#tw loss of faith

[serickswrites]

Saint Bernard

Prompt from the lovely @watermelons-whump-game

Warnings: captivity, restraints, torture, bruises, broken bones, loss of faith, lamentation, unseen caretaker

Whumpee hunched over against the wall Whumper had chained them to. Their hands hung limply in the cuffs that were bolted to the wall. They had no energy to react. No energy to do anything but sit there. Their body ached. They were certain Whumper had broken their nose and a few ribs. Their face was bruised and swollen.

And they were completely alone.

"Why have you forsaken me?" Whumpee whispered to the empty room. They had prayed and prayed that someone would save them. But no one came.

"I have been a faithful servant. I have done everything you have asked. And yet you have abandoned me? Why? What did I do? How could you do this to me?" They couldn't fight back the tears that had been filling their eyes.

Whumper had sneered at Whumpe's prayers. Had scoffed at the mark of their faith. Had laughed when Whumpee begged for God to hear them.

"They can't hear you here. There is no God here, Whumpee. Only me. And the evil of the world."

Whumpee had tried to rebuke Whumper. Had tried to stay strong in their faith. Had tried to believe that God would protect them. That they would be worthy of rescue.

But no one came.

"Howl all you want, Whumpee, but no one is coming for you. You're mine until I decide to get rid of you. Like all the others."

And so Whumpee sat alone in the dark, crying to an unseen God. Begging for freedom. "Why have you left me? What did I do?" Whumpee sniffed. "I had always believed that you would protect the righteous. That you would help the meek. That you would save those that needed saving. But I see now that you don't care. And that all of this was a waste.

"I'm going to die here," Whumpee sobbed, "because I believed. I believed and you failed me. Like you have failed everyone."

Whumpee sobbed and sobbed until exhaustion sucked them under. Caretaker watched from the doorway. There was nothing they could do. They had been given strict orders not to interfere unless Whumpee was at risk of imminently dying.

They hated this part of being a guardian. They wished that angels could interfere more with humanity. They wished Whumpee didn't have to suffer.

But they couldn't defy their orders. And so they watched as Whumpee struggled to believe. Watched as Whumper beat Whumpee mercilessly. And they watched as Whumpee slipped into unconsciousness.

Maybe they could interfere soon.

Tags: @mousepaw @jumpywhumpywriter @knightinbatteredarmor @hufflepuffwritingstuff2 @anightmarishwhump

@steh-lar-uh-nuhs @celestialsoyeon @st0rmm @ay5ksal

[propertyofwhitney67]

the LIs taking all of PCs firsts, pretty please? what do they think, who is happy about it, who is secretly kicking their feet, and who couldnt care less, all that stuff?

Whitney makes fun of you for being "a loser virgin" and letting him ruin you. He's secretly happy he took your firsts though

Kylar is so fucking happy, you were each other's firsts!!

Robin is a bit flustered and embarrassed but is in the same boat, that is if you took on his debt...

P!Sydney still feels like it's a sin but he is happy to be your firsts, you're his firsts too

C!Sydney loves that you could sin together

Alex is kinda surprised but also happy he is your first(s)

Avery loves that he took your firsts, it gives him a feeling of power over you

Eden is slightly shocked and happy but he hides it well. You also took some of his firsts

[yeetmeoutthewindowdaddy]

What Zevlor once was

Angst, whump, hurt/ no comfort, pstd, depression, self-loathing, loss of faith, hopelessness.

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

Zevlor once was a proud man. He was a member of the Hellriders, the elite calvary unit of the city of Elturel— who could rival a large nation's entire army, alone. He had worked his way up its ranks and, despite the discrimination he faced as a tiefling, earned the prestigious rank of Commander.

Zevlor once was a paladin. He was a weapon of the gods, wielded to protect those who could not protect themselves. He was steadfast in his righteous convictions of duty, honor, loyalty, and bravery.

