you. He presses his lips against yours again, breathing in your moans as he feels you constrict against him. You moan out, pleasure washing over you as you cum on his cock, squeezing tightly around him. Jack grunts, unable to thrust anymore, he ruts up into your cunt, groaning loudly into your mouth as he spills into you. His thrusts eventually stop, bottoming out into you as he releases your necklace, you gasp, catching your breath again.

Jack holds you tightly against him, breathing deeply into your neck as you catch your own. He slowly pulls out of you, and you wince from the pull. His seed spills down your legs, a groan escaping your lips at the lack of fullness you regrettably loved. Jack sets you on your feet, reaching to swipe his finger between your folds and sending a jolt through your body. He brings his fingers to his mouth, lapping up his and your juices and sighing at the wonderful taste. He pulls your skirt down, pressing a kiss against your forehead before zipping his jeans back up himself.

You shift on your feet, relishing in the kisses he places on your skin. “Uhm- Tha-” Jack places his hand over your mouth, leaning down to look you in your eyes. “Run along, little thing. Get back to your stuffy old church.” He leans down, picking up his mask and sliding it back over his face, bringing his hood up to completely cover himself again. You clutch your rosary softly, the cool night air blowing your hair slowly as Jack waves you off. “Will I ever get to… see you again?” You cringe at the desperation in your voice, shuffling on your feet. Jack crooks his neck again, shoving his hands into his pockets. “If I ever see you again, I’m afraid I’ll be eating a whole lot more than just that little pussy of yours,” he chuckles.

You smile at him, turning to walk back down the gravel path as you see Jack make his way back towards the mausoleum. As you pass under the gated archway, you smile to yourself, holding your rosary closely.

What the hell were you going to tell the church now?

Thanks for reading!

Comments and reblogs are appreciated! 𐚁₊⊹

#creepypasta #smut #jeff the killer x reader #jeffrey woods #creepypasta fandom #creepypasta smut #eyeless jack #jeff the killer x eyeless jack #jeff the killer x ticci toby #eyeless jack smut #eyeless jack x reader #eyeless jack x you #eyeless jack x y/n #ticci toby #jeff the killer creepypasta #creepypasta x reader #jeff the killer smut

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shy-forceghost · 4 months ago

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During S2E4, when Vincent kidnaps Ava with the crown of thorns and Bea looks for her through Madrid, the information she gets from the police is that "a man and woman were seen running towards La Elipa", which is a neighbourhood in Madrid.

La Elipa has a famous graveyard (Nuestra Señora de Almudena) and a chapel of the same name, which is where the "church battle" takes place.

Well, this is the distance Beatrice walked/ran looking for Ava. Girl was on a mission.

#just some fic writing research #Bea definitely used the 'gay walking' thing #warrior nun #sister beatrice #ava silva

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pupsmailbox · 6 months ago

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GOTH ID PACK

NAMES ⌇　abby. ace. addam. alister. amelia. amoret. ange. angel. angelo. anubis. arch. archette. ash. aslan. aspen. astor. astoria. astrophel. atticus. axelle. azazel. azrael. bael. bat. batsy. bella. bellatrix. blade. blair. blanchette. brahms. branwen. cain. callan. calliope. cannibelle. caskeite. casketta. caskette. caspian. celeste. celestia. chaos. charlotte. cherry. chira. chiraelle. chiro. chiroptairre. chiroptelle. chiropteranne. choir. christian. cofette. coffin. coffine. constantine. corbin. corpse. crimson. crow. crowley. damian. damien. demonesse. divina. dorian. draven. edgar. elatha. elijah. elix. elwin, elwin. elwood. ember. emmaline. etienne. evan. evangeline. eve. faith. forest. forrest. frill. frille. frilleine. frilliette. frilly. genesis. ghost. gothita. gothitelle. gothitess. gothitesse. grey. gwen. gypsy. hades. hawthorne. hecate. hemlock. imortalle. imortella. iris. israel. jakob. jet. jett. johnas. josiah. judas. kain. kane. kedi. keir. lacey. laciene. laciette. lazarus. leo. lilith. lilithe. lolita. lucid. lucien. lucifer. lucius. luscious. lynx. maeve. malice. mana. martyr. max. melancholy. merle. micah. michael. misery. mordred. morris. mors. morte. mortis. mourge. mourgette. myrette. nightshade. noah. noctre. nocturne. noir. obsidian. oleander. omen. onyx. orion. orpheus. ozul. ozzy. prince. prophet. raven. ravenie. raveniette. rook. rowan. ruby. saber. saint. salem. samael. samuel. scarlet. secrette. seraph. serenity. shilo. shiloh. silas. silver. silvester. skelly. skulliene. skulliette. skully. sorrow. sylvester. syn. thorn. thorne. tobias. tommy. trix. umbriel. valkyrie. valo. vervain. vesper. victoria. ville. violetta. vito. vlad. woundie. zeon. zephyrine.

