#verse: by the wick of a candle

[vixlenxe]

Places a Renjiro with a new back story & new last name & new tags

[yuebinnie]

Proverbs 5:19

☾ Pairing : Human Alastor (Hazbin Hotel) x Fem!Reader

☆ Warnings : mdni. Priest!Alastor, implied chubby!reader, noncanon Alastor, dubcon, coercion, blasphemy, abuse of authority, blood kink, blood drinking, squirting, multiple orgasms, fingering (f receiving), cunnulingus, catholic prayers used in a sexual context, scriptures used to coerce, cum eating, size kink, loss of virginity (implied, not talked about), vaginal sex, unprotected sex, creampie, literally just smut

☾ WC : 9.8k

☆ A/N : Taking a break from Between the Devil and the Deep Blue Sea to write Alastor smut ^^ This contains heavy Christian imagery, so if it's something you are uncomfortable with, this fic might not be for you! I really enjoyed writing this; it's my first time writing smut for Alastor, so hopefully I do not disappoint you all. I also posted the fic on AO3, if you'd prefer reading there. Have fun!

There was something about going to church that felt incredibly soothing. The deafening silence every time you walked in during the early hours of the day, steps echoing against the painted ceiling and colourful rose window, the shadows dancing behind the burning wicks of the candles set on each side of the main aisle, the smell of dust dancing in the air like a reminder of how desolate the people who came to visit truly were. You had not always been religious, but you had found peace in believing that there was a divine truth, that being good in this life would give you eternal bliss.

The church was a small one, and an old one; how it was still standing you had no idea. It was annexed to a small decrepit churchyard with moss-covered headstones that dated from at least two centuries ago. To any passersby, it'd be believed to be abandoned, as the outside of the building was quite literally falling apart, the bricks slowly eroding and the tiles covering the roof covered with the same moss as the headstones. The exterior appearance did not matter however, only the inside did; that's where God resided after all.

Despite its age, the inside and of the church was well kept. Yes, the rose window was cracked, and, as an attempt to keep the place as pure as possible, electricity had never been installed. The candles did the job of keeping the inside lit, and as for the temperature, well, dressing warmly was mandatory during the colder months of the year. The benches were old and the varnish that had once covered them was long gone; dents and chips could be found here and there, but they were still sturdy. The altar was small and simple, a wooden thing settled on a small stage that hovered only a few inches above the floor. Near the entrance sat a confessional which reeked of mould, but in the absolute presence of God, the smell was easily forgotten.

You had a habit of going to pray most days when you were not bedridden from the exhaustion of spending the night reading your favourite verses. 5 AM; the perfect time to pray, just as the world welcomed the sun's warmth and light. Very rarely did you meet anyone else; it had happened a few times, mostly old people nearing death coming to ask for absolution for their sins. Otherwise, the only person you had seen was the priest, whom you only had spoken to once or twice. He would look at you while you kneeled and mumbled prayers and verses, a smile plastered on his face.

It was the only downside of it all, that unsettling presence. The priest, a handsome man you had apologized to God for finding attractive, was always smiling. It was a bone-chilling sight; it made you feel as though he could see right through you, like he had access to every single thought that cluttered the inside of your mind. He had asked for your name once and had told you to have a 'delightful rest of the day'. That day had turned out to be horrible, as you had learned your grandmother was diagnosed with stage four cancer and only had a few months left. You had prayed for her, but God had decided to take her, nonetheless. Your subconscious had linked the priest's words as a direct cause of your grandmother's tragic diagnosis, and you had tried your best to avoid talking to him ever since.

When you woke up that morning, sweaty and feeling stickiness between your thighs, you felt sick to your stomach remembering the dreams that had plagued your mind in your slumber. A faceless man, dragging his lips down your stomach, his fingers touching your body in a way that was so sinful; the only logical explanation was that you had been visited by an incubus, an agent of evil. God was testing you, letting evil reach you to see if you'd be as faithful as Job or if you'd succumb to sin like Eve had. You cleaned yourself and changed your nightgown to proper clothes, putting a slightly warm coat on before leaving your house.