Zevlor once was an optimist. He believed that good would always triumph over evil. He believed that most people were, at their core, decent— that even the criminals he apprehended had a spark of good in them, the ability to change for the better.

Zevlor once was a strong man, both physically and mentally. He used people's ignorant prejudices to fuel his desire to prove them wrong. The horrors he witnessed in the line of duty reinforced his unwavering belief in his fight for justice. The Hells themselves didn't break him, they inspired him; showing him that even bitter, long-standing, enemies could work together towards the common good.

Zevlor once was a better man.

But that was before the city, his city, the place he called home, exiled him. That was before the people who he'd spent nearly fourty years unwaveringly serving turned on him. That was before he, and all the other tieflings, were blamed for Elturel's fall into Avernus and subsequently banished. That was before he was stripped of his Hellrider status, before he watched his comrads, his family, coldly cast him aside.

Being forcefully ousted from the city didn't break his paladin oath— it shattered his very faith itself.

The connection to his god was gone. Zevlor had been abandoned by the one thing he'd been certain he would always have— his devotion. Now a cold, dark, emptiness replaced the burning zeal which had once brightly shined within him— any remaining embers of his former faith had been stomped out in the Shadowlands.

His fellow tieflings, his people, who he'd sworn to protect— had died because of him. Because he listened to the Absolute's siren song. Because he believed the promises of a false god.

Because he was man who was struggling to keep himself together.

Now Zevlor is a broken man. A man whose hands shake so badly that he can't even hold a bowl of soup without dropping it. A man who has screaming night terrors whenever he tries to sleep. A man who stutters and stammers when he manages to speak.

Now Zevlor had truly lost everything.

Now Zevlor was nothing more than a sad, frail, old man.

He wondered if he had ever truly been anything more.

Even IF he had been, he dared not to hope that he could ever be more again.

If these past few months had taught Zevlor anything, it was that hope would only make the inevitable disappointment hurt all the more.

If these past few months had taught Zevlor anything, it was that he wasn't even a fraction of the man that he had once thought he was.

[nelida-alvarez]

Tomorrow

@charliemwrites

I debated for some time whether or not I should post this, but in the end, my desire to share stories won.

Cw/Tw : mentions/discussion of losing faith (religious) & mentions/discussion of child death. Take care of yourselves <3

It was rare for Nélida to be uncomfortable. Sure, there were things that annoyed her, things that stressed her and things that made her afraid. She wasn’t ashamed to admit that- she was human, and it was in Men’s nature to feel, whether the emotions were positive or negative. Things that made her uncomfortable though? Things that made her skin crawl with unease and the desire to be anywhere else than where she was at the moment? Those were rare. Oh, they existed. And they made her soul tense up when mentioned.

“I don’t think that’s right, though…” Nova said, sprawled on the couch with Keegan as they argued. Nikto was sitting in a love seat, doing crosswords almost absentmindedly as he quietly listened to the sergeants talking. Castle was reading a book, not really paying attention. Meanwhile, Nélida was sitting on the ground in front of her Captain, her back leaning against his legs.

“No, I’m quite sure… It's like that thing with Adam and Eve, right? Banned from Paradise for touching the forbidden fruit or something.” Keegan replied.

“Adam and Eve were expelled from Eden to prevent them from eating from the tree of life, which would have made them eternal, not because they ate the forbidden fruit of the tree of knowledge of good and evil.” Nélida absently corrected, shocking the two sergeants into silence. Noting the absence of talking, she blinked and looked up, meeting the bewildered gazes of her team.

“What?” She asked, a bit confused.

“I didn’t know you knew so much about… Bible-y things.” Nova said, tilting her head in curiosity.

“Oh.. yes, I guess I just… never talked about it.” Nélida tensed slightly, her hands playing idly with Castle’s shoelaces.

“Are you Christian?” Keegan leaned forward, eager to know more about her. A small pregnant pause followed the question, broken by a shuddering breath Nélida took.