PRONOUNS ⌇　abby/abby. ae/aer. ash/ash. bat/bat. bleed/bleed. blood/blood. book/book. bug/bug. burn/burn. chain/chain. chap/chapel. chill/chill. claw/claw. cloud/cloud. cob/cobweb. cof/coffin. coffin/coffin. corps/corpse. creep/creep. cri/cross. cro/cros. cross/cross. cross/crosse. da/dark. dae/dae. dae/daem. dark/dark. decay/decay. dee/dark. des/despair. devout/devout. div/divine. dust/dust. echo/echo. edge/edgy. en/envie. fae/fang. fang/fang. fe/fear. fie/fiend. fog/fog. fri/frill. frill/frill. ghost/ghost. ghoul/ghoul. gore/gore. goth/goth. goth/gothic. gra/grave. grave/grave. ha/haunt. halo/halo. hie/hiem. ho/holy. holy/holy. horn/horn. hx/hxm. hy/hym. ink/ink. lace/lace. lae/lace. lost/lost. mist/mist. moon/moon. net/fishnet. ni/night. night/night. null/null. par/parasol. parasol/parasol. pray/pray. pray/prayer. proph/prophet. ro/rose. rose/rose. rot/rot. rust/rust. sac/sacrifice. saint/saint. scar/scar. shx/hxr. shy/hyr. si/sinister. sin/sin. sku/skull. skull/skull. snake/snake. spider/spider. spike/spike. sto/storm. stud/stud. thou/thorn. thron/thorn. thxy/thxm. vae/vaer. ve/ver. velvet/velvet. vo/void. whis/whisper. whisper/whisper. witch/witch. wood/wood. x/x. xae/xaer. × . ♠️ . ♣️ . ⚰️ . ⛓️ . 🌑 . 💀 . 🕯 . 🕷 . 🕸 . 🖤 . 🥀 . 🦇 .

#⭐️lists #id pack #npt #name suggestions #name ideas #name list #pronoun suggestions #pronoun ideas #pronoun list #neopronouns #nounself #emojiself #goth #gothic

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portraitsofsaints · 3 months ago

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Saint King Louis IX of France 1214-1270 Feast day: August 25 Patronage: Architects and Monastic third orders

Saint Louis IX was crowned King of France at age 12 and reigned until his death. His mother ruled the kingdom until he reached maturity and instructed him in his education and religion. Louis married Margaret of Provence in 1234 and they had 11 children. He saw himself as a “Lieutenant of God on earth” even obtaining Christ's crown of thorns from Baldwin II, Latin emperor at Constantinople. He was an exemplary king, protecting the poor and clergy, founding hospitals and the Abbey of Royaumount and built Saint-Chapelle, an architectural gem. He led two crusades in 1238 and 1267, where he died of the plague.

Prints, plaques & holy cards available for purchase here: (website)

#Saint King Louis IX #Saint for Architects #catholic art #catholic faith #artist on tumblr

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m1male2 · 1 year ago

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Sainte-Chapelle, the jewel of the Gothic.

Louis IX of France nicknamed the Saint, son of Blanca de Castilla (in turn daughter of Alfonso VIII and Eleanor de Plantagenet) and Louis VIII, has been considered the ideal of the medieval Christian monarch, a very devout king who dedicated his life to prayer, charity and asceticism... in addition to being the last European king to participate in the last two crusades: the Seventh between 1248 and 1254 and the Eighth in 1270, he took Saint Louis to Tunis and there he would die of the plague at the age of 56 and 40 of reign. In 1297 he will be canonized by Pope Boniface VIII.