The sun had not yet started to show itself, and a thick fog floated above the quiet streets. The sky was covered with grey clouds that seemed to hang low, you wondered if you could touch them if you reached up, but your mind was too preoccupied with your predicament to try and touch something so close to Heaven. Mind running faster than a hare trying to escape a wolf, you tried to convince yourself simple prayers would do, but a loud voice kept coming back, telling you this could only be forgiven by confessing. The thought of having to talk to the priest whom you had convinced yourself was the catalyst of your grandmother's death made you want to cry, but the thought of failing God and disappointing Him was far more upsetting. You reached the church as the first rays of light made the dew covering the Earth glisten, taking a deep breath before pushing the door open.

Your eyes fell upon the priest, who was bent down in the middle of the aisle, a long match in his hand as he lit the candles up. You froze, your eyes running across his shoulders and back. The door closed loudly behind you, and you jumped; the man's head snapped in your direction, his smile growing when he saw who had just walked in.

"You are quite early today, my dear," the priest stated simply, his focus going back to the unlit candles that still begged to melt under the burning flames. "Luckily enough, our Creator does not sleep; we're under scrutiny every second of our time on this earth."

You gulped at the words, the implications they held. You crept closer to the man, fidgeting as you thought of what to say. You let out a small quiet sigh, biting down your bottom lip as you stopped and stood a few feet away from him. The man straightened up and turned in your direction, his head tilted to the left as his gaze travelled across your face, "Oh my, whatever has you this upset?"

Your cheeks flushed as your eyes shifted from his eyes to the floor, the shame of what you had yet to confess weighing down your shoulders like the cross your Saviour had carried through heat and pain. You felt tiny, the priest towering over you; he had to be close to two feet taller than you. Had this been how Lucifer felt when he was at last pushed to meet his fate in the depths, a force greater than all administrating the final judgment? Sinfully powerless, a mere weak being? Tears gathered at your lower lash lines as you spoke, oh so quietly, your voice like the echo of an echo, "Father, I have sinned."

Seconds passed, silent ones, before the man hummed and walked past you, making his way to the front of the church. You twirled around, your eyes landing on where the priest now stood, in front of the old rotting confessional. You gulped, nodding to no one in particular before slowly making your way to the man who was stepping into the booth, the door closing behind him. You did the same, slowly closing the door after giving the empty church one last look, your eyes lingering a few seconds on the nailed Christ resting behind the altar, seemingly judging you.

You sat down, cringing at the creaking of the wood beneath your weight. The grille was pulled up, the silhouette of the man on the other side vaguely distinguishable. You took a deep breath, then spoke softly as you brought your right hand to your forehead, the gesture almost instinctual, "In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen." You put your hand on your thigh, staring at the unmoving priest, "Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It is.... too much time, since my last confession. I am a university student, in my last year to obtain a bachelor's degree." A low hum was heard, and you shifted in your seat, trying to find the exact words for your confession.

"Father, something terrible happened last night. In my weakened sleeping state, evil befell me. I was plagued with sinful dreams. You must understand, I am thoroughly devoted to Christ and our Lord, never have I let a man, or anyone, disgrace the body I was given; never have I had thoughts or dreams of this kind. I fear my will is not strong enough, that this evil shall come back and torment me. I fear I will fall into sin, just as our first predecessors did. I am nothing but willing, Father, so please, do help me. I am sorry for all these sins, and the sins of my past life."

You sniffled, wiping away the tears that had fallen down your rosy cheeks, your eyes glued on the silhouette of the man beyond the grille. His silence made you want to cry even more; were you a lost case? Had your fate already been sealed, your soul now tainted because of the touch of evil in such sacred places? You tugged your bottom lip between your teeth as you waited, seconds becoming minutes.

"This evil you speak of, what exactly has it done to you?" His voice seemed to have dropped lower, the sound a bit raspier. You furrowed your brow slightly at the question; you had been clear about the incident. As if feeling your hesitation, the priest continued, "Ma chère, only by knowing exactly what this evil put you through can I give you absolution."