“…was.” She whispered. Nikto frowned, shuffling in his seat.

“Oh.. well, what is, or was maybe, your favorite Bible quote?” Nova frowned a little at Keegan’s question, eyes darting between his oblivious self and Nélida’s crisped expression.

Castle had put his book down, lips pursing at the tense atmosphere in the room. He let one of his big paw-like hands slowly come down to rest against Nélida’s nape, the weight reassuring.

Keegan, realizing his mistake, opened his mouth to apologize, before being cut off by the older woman.

“It..” she started, clearing her throat as her voice broke.

Nikto crouched down next to her, presenting his gloved hand, palm up, to her. Nélida took it, taking a deep breath, before starting to speak once more.

“It is… or was, perhaps, Isaiah 41:10." She admitted, clearing her throat once more.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean-" Keegan started, before being cut off by Nélida throwing a small smile his way.

"It's fine, amor, you didn't know."

Silence reigned for a while, before Castle hummed.

"Well now, what do you all say we play a game, hmm? Anyone up for strip poker?"

As Nova got up to go take the cards, Nélida squeezed Nikto's hand in thanks and threw a grateful glance over her shoulder at her Captain.

~~~

Nélida prefered to be the big spoon when cuddling. She just liked that position better. But sometimes, she just wanted to be held, to feel like nothing could hurt her when she was safely cocooned in her lovers' arms.

Castle rumbled quietly, scratching at Nélida's scalp gently.

"What's bothering you so much, mamí?"

"...just.. memories.." The woman mumbled, her voice slightly muffled due to the fact that her face was burried in the older man's pecs.

"Wannna talk about it?" Castle gently asked, like she was a feral animal that was being cornered.

"...Perdí a mi bebé... Mi hijo- mi hijo sólo tenía dos años y- murió..." She erupted in cries, Nélida's body was wracked with sobs, the comforting weight of Castle's hands caressing her back seemingly ineffective.

"I prayed.. I prayed so fucking much-! And my s-son, my son still.. still-!" Nélida gasped breaths in as Castle grounded her, his voice in her ear telling her to breathe helping.

"Doctors said it was CNS tumors..that there was nothing they could do, that- that it was too late.. that I noticed it too late.."

"I just- I- I miss him so much.. I wondered, why God? Why my son?" Her voice broke on the last word, trailing off into whimpers and sniffles.

Castle hummed, pressing a kiss to Nélida's forehead. He didn't quite know what to say, but he knew that what Nélida had said had probably been weighing on her for quite some time.

It took a while for Nélida to calm down, her eyes puffy and red with her anguish.

"Thank you for listening.. I-.. it's probably not fair on you, but I really needed to talk about it.."

Castle smiled sadly, a thumb drying one of his mamí's tears.

"I know this was difficult to talk about, but I'm glad you let it off your chest, love. If you ever want to talk, know that I'm here. If you don't want to talk and just want someone to hold you, I'm also here." He said, gaining himself a wobbly smile.

"Thank you, Castle... I really appreciate it."

Thye both knew she would hide anything was wrong the next morning. That she would burry her feelings deep inside her heart until they rose to the surface again. But for now, they fell asleep. Tomorrow would be different.

"...Perdí a mi bebé... Mi hijo- mi hijo sólo tenía dos años y- murió..." : “…I lost my baby… My son- my son was only two and he-.. he died…”

~~~

Isaiah 41:10

“Fear not, for I am with you; be not dismayed, for I am your God; I will strengthen you, I will help you, I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.”

[jokerislandgirl32]

Thank you so much dear, I needed this today. I am missing my grandpa, missing my cat, missing our daughter…it’s just so much loss rolled up into one week.

Putting the rest below the cut for mentions of death, loss of child, and general sad feelings.