His devotion and religiosity led him to acquire numerous relics and among them the coveted crown of thorns of Christ. Brought to France from Constantinople, Louis IX decided to organize a sacred place to keep and protect the holy collection. Thus in 1242 the construction of the Sainte-Chapelle would begin, which was consecrated in 1248. Little is known about the authorship of the chapel, it has been attributed to Pierre de Montreuil, master of the radiant Gothic and main architect of the reign of Saint Louis.

The enclosure was conceived as a reliquary or jewelry box where to deposit the precious and holy relics of the Passion of Christ. The chapel is 36 m long, 17 m wide and over 42 m high.

Its walls covered with precious stained glass windows, 15 in total, have representations, among other themes, of the Old Testament as well as the transfer of the crown of thorns to Paris.

These large openings filter the light, causing it to break down into different colors, symbolizing divine power and turning the place into a sacred and spiritual space. It is a large glass urn whose slender ribbed vaults, 20 m high, rise as if bringing us closer to God. In 1630 it went up in flames, a great fire destroyed it to a large extent and during the French Revolution its relics were stolen and many destroyed by the revolutionaries. Some were saved and are now kept in the treasury of Notre Dame Cathedral. In the S. XIX was the object of an extraordinary restoration, but preserving the spirit, fidelity and medieval beauty that it had in its origin.

#photography #art #culture #sainte chapelle #museum #france

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marvelmusing · 2 years ago

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In Another Life

Part Sixteen

Pairing: Aleksander Morozova x Alternate Universe!Reader

Summary: Together, you and Aleksander journey to the monastery of Sankt Feliks. To mend the tear at the making, a sacrifice from one of you is required.

Warnings: canon level violence, small amount of blood, the reader goes through a painful altercation (I really hope that what I’ve come up with makes sense because it could be possible canonically but canon doesn’t really make sense either).

My Masterlist • Series Masterlist • Next Part

Aleksander extends a hand to you, as your ankle nearly twists when you step on a rather loose rock. He holds tightly onto you, urging you closer so that he can steady your body with his own.

The walk to Sankt Feliks’ monastery was precarious, and you had needed to abandon your horses nearly an hour ago. Aleksander had gifted you a beautiful white mare named Luna for the journey. She hadn’t seemed too upset by being left tied to a tree further down the mountain, free to graze alongside Nocturne.

As you’re walking, you can’t help but compare this moment to the scene in the books. Aleksander had been the one leading the group, just as he is now.

In the books, he had been wearing tattered robes, his hands had been bound to prevent him from summoning, and he was flanked by sun soldiers. He had been the enemy then.

The Aleksander holding onto your hand is almost the polar opposite of that man. He’s wearing his fur collared cloak, to shield him from the cold of the mountain air. The two of you are surrounded by friends - the Grisha you trusted most to accompany you.

There’s a small glow of pride in your chest, that you are the reason why everything is different. If everything goes wrong now, and you fall at the last hurdle, you know that you’ve already changed this world - and Aleksander’s life - for the better.

The monastery appears almost from nowhere. One moment you’re watching your feet as you nearly stumble over another boulder, the next, Aleksander has stopped and you’re staring up at a series of large stone arches carved into the rock face.

There’s no door, only a small dark tunnel.

“Wait here.” Aleksander instructs your group.

Zoya and Ivan both look ready to disagree with him, but Aleksander gives them both a firm look, whilst you nod and smile reassuringly.

“We shouldn’t be long.” You add.

As Aleksander steps forward into the entrance, you’re reminded of the tunnel underneath Ulla’s chapel. Just as he did then, Aleksander keeps his fingers curled around yours, and you can feel his shadows clinging close as you walk over the uneven ground.

You aren’t walking for long before you step out into cold sunlight once again. The monastery has no ceiling, though some shelter is provided by the huge branches that sway overhead.

Dark red buds adorn the winding arms of one central tree, with black thorns that are longer than your forearm. There’s a painful twist in your heart when you identify the tree.

This is the thornwood tree.

A woman steps out from the shadows. Her dark hair is pulled back tightly, and her features are sharp as she surveys you and Aleksander.

She bows lightly, before greeting you both in a language you don’t understand. Aleksander responds in what you assume is the same language. When he notices your frown, he dips his head down to inform you,

“Ancient Kaelish.” You hum in response.