You felt a blush creep up your neck, and flinched as the crack of thunder was heard beyond the church walls; your heartbeat quickened, was this Him telling you to obey?

You let out a small breath, before speaking up, the words shaky, "As I slept, this evil... Entered my dreams. It took advantage of my defenselessness. It disgraced my soul and my body. Upon waking up, there was... Remains of the sinful things it had my body do." You could feel the man's stare on you despite the grille separating you, causing yours to drop to your knees, feeling vulnerable.

"What sinful things did it inflict upon you?" Rain had started falling, as if the sky itself cried for you; the sound of it hammered against the roof, a continuous wail of grief for your poor soul.

"Father, I don't understand how this is necessa-"

"Do you not want absolution? Do you desire to be locked out of His kingdom? The choice is yours," his tone was harsher, demanding, even. You gulped and shook your head; no, that was not what you wanted. It was the furthest thing from it.

"I apologize for questioning your words, Father," you began, fidgeting with the hem of your coat, "From what I can remember... This evil took the shape of a man. A faceless man. I was in bed, and it joined me, and... We, uh, we kissed. It took my nightgown off." Your hands felt clammy, and you couldn't help but press your thighs together as you recollected the events of your dreams. "It kissed my breasts, then my stomach. It went... Down there, and stayed there until my whole body tensed up. Afterwards, it pushed itself inside me, it thoroughly disgraced my body. When I woke up, my body showed signs that it had reacted to the defiling. Father, please, believe me when I tell you that I was coerced by evil."

Thunder was heard again, breaking the silence that had settled between you and the priest. As the minutes passed, you became uneasy; was the man disgusted with you? Could he sense the sins radiating from your being? He cleared his throat, breaking your train of thought. Your eyes went back to his silhouette, waiting for him to speak up.

"I fear this is beyond the power bestowed upon me, dear," his voice was silky, it made warmth spread inside your chest, as if the vibrations it had created affected your very cells.

Your eyes widened; that was impossible. You had confessed and explained the evil that had haunted you. You had done exactly what He told His followers to do, confessed and asked for forgiveness. You shuffled closer to the grille, tearing up as you begged, "Father, please, there must be a way. I will do anything; I will suffer just like our Saviour has if it's what it takes. I'm supplying you, help me get rid of this evil."

“Very well,” the man said. You watched as his silhouette stood up and opened the door of the booth before it disappeared. The door of your little chamber opened, and you turned your head to look at the tall priest, who adjusted his glasses as he stared down at you. You took a few seconds to really look at him. Despite his smile that made shivers run down your spine, the man was handsome. His skin was tan, his hair dark and styled in an old-fashioned way. His features were sharp, intimidating, almost. Towering over you, his shoulders were wider than some quarterbacks’, and his waist was ridiculously small compared to them. His hands seemed to be twice the size of yours, and you found yourself wondering how he managed to button up his shirts with such big hands.

You looked back at his face as you blushed, realizing the man before you knew of your body in such intimate ways. You slowly stood up as you held his gaze, unsure of what to say next. He took a step aside and gestured for you to step out of the confessional, before closing the door behind you. The priest smiled down at you, “Follow me, dear.”

He started walking down the aisle, the flames of the candles on each side of it dancing as he passed by. You hesitantly followed him, looking out one of the small windows to see the rain pouring onto the world as lightning illuminated the sky. He stopped at the altar and turned to you, his smile ever present. You stopped in front of the stage; sinners did not belong anywhere close to that sacred place. The man stayed silent and with a gesture of his hand, permitted you to step up. You gulped and got on the stage, feeling extremely out of place.

“There is one way for you to repent,” he began, his stare fixed on you, “Though it is a bit unorthodox. The choice is yours, but you must remember that there is no place for sinners in Heaven.” He watched as you nodded quickly; you were eager to be forgiven, to go back to being free of sin. The corner of his lips twitched before he uttered one word, “Strip.”

Your eyes widened as your face turned a deeper shade of crimson. Stripping? You searched his face for hints of dishonesty, hoping he was playing a sick joke on you, but to your dismay, he was serious. Your body was frozen as you looked at him, not even the booming thunder making you flinch.