My grandpa passed on July 3rd, 2022, my beloved cat Jenny was snatched up by an hawk on this day one year ago, my daughter Alexandria would have been born around this time 3 years ago (I picked this day as her birthday because of my love of history and that she’d share it with a family member)…And today would have also been my great grandmother’s birthday, then my great aunt’s birthday would have been tomorrow. It’s just a lot to deal with.

I am never the type of person to question God for taking someone from this earth. He has appointed a time for every person and creature. But, I can’t help but wonder why it all has to happen around the same time.

It makes me think it is for a deeper reason, that maybe my baby girl wanted a grandfather in heaven for her first birthday, and she wanted a cat for her second birthday. It seems silly but it’s helped me to deal with it all…I’m still sad, so sad, but everything happens for a reason, and in time I’ll understand it all.

I’ve been listening to this a lot, it’s one of the first songs I sang solo in church, because I was such a fan of this group. I was so young then…I never knew what it would mean to me nearly a decade and a half later: The peace it would bring.

[notbecauseofvictories]

I read that you don't watch bible shows or write bible poetry anymore, but can i ask you if there a specific reason (apart from being an atheist, my friend is agnostic but she's interested in religion)? I mean, you used to write magnific poetry and i saw that you recently re published them on ao3. I don't mean to be rude or disrespectful or anything, if this is too personal feel free to not answer.

(It’s probably too personal, but when has that ever stopped me!)

For me, I think it boils down to:

The Christian Bible is only a truly meaningful and unique story if it is a deadly serious exercise in communicating with, reaching for, finding the limits of, and generally exploring/naming/scoping/realizing/reaffirming the divine. Don't get me wrong, I loved writing about angels, prophets, the early church, Peter and Judas, Eve and Mary! But the thing I really loved, the thing that rung like a struck bell, was that in doing so I was reaching for God, and everything that capital-G-God implies. The seriousness of it, the truth of it, was the point. If I just wanted to write about social institutions, there were better examples; if I wanted to talk about alternative dimensions where the laws of physics are different, there's plenty of room in scifi and fantasy. Writing about the Church, about Purgatory in the very Catholic sense of exploring something that could actually exist in the theological universe and what it would look like, is a totally different project than "hey it would be crazy if the lion that is also jesus talked."

I loved the Christian Bible as a way of exploring these ideas as well as something I felt, deeply---and in doing so, affirming that these feelings were a mirror, an extension of a greater ontological reality that I could only catch in glimpses, out of the corner of my eye.

Now I don't feel that! And I don't believe that particular reality exists. It doesn't make what I wrote before meaningless, but it does mean I have little interest in returning to it. What joy could I take in seriously communicating with the divine, if I don't believe there's a divine to reach for? I'd be better off divorcing myself from the rituals, the hierarchy of angels, the Aristotelian physics embedded in the Catholic universe---writing fantasy, essentially, at least I can return to these things with more distance, insight, and interest.

(To be fair, I'm still wildly susceptible to depictions of faith in literature---there's a reason that The Silt Verses is one of the only podcasts I've been able to keep up with. But that's fictional religion, separate and apart from writing, reading, and thinking about the characters of the Christian Bible with deadly seriousness.)

None of this means the Christian Bible isn't meaningful in a general sense of Western thought, literature, art, history. I still think the Psalms are beautiful, am intrigued by the stories (and recastings and retellings and musicals and---) that the Christian Bible birthed. But if I'm interested in religion as a political force, or the church as a sociopolitical institution, I don't have to sit through Passion of the Christ 2: Christ Harder to do it. At the end of the day, I don’t believe in god, so I don't feel any particular interest in returning to the spaces where that’s a valid question.

And for someone who grew up in a faith that regularly had us chant “I believe in one god, the father the almighty....” I’m not sure what place there could be reserved for me now.

[un-vaticand]

Initiation John, what do you think of Amy? :3

“don’t know anyone…by that name….”