“We know why you are here.” She says, her voice smooth and clear.

“We?” Aleksander remarks with a raised brow.

All around you, monks step out from shadowed nooks, flashes of red silk that soon surround you. Opening up your bag, you pull out the heart of Sankt Feliks.

“I believe this belongs to you.” You say, stepping towards her with more bravery than you feel.

She tilts her head aside as she looks at you.

“You’re not from this world, are you?”

You raise your chin, swallowing down your fear.

“No. I’m not.”

She steps closer, moving her hands slowly towards the heart. As she takes it in her hands, you say,

“I think it can be used to mend the making.”

“Mending the tear will demand a sacrifice from one of you.” She says lightly, her eyes remaining fixed on the heart as she turns it over in her hands.

“One of us?” Aleksander asks. She turns to face him.

“You have a heart strong enough to hold the tear in the making closed.” You know what that means and you shiver at the thought of Aleksander suffering for eternity. “To do so, you must stand at the doorway between worlds forever.”

You haven’t come all this way for Aleksander to suffer a fate worse than death. The monk’s words play over in your mind - one of you. Meaning that you also have a price to pay, instead of Aleksander.

“What about me?” You say.

Aleksander turns to look at you with widened eyes, and for a moment he looks frightened, as the monk studies you.

“You have the making of two worlds inside you. The tear is what brought you into this world, and it must be mended from one side.”

Looking over at the broken gap at the base of the thornwood’s trunk, you frown before you ask quietly,

“You mean I can go back to my world?”

She nods.

“But you will never be able to return to this one.”

The thought of leaving Aleksander behind, and never seeing him again tugs hard at your heartstrings. After all you’ve been through, you can’t even consider such a thing.

“And if I mend the tear from this side?”

“You will sever the connection you have with the world you were born in.”

You frown.

“Meaning?”

“Meaning you will remain exactly as you are now.”

Turning towards her, your frown deepens.

“For how long?”

She doesn’t respond, merely glancing over at Aleksander before her gaze settles back onto you. Somehow, he seems to understand what this means.

“Forever.” Aleksander says in explanation. You turn to him.

“Forever?” You whisper.

The idea of living forever is a baffling concept. Especially for an ordinary otkazat’sya like you, who is from a world where no one lives forever.

You straighten, nodding.

“Well, it’s obvious what we have to do then.” You say, bending down to discard your bag in preparation of whatever you need to do in order to mend the tear.

“Don’t rush into this.” Aleksander warns you, curling his fingers around your wrist. “Forever is a long time.” He adds softly. “Alina didn’t want it.”

You look up at him, meeting his eyes. You can see the worry there - that you might be making a decision you’ll regret. Forever is a long time, especially for regrets. But you’ve already made up your mind.

You place your own hand over his, giving his fingers a reassuring squeeze as you tell him,

“Alina didn’t have you. I do.”

He smiles softly, nodding in agreement.

“You do.”

With a determined expression, you turn back to the monk.

“What do I have to do?” You ask her.

“The heart must be blessed with your blood, before it can be returned to the thornwood.”

She retrieves a knife from between the folds of her crimson robes, and a touch of fear settles into your heart. The monks unnerve you, and the idea of one of them coming near you with a knife isn’t pleasant.

“May I?” Aleksander asks her, holding out his hand for the knife. She gives it to him.

You swallow nervously as you eye the blade, but Aleksander keeps his eyes firmly on the monk.

“How much blood?” He asks. She turns snapping her fingers, and another monk appears at her side.

He’s young, with dark eyes and a mop of curly blonde locks adorning the top of his head, and his face flushes red as he scrambles to flick frantically through the pages of the book in his hand.

Then he turns it around, displaying a page with a symbol painted over it.

“Enough to draw this onto the heart.” She says.

Aleksander nods.

Then he takes your hand delicately in his own, encouraging you to hold your pointer finger out with the soft tip facing skyward.

“Monk’s always go too far with their ceremonial blood drawings.” Aleksander mumbles, and you would laugh if you weren’t so nervous. “Wholly unnecessary, and rather messy.”

Aleksander seems nervous as well, as his rambling halts and he inhales slowly. His voice softens as he adds,

“This shouldn’t hurt too much, my love.”

“Aleksander.” You say in a small voice. He looks up at you sharply, his motions frozen in an instant. “I love you.”