You opened your mouth to ask why, but the man beat you to it, answering your question before you even uttered a word, “Only by showing Him precisely how this evil tainted you can you be absolved. There is no need to be shy, ma chérie; isn’t He all-knowing? All-seeing? Wasn’t the shame of nudity created by His first creations’ sin? There is no purer form of devotion than to go beyond the embarrassment and bare yourself to Him; than to accept the vulnerable nature of your existence.”

He brought his right hand up to lay it flat against the wooden altar, observing you as you fought an inner battle with your dignity. His words were true, the wisdom of a man devoted to God, of someone who knew scriptures and their meaning. As if feeling your unmoving incertitude, he spoke up once again, “Proverbs 28:13.”

You blinked up at him, mind searching for the verse you had read many times before. You licked your bottom lip with your tongue before reciting softly, “He who covers his sins will not prosper, but whoever confesses and forsakes them will have mercy.” The priest hummed, and you raised your gaze to the crucifix hung on the wall behind the altar, feeling as if He was patiently waiting for you to submit to His will. You puffed out a small breath as you nodded to yourself, a hand coming up to the zipper of your coat, slowly bringing it down to then shrug off the piece of clothing and letting it fall on the floor.

You could already feel the wet cold seep through your thin sweater, but you ignored the feeling as you grabbed the bottom of it and lifted it up until it was completely off you; it dropped, finding its place next to your coat at your feet. Your eyes were unfocused, staring into thin air as you slipped your thumbs under the elastic band of your skirt, pushing it down so it pooled at your ankles. You stepped out of it, getting slightly closer to the priest whose gaze was burning your skin despite the goosebumps covering it. You brought a hand to your back, unclasping your bra before slowly taking it off, baring your breasts to the man. Your nipples hardened as the freezing air licked them and you bit hard down your bottom lip as you slid your underwear down your legs, then stepped out of your shoes, leaving you only wearing your lace-arbored anklets.

The man lifted a hand in your direction, a silent request for you to grab it. You did so all while avoiding looking up at him and followed him as he made his way behind the altar, his fingers squeezing yours slightly, “Our Lord blessed you with rare beauty, dear one, what a shame it led evil to you.” You gasped softly as his other hand wrapped around your waist, your eyes shooting up to look at him. He was still smiling, though his eyes seemed clouded with something you could not put your finger on.

He let go of your hand and grabbed the other side of your waist before effortlessly hoisting you up on the altar, the skin of your ass stinging from the cold of the wooden surface. Your gaze was questioning, and the man recited, his voice low and quieter than it had previously been, “I beseech you therefore, brethren, by the mercies of God, that you present your bodies a living sacrifice, holy, acceptable to God, which is your reasonable service.” You gaped at him; a true man of God, that’s what he was. “Offer your body to Him, and you shall be absolved. Show Him what evil has done to you, so He can forgive and make you pure again,” he held your stare, his pupils slightly dilated. You nodded once, and the priest stepped aside, leaving you to face your Saviour in your naked glory.

You slowly leaned back, using your left elbow to not completely lie down on the wood. You brought your trembling right hand to your lips, the tip of your index finger stroking the pink flesh as you recalled where the lips of the faceless man had touched you. They lingered there for a few seconds before dipping to your neck, dancing around the column of your throat as your eyes fluttered shut; if goosebumps had not already been covering your body fault of the moist cold, they would have appeared, the feeling titillating. Your chest rose and fell in a timely rhythm as you dragged your touch to your breasts where your finger gently caressed your right nipple. Your lips parted, small breaths making their way out as you gathered with your small hand the heavy fat of your breast, squeezing. You could feel the stare of the priest on you, but you attempted to ignore it as you kept going.

Your fingers went down your stomach, using your nails to slightly scratch the skin, and they stopped a few inches below your belly button. You opened your eyes and looked at the crucifix; His peaceful expression, despite being nailed and in pain, gave you courage and you spread your legs, giving your Saviour the perfect view of your most intimate era. You nibbled on your bottom lip as you slowly brought your fingers down, choking on a soft moan when they made contact with your clit. The simple touch made your composure fall a little, your lips parted as your face reddened, feeling more exposed than you had ever felt before. You gently pushed against the bundle of nerves, gasping as your fingers started to move, following a small eight-pattern.