[chill-vibes-but-rainbow-panic]

Finally posted another Fanfiction, lads o7 Cult of the Lamb, my beloved <3

This one has been in the works for A While -_-'

(Lots of the violence is only talked about in the fic, but as always, do read the tags)

[dmeblnche]

[bravevolunteer]

what if we kissed on the wiki page for disembowelment

[seirosu]

okay im a little insane but when rhea dies at the end of silver snow . . . i think its important to note where she dies . it's not really so much about the cathedral , although garreg mach is home . it's everything she built -- it is the cumulation of her endless love and accomplishments -- but mostly the meaning is from what lies underneath it all . deep beneath the facade . buried below the cathedral is the holy tomb where her mother was slaughtered all those years ago . rhea knows she's dying -- she's ready to be done , torn apart by her shame and regrets . . . and ready acknowledge that it is time to let go and allow herself and the world to move on . so she goes back where it all began . . . for her ending . she's going to die alongside her mother's memory . she's given up . she is giving herself up .

[fatecanberewritten]

He had lived until that moment by that blind faith that breeds a grim integrity. This faith was deserting him, this integrity was failing him. Everything he had believed was disintegrating. Truths he did not want to recognize obsessed him unrelentingly. He must from now on be a different man. He suffered the strange pangs of a conscience that has suddenly undergone a cataract operation. He saw what he shrank from seeing. He felt drained, useless, out of joint with his past life, dismissed, dissolved. Authority was dead within him. He no longer had any reason for being.

Victor Hugo, Les Misérables (transl. C. Donougher)

[rabbit-trolls]

>Mortis

[alienated-idiot]

With the weight I've lost so far, I can actually feel my hips and see that my face is not round, but like a cross between a heart and oval shape. My jeans I bought 2 years ago are actually fitting me without exposing the zipper. It's crazy how much of a difference 15lbs can make

[livbygrace]

I struggled with anorexia for over a decade... so I definitely have a unique perspective. Here's what having anorexia is REALLY like—and yes, I'm sharing EVERYTHING in hopes it will raise awareness and help others find healing 💛

[yanderenightmare]

Gojo Satoru & Geto Suguru

TW: nsfw, dubcon, kidnapping, virginity loss, curse!reader, succubus!reader, severely clueless virgin reader, born hot yesterday reader

fem reader

“Feels like you’re luring me into some trap.” He keeps his back hunched and his hands shoved down his baggy pant pockets, sighing heartily—Satoru having a surprise never bodes well.  

“Oh, come on—” named white-haired boy exclaims, in much enthusiastic contrast to his cynical counterpart—slinging a lanky arm around his slumped shoulders. “Have a little faith, birthday boy. You’re gonna like this.”

Suguru sighs again, “Somehow, I doubt it…”

The two make their way down Jujutsu High’s hall, walking past the dorms until stopping before Satoru’s door. Suguru reconsiders then—whatever it is, it can’t be so bad if he’s keeping it in his own room. And yet, the grin on his friend’s face is never something to take lightly.

He unlocks the door but holds off on opening it, instead standing before it with a grip on the handle—looking over his dark glasses at his waiting friend with a certain giddy twinkle in his eyes. “You ready?”

Suguru doesn’t know the answer to that. Part of him doesn’t care what’s behind the door, while the other part is confident he won’t like it, and yet, there’s still some soft spot inside him that tells him to go along with it anyway. Sighing a third time, he raises his hands from his pockets. “Sure…”

Satoru snickers, “Alrighty then,” and opens the door, creaking on its hinges. “Tadah—lookie what I found.”

Suguru stands before the doorway for a moment. As it had opened, a faint surge of cursed energy had waved over him—nothing to fear, yet odd nonetheless. He spots the source right away. Something on the bed. A figure. Human-like, yet not.

It’s obvious what it is, and still, he finds himself asking, “What is that?”

Satoru lumps against his back with his chin on his shoulder, “It’s your present, of course,” then pushes him inside.