He smiles softly.

“And I love you. Are you ready?”

You nod.

He slices the tip of your finger with the knife, enough to draw a small amount of blood with only a sharp sting of pain.

Eyes on the symbol in the book, you trace your bleeding finger over the hardened wood-like material of the heart. The monk watches intently, and once you’re finished she nods in satisfaction.

“Now return it to the making.” When you look over at the thornwood and hesitate, she adds, “It will hurt.”

Both you and Aleksander turn sharply to look at her.

“But not, ‘suffering for eternity’ level of hurt, though?” You prompt, brows furrowed as you stare at her. “Right?”

“Less than holding the door between the worlds together for eternity, yes.”

Aleksander looks unconvinced by the monk’s words, and he eyes you carefully as he waits for your reaction. You have a feeling that if you said no, he wouldn’t mind. That he would ensure that the two of you would find another way.

But you need to do this, despite your fear.

You nod.

“Are you sure?” He asks.

“I’m sure.”

Stepping forward, you climb over the gnarled roots towards the trunk of the thornwood. There’s a small area that looks as though it has been carved out, and you can only assume that is where the heart belongs.

Once you’ve placed it back with shaking hands, the monks approach, lying their own hands on the bark as you step away. They’re fabrikators, you remember, and they will ensure that the heart mends the tear at the making.

As you rejoin Aleksander, a pain wracks through your entire body and you collapse against him. He wraps an arm around your waist, keeping you upright, but when you groan lowly he quickly eases you both onto the floor.

It feels as though a part of you is being ripped away, slowly, inch by inch, and you grit your teeth as you struggle to process everything. Then a searing burning runs over your skin, as if the tear inside you is being sealed with a soldering iron.

Tears flood down your cheeks, as you fight to control your breathing. Aleksander holds onto you, allowing you to dig your nails into his clothes as you grip them tightly in an attempt to handle the pain.

Every bone in your body aches, and your muscles tighten uncomfortably as you gasp and writhe in pain.

Aleksander holds the back of your head, ensuring that you don’t thrash to the point of hurting yourself. You press your forehead hard against his shoulder, tears coating your face.

Then it stops.

Sweat glosses over your brow, and your tears begin to dry against your cheeks.

Aleksander’s hands cup your face delicately, tears welling in his own eyes. He can see the relief in your expression as he scours your face intently. It’s over. You’re alright now.

“I thought I told you to stop risking your life.” Aleksander remarks laughingly, though his voice is thick with emotion as your body collapses weakly against his.

“Did it work?” You ask, your voice hoarse.

The monk appears in the corner of your vision, and she gestures to the side of the courtyard.

“See for yourself.”

Aleksander helps you to your feet, and you hold onto him as you move over towards the thick stone wall. There’s a small gap, a window of sorts, carved into the side of the monastery.

As you peer through, all you see is clouds of white. The sunlight shines down, and a breeze scatters the cloud line. Then you see it.

What had once been the blackened sand of the unsea, stained by centuries of darkness, is now a vivid burst of green. The Tula Valley has been revived. Your breath catches in your throat as you stare at it. Then you look at Aleksander.

A tear traces its way down his cheek.

He looks down at you and his face breaks into a smile of pure elation. Aleksander scoops you up into his arms, twirling the two of you around as he laughs in disbelief. You cling to him, his laughter infectious. You did it.

Then he kisses you.

Warmth spreads through your chest, and you feel as though you could burst with happiness. Aleksander drops his head down further, kissing you with every ounce of feeling he has. The fear of losing you, the distress of seeing you in pain, the joy of knowing that you succeeded.

A thrill runs through the entirety of your body, and when Aleksander’s lips leave yours you’re glad he doesn’t go far, pressing his forehead against your own. Then a bright red petal falls into his hair.

You frown, picking the delicate portion of flower from his dark locks. The two of you look up, and the thornwood is in full bloom.

Sliding your hand through Aleksander’s hair, you ruffle it affectionately in an attempt to shake the gathering petals away with a soft laugh. The adoring look in his eyes has emotion swelling in your chest. A look of surprise crosses over his features, and you frown.

Following his gaze, you watch as vines slowly creep over the nearest root of the thornwood, decorating the dark wood with a luscious green that begins to grow delicate buds as you watch it.