You could feel your heartbeat thundering against your ribcage, matching the loud striking of the heavenly fire against the earth beyond the safety of the church walls. Soft pants left your mouth as you started working on yourself, closing your eyes to focus on the memories of the previous night. Every touch and stroke were vividly drawn in your mind, your fingers moving in an almost instinctual way, leaving you a whimpering mess. You moved your elbow that was holding your weight, slowly leaning your back against the cold wood, before bringing the now free hand to your face, covering your mouth with it as your thighs trembled. Your body was thrumming, humming with new sensations, your mind as foggy as the early morning that had welcomed you when you had stepped out of your home.

Lost in pleasure, you jumped, your eyes shooting open as you felt long fingers wrap around your wrist, the priest looking down at you, his own eyes sharper and darker than they had been earlier. Your fingers nestled between your thighs stopped moving as you stared at him, but he tsked, “My dear, you must not hide anything from Him. These lovely, sinful sounds you make, are not to be repressed. Let them be; let Him hear what evil inflicted upon you,” his voice sent a chill down your spine, your back arching slightly. You watched as the corner of his lips twitched and let him pull your hand away from your mouth, gulping as you nodded weakly. “Good girl.”

Your breath hitched at the praise, eyes not leaving his’ as your fingers started to move once again, bringing your legs up to rest your heels against the altar, spreading your legs a bit more. As if in a trance, your gaze fixed on the priest as you moaned and gasped, your hips twitching as you rubbed your clit. You saw his Adam’s apple bob, his eyes narrowing as you used your free hand to caress the skin of your stomach, slowly inching towards your left breast. Your fingers dipped lower, teasing your entrance, and with a bite on your bottom lip and a pinch of your nipple, you pushed your middle finger all the way to the second knuckle, your eyes widening at the feeling. You let out a throaty whine, pressing your head harder against the wooden surface that supported your weight. The cold was long forgotten, your body covered in a thin layer of sweat, muscles spasming here and there.

You slid your other hand between your thighs, the digits quickly finding your clit and gently stimulating it as you managed to push your finger further inside yourself. The faceless man from your dreams had used three fingers, and you could only wonder how your dream self had taken them, as you were struggling with a lonely, short finger. Despite the uncomfortable feeling, you bit down your lip and pushed your index alongside the finger that was already pressed inside you. Your face scrunched up at the stretch, a silent sob echoing through the dimly lit space. You felt your walls clench around your digits, your free hand still working on your clit as a way to make the dull ache more bearable. You waited a minute, giving your body time to adjust to the feeling, before carefully pulling the fingers out and thrusting them back in, a surprised whimper leaving your lips as a new feeling started to blossom in your lower stomach.

You arched your back and started speeding up the motion of your hands, unable to keep quiet as your body grew warmer and more tense. Your eyes fluttered open to look up at the priest, who was as still as Christ watching you from His cross on the wall. As you exhaled, you pushed a third finger in, welcoming the stretch with a high-pitched whine. Your knees dropped down onto the altar, leaving your womanhood fully exposed; you watched as the man glanced at where your hands were working in tandem to replicate almost exactly what the evil from your dream had done to you. You gathered the little concentration you had left and started muttering through gasps and moans, “Compassionate Father, you are the Lord who rescues His people. When I am overwhelmed with shame, help me find solace in you. You have said that you will help—though my sins are like scarlet, they shall be as white as snow; though they are as red as crimson, they shall be like wool. Remind me that I have been purified by you, that the curse of sin and evil is no longer upon me. In your powerful name, Ame-” You were cut off by a large hand wrapping around your lower face, the feeling making your body jolt.