He locks the door again behind him and redoes the veil, keeping their activities hidden from passersby.

“What exactly are you thinking, Satoru?” The other boy asks, apprehensive with his black eyes fixed on you—the curse on the bed, tied up with seals, squirming while looking up at the two of them. You’re no threat, but still, the question remains—why are you here?

“It’s up to you, Suguru. It’s your birthday,” the asked answers nonchalantly once returning. He gestures in the air with his hand. “You can wrap it up into one of your marbles and eat it like a birthday cake or…”

Suguru’s eyes snap to his at the suggestive tone, teetering on coquettish—no, not teetering, definitely coquettish—but no matter how shameless he is, he can’t possibly be proposing they do something like that with a curse.

“Oh, don’t look at me like that, Suguru,” the blue-eyed one defends with a pout. “I mean, look at it—have yah ever seen a curse so...” he continues but falls short. He chuckles lightly and deems any explanation unnecessary. “Well, you have eyes, so don’t deny it.” 

Both black and blue orbs fall back on you, one still with an uncertain gaze and the other with a heavy, unashamed leer.

Suguru’s throat grows tight, and he swallows thickly to replenish, then asks, “And after?” He looks back at his friend. “You plan on just killing it?”

Satoru gives it a thought, thumbing his chin with a pout before revealing, “Maybe… Or keepin’ it…” He laughs again, taking a step closer to the bed before crouching down—his blue eyes wide and visibly terrifying to you, if the way you shuffle away is any tell. He doesn’t let it deter him, reaching out his hand to touch you anyway. “I wouldn’t mind havin’ an exotic pet. Depends on how fun this is—”

He's stopped. Hand waiting mid-air as a heavier one grabs his shoulder.

“I thought it was my present,” Suguru states from behind him.

Satoru looks up at him for a moment—first kind of annoyed, but then quickly amused. He smiles, “Well, excuse me—it sounded like you didn’t want it.” He stands up with an animated sigh. “Besides, thought you might share with your best mate since I went through all the trouble.” 

He’s got this sheepish beggar’s look painted upon his face—totally unconvincing by Suguru’s judgment. Still, he caves—not so much out of sympathy, but rather because there's no way he’s doing this all by himself—in such crimes, it’s better to be accomplices in order to share the shame. And, suppose he can admit it’s more fun with the white-haired freak around…

“Fine,” he mutters for the second time that night, hoping he won’t regret it.

“Sweet,” Satoru cheers in turn. “Never had a curse before—this’ll be interesting.”

He returns to you and pulls the seal off your lips. You flinch and hold your eyes squeezed tightly shut. Your bound wrists and ankles are also freed, and still, you don’t move from where you’re huddled up in the corner of where the bed meets the walls—as far away from them as possible.

After getting a closer look at you, your obedience doesn’t surprise Suguru. Flecks of cursed blood splatter litter your skin and clothing—there must have been others before Satoru made a show of himself—no wonder you’re so scared.

“Can you talk?” said show-boating sorcerer asked.

You carefully peel your eyes open again. Lips warbling unsurely. It sort of looks as though you want to speak but don’t exactly know how. It’s to be expected with a weak curse like you. 

They hadn’t expected as much, so they figured it was all the same until, “Yea-yes.”

You stutter, but still, you speak.

“That’s surprising—you’re not all that strong,” Satoru expresses. “But I guess it’s a good thing.” 

Suguru can only guess what motives he has for saying that, and still, he’s quite sure he knows why—he’s always been partial to the louder ones, after all.

“My name’s Satoru, and my friend here is Suguru,” he introduces with gestures. “Don’t forget it, okay?” His eyes give warning as much as his words, no matter his playful tone. “You’re gonna do what we tell you, or I’m gonna paint the wall with you just like I did all your other friends, understand?”

Your lip trembles, and you clutch yourself closer, looking to hide yourself but recognizing you’re trapped prey for two much stronger predators. You nod your head.