“The thornwood has not bloomed this brightly for several centuries.” The monk states, her voice filled with awe.

All around you, the monks drop to their knees. Some of them pray openly, and you see one or two them with tears in their eyes.

“You have received the blessing of Sankt Feliks.” She says, looking directly at you.

Glancing over at Aleksander, your eyes wide with confusion, he appears to be lost in thought.

“I did this?”

He nods slowly.

“How?”

He ponders your question for a long moment.

“You have the making of two worlds in you. Cutting the connection with your own world, must have strengthened your connection to this one.”

“So I’m Grisha?”

Aleksander takes your hand carefully, his brows furrowed. You still don’t feel that sense of certainty, and Aleksander’s expression doesn’t change. He shakes his head.

“I can’t feel anything.”

“Our saint has given you the gift of creation itself.” The monk explains.

You frown. The only form of creation you know is the forbidden science - abomination.

“Merzost?” She shakes her head.

“Something far older. The same matter that holds the universe intact.”

“I understand now.” Aleksander says quietly, and you turn to him with confusion in your eyes. “Morozova’s amplifiers were drawn to you, because your connection to the making is deeper than any other Grisha.”

He traces his fingers over your cheek, his eyes filled with awe as he looks at you.

“The power of pure creation. They recognised themselves in you.”

“Sankt Feliks could grow crops even in the harshest of winters.” You recall. Aleksander had told you the story of Sankt Feliks, many months ago.

Aleksander nods.

“You have the same power as him.”

Before you leave, the monks are all eager to give you their well wishes and prayers. A few of them reach towards you, and you let them clasp your hand between their own.

Aleksander sets his hand at your lower back, guiding you forwards as you head back along the tunnel to return to your group.

You can hear their excited voices as they look down the mountain range, where the Tula Valley is now in the full bloom of summer for the first time in centuries.

Once again, you almost tumble as you step on a loose stone, which catches the attention of your group. They turn to face you both, relief and joy filling their expressions.

“You did it!” Zoya exclaims, rushing towards you and throwing her arms around you. You grip tightly onto her, as your relief finally settles in.

Zoya’s family lives in Novokribirsk. Now she can visit them whenever she wants to.

A small sob wells in your throat as you bury your face into her hair. Despite your new power, and immortality, you’re still aching and exhausted. She pulls back searching your tear filled eyes.

“There weren’t any creepy monks I have to go put in their place, were there?”

You laugh, which causes a few tears to spill out as you admit,

“There were some creepy monks, but I think we’re friends now.” She raises a brow.

“You better not have replaced me.”

The two of you smile widely as you shake your head.

“Never.”

Aleksander settles his hand back against your spine, and he murmurs softly,

“Let’s get you checked over.”

You nod.

Zoya wraps her arm around your waist, helping you walk over the uneven ground as Aleksander hovers closely behind, his fingers lingering on the space between your shoulder blades.

Fedoyr examines you once you’re settled onto a large boulder.

As always, the process of being healed is uncomfortable, the feeling of itching as your pain is removed. Usually you don’t mind the feeling, but when every bone and muscle in your body requires some healing, it’s quite unpleasant.

Aleksander cradles the back of your head as he sits beside you, and a few tears escape your eyes as you press your face against his shoulder.

Once Fedoyr has finished, you sigh in relief.

“Thank you, Fedoyr.”

He nods, giving you a smile.

“My pleasure. Well done.”

He bows lightly, and moves back towards the rest of the group. For a moment, you and Aleksander are quiet, and you simply enjoying being safe in his arms. The sun is shining down, and despite the cool breeze, you no longer feel cold.

“Are you alright now?” He asks softly.

You smile at him.

“Ravka is on the brink of rebirth. I have an incredible power, and I’m going to live forever. Not to mention I have you.”

Leaning forward, you kiss him tenderly.

“I’ve never been better.” You assure him.

Aleksander cups your face in his hands, and kisses you. You’re both smiling against one another’s lips, and your heart sings with love for him. Then you hear Zoya speaking,

“I don’t mean to interrupt a happy moment, but…”

You look down at where Zoya is staring, and you notice a carpet of delicate flowers slowly growing over the rocks around you and Aleksander. Warmth spreads over your cheeks.