Right, it had to be the same as the dream; you had not uttered a prayer in it, far from it. You closed your eyes, moaning against the palm covering your mouth, as you focused on the growing tension in your core. Every second felt like minutes and every minute felt like hours as you quickly thrust your fingers in and out, all while you rubbed and nudged your clit. The pressure was almost unbearable, your whole body twitching as your hips tried to follow the movements of your digits as if they had a mind of their own. The priest moved his hand away, and you opened your eyes to watch him bring it to his mouth where he licked his palm, which was covered with your drool.

Something snapped inside of you and a loud sob made its way out of your throat as your muscles tensed up, your walls clenching tightly around your fingers as you stilled them, your mind unable to think about anything beyond the blinding pleasure that took over your body. Your eyes rolled back, pitiful sounds leaving your mouth as your back arched from the altar, your thighs squeezing together, trapping your hands between them. This felt so much better than it had felt in your dream. You teared up; the Lord’s love was so strong; evil could not even compare.

After a few seconds, your body relaxed, and you were left panting and sweaty, as if you had just run a marathon. Slowly opening your eyes, your vision became clearer as you blinked, a smile tugging at your lips as you looked at the crucifix, then up to the priest who had not moved. You removed your hands from between your thighs and brought your left one up to wipe the pearls of sweat on your forehead with the back of it. You wrapped your right arm around your chest, trying to hide your breasts as you spoke up, your voice small but hoarse, “Have I done it, Father? Am I free of sin? Has our Lord given me absolution?” Hope lingered; you had done what you were told to do, you had been good, and your Lord was good and forgiving, He had to have seen how faithful you were.

The man’s eyebrows raised before he let out a small chuckle, shaking his head slightly, “My dear, this was only your confession. The truest and purest form of confession.” Your smile dropped. You looked at him as he made his way closer to the wall, where he stopped in front of the crucifix that had observed you as you worked on yourself. His chin tilted up as he looked at it, before his head slowly turned to look at you, “But confession is not enough for this type of sin, sadly; you must also be cleansed.”

You sat up, your brows furrowed, watching as the man stepped closer to you. He stood in front of you, his right hand coming to rest on your thigh, just above your knee. His touch was warm and inviting, but you still wondered what his words meant, so you asked, “Cleansed?”

His thumb stroked your skin as he hummed and brought his other hand up to your shoulder, pushing your hair behind it, “Yes, dearest, cleansed. Your body was defiled by evil, it must be purified. You’ve shown our Lord and Saviour how, and now He shall reclaim your body as His’.” You looked at him, your eyes round and big, trying to make sense of the words that had just been spoken. A small pout appeared on your lips, and the tall priest bent down, his face now closer to yours as he said, his voice slightly louder than a whisper, “You are so easy to read, you know? But to ease your confusion; I shall represent our Lord and make you pure again.”

You froze, the realization of what the man meant hitting you just like David’s stone had hit Goliath. You gaped at him, your mouth opening and closing, searching your brain for the right words to speak, afraid to insult God and the man who stood before you. You gulped and said after taking in a deep breath, “Our Lord… I cannot think of mentions of this procedure in the scriptures,” you blinked, your eyes shining as you looked into his’. “Father, has this procedure been tested before? Where does it come from?”

His long fingers dug into the fat of your thigh as you saw the muscle of his jaw clench, a small whimper leaving your lips at the feeling. He kept squeezing, his creepy smile growing, “Are you implying my authority was not given to me by our Lord? That my will does not stem from His’? That I would go against scriptures, something I have devoted my life to?” You shook your head quickly; you had messed up. You were to never question the words of a priest, for he was much closer to God than you were, and you had done just that. This evil needed to leave; it made you do, think and say things that would only make you unworthy of Heaven.

“Father, do forgive me! This evil, it has taken control of my body and sou-”

“There’s no need for that. I shall make your sins a purest white than Abraham’s sacrificial lamb. You will be reborn a new woman, utterly sinless,” he inched his hand higher on your thigh, “That is what you want, isn’t it? To let your God make you pure again?” You gave him a slow nod and his smile widened as he brought his free hand to his face, removing his glasses and putting them on the altar next to you. He nudged your knees open and settled between them, sliding a hand against the back of your head as he sang praise to you, “What a good girl you are, ma chère.”