“If you can talk, then say it,” the white-haired one demands—tone brisker than before, making your stomach fold and heart flinch.

“Yes, sa-Satoru.” It’s all foreign on your tongue, yet you manage—like how animals learn to swim when thrown upon the open waters.

It makes him smile, and you feel some relief in listening to him coo, “Perfect.”

The vision of your fellow curses getting squished like trampled grapes haunts you. You can tell this new sorcerer is just as strong. You don’t know what they’re after, but you know it’s best if they’re happy with you—so you aim to keep it that way.

The one asking you questions looks away toward the other one.

“Wanna do the honors, birthday boy, or should I?”

He seems to be contemplating something before calmly deciding. “I’ll eat it first. Then it’ll be bound to me and won’t struggle.”

“Smart—though that is some of the fun,” your original capturer responds with lackluster, then shrugs. “But it’s your birthday, you decide.”

The raven-haired one raises a hand, energy building within his palm. “I have. So don’t pout—”

Eat it? Do they mean you? You feel the pull of something sucking you from your safe spot. “Wah-wait! Don’t—don’t eat me, please!” you squeal with lifted hands, first flat with sprung fingers in surrender, then clasped together as you take a deep bow with your forehead buried in the plume. “I-I’ll listen! I’ll be a good-good curse, I promise! Please!”

Both sorcerers’ are stumped by the display. It’s an odd declaration for a curse. Of course, you could be a ploy, yet they sense absolutely zero hostility.

Satoru looks at his friend with puppy-dog eyes, whispering to him in low and needy little whimpers, all laced with awe, “Oh, come on, Suguru. Can’t it wait? You can always eat it after, right? Look at it—it won’t fight.”

Suguru grinds his teeth, but even he can’t deny he’s curious now. He huffs and lowers his arm, “Fine. But if you fail to obey even a single command, I won’t hesitate to eat you on the spot.”

You raise your head, pretty grateful tears in your eyes—an even odder sight from a curse. “Oh-okay… Su-Suguru… thank you.”

It’s utterly embarrassing and even somewhat horrifying, but the way his name trembles off of your tongue all sweetly like that is enough to make him blush. He steals himself in spite of it. You’re still a curse—nothing worth going easy on.

“Strip,” he commands.

You tilt your head at the word, eyes round and brows cinched. “Strip?”

Satoru comes to the rescue—overwhelmed with your cuteness as he’d been since he first saw you, unable to harm even a hair on your head. “It’s just a wittle curse, Suguru—you can’t expect it to understand everything you say. We gotta use simple terms.” 

If he could, he’d like to undress you himself, but he agrees that there’s some pleasure to be found in watching you do so for them. 

He gives you a reassuring look and a somewhat kind smile. “He means take off your clothes.”

“Oh... okay.” You light up upon understanding, hoping not to anger them. You don’t ask why. You just listen, balling your dress at the hips and lifting it up and off over your head—leaving you bare.

“Is that what I think it is?” Suguru utters, eyes zoned in on your lower belly and the pink markings there—swirled symbols mocking the shape of a winged heart right atop your womb.

“It sure looks like it,” Satoru whistles in turn. “How lucky are we, huh?”

Their conversation goes over your head—just as most of what they say. Part of you is still wary that they’re going to eat you—undressing would make that easier for them, wouldn’t it? Maybe you’d just fallen right into their trap…

You blink when spotting them getting undressed, too. Maybe it’s some type of ritual? You wouldn’t know…

Once they’re both naked, your throat tightens, and your gut stirs with an ache of sorts—you wouldn’t know why as to that either, but you rub your thighs together in hopes it would soothe it. But no, it blooms instead into a hunger the more you look, and the black of your eyes bleed out into a pool deep enough to get lost in. You don’t even notice you're drooling. All you know is that they’re getting closer, and your skin simmers for their touch.