“I should probably figure out how to control that.” You remark sheepishly. Aleksander hums with a soft smile on his face as he brushes his knuckles over your cheek.

“I will help you.”

“You’re Grisha now?” Zoya says with a hopeful smile. You nod and her smile widens. “You’re sitting with me during lunch.”

“With the summoners?” Fedoyr protests with a frown. Zoya points down to the patch of flowers that continue to bloom.

“The flowers were summoned.”

“Corporalki is the order of the living and dead. Plants are living.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

Aleksander chuckles quietly, sliding an arm around your waist as he guides the two of you into standing, and you begin to walk further down the mountain.

“It appears your Grisha order has caused some contention.” Aleksander remarks and you laugh softly.

“I wonder what colour kefta I will have.”

Aleksander frowns, and you could say that he almost looks offended.

“It will be black of course.”

Warmth spreads over your cheeks, and giddy excitement fills you at the thought of wearing a black kefta as you stand by Aleksander’s side.

“You’re sure?” You ask, even though you know what his answer will be.

“Indefinitely.”

»»---------------------►

marvelmusing Tag List: @dreamlandcreations @blanchedelioncourt @idaofinfinity @slytherheign @ellooo0ooo @vixenofcourse @dumb-fawkin-bitch @jane-arthur

In Another Life Tag List: @parabatai-winchester @dangerousbluebirdpoetry @jambolska-grozdova @mxacegrey @budugu @cynthianokamaria @scarlettqueen190 @eloquentree @sharp-cheekbones-locked @sorrow-and-bliss @biblophilefox82 @tartiflvtte @rainbowgoblinfan @savagejane1 @sande5098

Aleksander M Tag List: @nyctophiliiiiaaa @jazmin2211

BB Characters Tag List: @rachlovesactors @noortsshift @aikeia

#in another life au #aleksander morozova x reader #aleksander morozova #the darkling #the darkling au #the darkling x reader #shadow and bone #shadow and bone au #shadow and bone x reader #in another life chapters

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stevenrogered · 2 years ago

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SHADOW AND BONE ↳book > screen

“Beauty was your armor. Fragile stuff, all show. But what's inside you? That's steel. It's brave and unbreakable. And it doesn't need fixing.” - Ruin and Rising

“We are soldiers,” David recited, low and shaky. He was unused to speaking in front of a crowd. “I will march with you in times of war. I will rest with you in times of peace. I will forever be the weapon in your hand, the fighter at your side, the friend who awaits your return.” His voice grew stronger and louder with every word. “I have seen your face in the making at the heart of the world and there is no one more beloved, Genya Safin, brave and unbreakable.”

The vow rang through the chapel. Genya’s face was shining, as if those words had kindled some secret light. Tolya, towering over the bride and groom, set a thorn-wood crown upon David’s head and then one upon Genya’s, as Vladim said the blessings. - Rule of Wolves

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thebadgerclan · 2 years ago

Text

Wedding Bells

Pairing: Aleksander Morozova x reader

Summary: The many weddings of Aleksander Morozova...

Over his many identities, you were Aleksander’s constant. Whether you disappeared for a few years together or separately, you always emerged together, or sought each other out soon after. And every time you took on new names, new titles, new occupations, you also got married. It didn’t matter that you’d already sworn your vows to one another centuries ago, your newly crafted identities hadn’t, and good society demanded you do so. And Aleksander certainly wasn’t going to pass up the opportunity to once more swear himself to you.

***

The first wedding would always be the most special; when you were Y/N and Aleksander, just two young people in love. Your father had been hesitant to grant your hand to Aleksander, but you’d worn him down, insisting you had no need for wealth or fancy clothes when you had the man you loved. And that was true, all you needed was your Sasha. Your gown was handmade by your mother, shimmering gold, the skirts fluttering on the wind, your hair arranged in a simple braid. You wore no veil, no crown of pearls, but you had no need for such frivolities.

The ceremony was held in the chapel of Sankt Ilya, your groom-to-be standing at the altar. One side of the church was full of your family and friends, the other was bare except for your soon to be mother-in-law. The thorn wood crowns were placed on your heads and your vows were exchanged. Old Ravkan was still the tongue of the land, and you felt tears building in your eyes as Aleksander swore devotion and fidelity to you. When his lips touched yours and the priest declared you wed, you knew that your life would never be the same.

***

The second wedding was nearly 30 years later. The Fold was what drove you and your husband into hiding, and in that time, he had shared his immortality with you. You entered society once more as Staski and Rosa, a lieutenant’s son and his betrothed. Rumor had it that Staski was distantly related to the Darkling that had created the Unsea and was committed to expanding the budding Second Army.

Your wedding was a quiet affair, vows sworn before the King’s Apparat in the silence of an empty church. It felt wrong, you said, to promise to love Staski rather than Aleksander, but later that night, in the comforting embrace of your husband’s arms, he whispered those same words in Old Ravkan, your true name in your ear.

***

The third wedding was the one that presented a challenge. You’d had to disappear separately for the first time, coming back to Os Alta under the name of Elsabet, the niece of the recently deceased count, and Arkady, the son of the recently deceased Darkling. Your reppearances were staggered as well: Aleksander returning to Os Alta only a week after his departure, appearing to be mourning his father, and you entering the city from your former residence in Os Kervo to take up the mantle of your late uncle.

The public hadn’t known that Staski and Rosa had a son, which prompted the policy that a Darkling and his heir never lived at the Little Palace together. The people accepted it as truth, acknowledged the risk of assassination, and that was that. But that wasn’t the complication. The way Ravkan society ran at the time: a woman could not accept her own engagement. Her father, brother, or other male relative had to accept it on her behalf. And since you had no one to do so….

Aleksander petitioned the King. You were a woman who had been thrust into a position of power with no training, you had never been to the capital before, but above all, you were in love. King Ivan was sympathetic to your plea, and accepted Aleksander’s engagement on your behalf. Beyond that, he hosted the wedding at the Royal Chapel, refusing to let you see the bill. It was your most extravagant wedding to date: your gown was billowing gold silk, a tiara of diamonds in your hair. Your husband was dressed in similar finery, but his smile when he beheld you outshone all the chapel’s finery

*** Your fourth and fifth weddings were muted, almost somber affairs. Ravka was at war, the Grisha were persecuted, the Second Army’s growth had been stunted by the war. There was no time nor resources for an elaborate ceremony. Yet you still wanted to swear your vows to your husband, to proclaim your love for him. So you found a priest and were wed. For your fourth wedding, you didn’t even have a priest: you exchanged your vows by firelight, using your true names for the first time in nearly a century.

***

The sixth wedding was the grandest to date. It wasn’t every day that the General of the Second Army got married, now was it. The Grisha were finally respected, the Second Army was secure, and no expense was spared. Your husband wore his black kefta, and you wore one of glittering gold, a train trailing five feet behind you. You walked yourself down the aisle, smiling the entire time, and Aleksander kissed your forehead when you reached him.

You used the traditional Grisha vows, but as you danced–you’d never had a wedding reception before, never had the time, never had the money–you cooed the same Old Ravkan words in your husband’s ear. “I have married you six times now,” Aleksander said, holding you close. “But I will never tire of marrying you. Ya lyublyu tebya, moye serdtse.” I love you, my heart.

You weren’t sure what it was, but you had a feeling that this marriage would be the longest lasting, the one that lasted for the rest of your lives. You’d used your true names this time, speaking your husband’s name before others for the first time in centuries. “The next time we’re in that chapel,” Aleksander said. “It will be when I make you my queen.” Your eyes widened, and he kissed you deeply.

“Queen Y/N and King Aleksander of Ravka. We will bring peace at last.” “Sasha, you don’t mean-” “Shh, not here, my little wife. Besides, the time isn’t right yet. But when it is…” Your husband leaned in close, kissing the place before your ear. “Moya tsaritsa, I shall worship you.” You shuddered, and Aleksander smirked. “I love you very much, my darling wife,” he said, tucking an errant strand of hair behind your ear. “I have loved you since I married you in Sankt Ilya’s Chapel, and I will love you for the rest of my immortal life.”

Your knees went weak when he kissed you again, and Aleksander swept you into his arms. He then carried you to your rooms, where he gave you the wedding night you hadn’t had since your first wedding. And three years later, you stood in the Royal Chapel once more, where you were crowned Queen Eternal of Ravka.

#aleksander morozova x reader #shadow and bone fanfiction #the darkling x reader #general kirigan x reader #shadow and bone

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