And still, you’re confused once you’re on your back with the raven-haired one looming above you. Breathing heavily, you gasp with the spring of a moan once his fingers trace the pulsing glow of your pink marking. You’ve never seen it do that before—it’s a little scary.

“Ah—what—what are you doing?” Half of you wishes to nudge his hand away—it’s so sensitive—and yet, the other half wants nothing but to succumb to it, plead for more. It’s confusing.

“Oh? How can you be a succubus and not know?” he asks calmly, teasingly now with a sympathy he lacked before.

You’re so hot—you’re burning—something’s wet—between your thighs—it pulses on time with your mark. His hand moves down toward it—the feeling intensifies, and your breath flares, quickens, and stutters in your chest. It feels good, but it also feels…

“That feels weird—” you protest with no amount of conviction, rather just in a statement.

“But you like it,” he argues, also more in a statement. Nursing you through the doubt with sweetly slow strokes.

It’s good that he took the reins before Satoru—he wouldn’t be this considerate.

“Don’t worry, pretty curse,” he soothes, sliding his digits through the wet, then slipping two within—inside you—into some spot that makes your toes curl. “I’ll help you find your purpose.”

“Ah!” you squeal—wide swivel-eyed and panting, staring at his ministrations—where he pumps you on his knuckles and how you weep with fluid. What’s going on?

“How does that feel?” he purrs and presses a thumb down on the drumming pearl crowning the mouth—as though it were a button to push and have you unlock.

Suguru watches as your eyes morph—pupils going from round black to glowing pink hearts.

It feels… it feels… “Good… so good—please, give me more.”

You don’t have to beg them twice.

You know heaven for curses doesn’t exist, but you think you’ve just stumbled upon a loophole. 

“I can’t believe she’s taking us both—” Suguru stutters as he jerks his hips up into the downy softness of your ass, burying himself deep alongside the other.

“Well—she’s made for it, ain’t she?” Satoru whimpers in turn.

They both hold your thighs up, having you folded in half, lifted between them—your back resting against the broad warmth of Suguru’s chest, with Satoru in front of you—both stuffing your gushing hole as one.

“More—more...” you blubber—heart eyes half-mast and mouth apart in dewy breaths.

Satoru knows you’re a curse, but he can’t help himself, feeling your hands cling to his back, holding on tightly—he knows you’re a curse, but he leans in and kisses you anyway.

And it’s sweet—sweet like candy. Your spit and your tongue—his new favorite syrup. He can’t stop—feeding you the entire length of his tongue in need to explore your mouth, drink you up—feeling desperately parched without it.

The sight makes Suguru’s gut fizzle. It’s so wrong, yet it feels so right. He thinks he’ll cum soon, but he doesn’t want to—he wants to keep going.

“I’m gonna—” Satoru whines as he breaks for air.

“Me too—” Suguru groans in turn.

They jitter, spines aligned and pulsing with each other—filling you up with a mixture of both.

It’s a feeling like none other for all three of you—euphoric and transcendent—you think you might die from the pleasure, feeling the crushing weight of paradise dawn on you in rapids.

You all collapse on the bed next to each other, you in the middle. They don’t take themselves out, and you prefer it that way—you fear the loneliness if they would. Right now, it’s warm. You’d like to stay there forever.

“I’m sorry…” Suguru apologizes suddenly—much to your confusion until you see him raise his palm like before. “But this is for the best.”

Weakened, you’re warped into the pretty confines of a pink marble within just a second. He holds you for a moment, feeling somewhat guilty, but doesn’t waste long before swallowing you up—down his throat until settling neatly in the prison of his stomach.

Satoru doesn’t look surprised. After all, Suguru’s right—it is for the best. He can’t exactly keep you in his room forever without discovery. This way, you’re kept safe from other sorcerers as well as just a call away from them whenever they wish to see you.

“What’ she taste like?” he asks nonchalantly. 

The birthday boy licks his lips and then smiles. “Like cake.”

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