His lips smashed against yours and you gasped, your eyes fluttering shut as you tried to follow his lead. The hand resting on your thigh slid to your waist and forced you to get closer to him, his chest pressing against your naked breasts. You moaned into the kiss, pictures of your dream flooding your mind, causing you to wrap your legs around his tiny waist and arms around his neck. You ran your fingers through his hair, letting the man run his tongue along your bottom lip, your mouth opening slightly in response. His kisses travelled down your chin, to your throat, his teeth nipping at your skin as you let your head fall back, giving him better access.

His mouth slid to your chest, and you lowered your chin to look down at him as he wrapped his swollen lips around your left nipple. You grabbed a handful of his hair and pressed him closer to you, arching your back slightly. His eye shot up to look at you, humming against your skin, the vibration leaving you a whimpering mess. He separated from your pink, wet bud with a last lick, smiling as he flicked your other nipple with his thumb, “So eager for absolution, aren’t you?” Your soft pants were interrupted with a small gulp as you nodded once again; there was nothing you wanted more. He ran a hand up and down your thigh before grabbing it and removing it from his waist, doing the same motion with the other one a few seconds later. You silently watched as he kneeled, his face a few inches away from your exposed core. The sight made your heart skip a beat.

Something caught your eyes on the wall, and you looked up, seeing a rainbow light up the crucifix hung on the wall; the rain and thunder had dissipated as suddenly as they had appeared, and sun rays were beaming through the colourful tainted glass of the rose window at the entrance of the church. A small smile tugged at your lips, this had to be a sign you were on the right path. You bit down your bottom lip and gazed down, seeing the priest eyeing your womanhood, a hungry look on his face. Your cheeks reddened as you waited for the man to do something.

He slowly inched closer, and let his nose nudge your puffy clit, causing you to gasp softly at the feeling. You felt something warm run up and down your slit, your grip on his hair tightening as he flattened his tongue against your entrance. Your brows knitted, a small noise leaving your lips as he started to move his wet appendage up and down, moving his head slightly as he did so to get his nose to bump against your clit with each lick. His hands went to your ass, and he brought you even closer to his face; you wondered how he could even breathe.

Your mind started to wander as pleasure slowly took over your limbs; was the man between your legs mistaking you for a wine-filled chalice? The slurping noises his mouth was making against you travelled through your body and rendered you dizzy. You pushed his hair back from his forehead and his eyes shot open to look up at you as his fingers dug into the fat of your ass. His pupils were dilated to the point that you could barely see his iris and there was wetness spreading on his cheeks and nose. Lips parted, you sighed and slightly scratched his scalp with your nails, leaving the man groaning as his stare was still fixed on your face. One of his hands made its way down your thigh and disappeared from your view before it reappeared; a dainty wooden-beaded rosary was dangling from his fingers.

The priest took his mouth away from you, a wide smirk painting his lips as he grabbed your wrist and dropped the prayer beads in your much smaller palm. His other hand came forward and started stroking the skin of your inner thigh as he wrapped his long digits around yours, forcing you to hold the rosary. He licked his bottom lip before speaking up, “You know how this works, don’t you?” His smile grew as he watched you nod, “Perfect. Recite them in your head, except the Five Decades; you must recite those aloud. It’s Thursday, so Luminous Mysteries. Whatever your Lord has planned next and does to you, you must keep going, understood?” You nodded again but he shook his head, “Use your words, dearest.”

“I understand, Father,” you said, your voice small.

The man hummed and let go of your hand, dropping it to your other thigh, massaging the skin there as well. His gaze dropped to where your thumb moved to make the Sign of the Cross on the small crucifix pendant. You closed your eyes as you started reciting the Apostles’ Creed, surrendering your body to the faithful man kneeling before you. His lips pressed against you as you finished the first prayer, your finger moving to the first bead. He fell into a now familiar rhythm, leaving you incapable of staying silent as you breathed out soft moans. Something prodded at your entrance and slowly slipped in as you fell back against the altar with a thud. You arched your back as it kept going, much deeper than you had reached with your fingers. It pumped in and out a few times before the man added a second finger, the pressure and stretch making you whimper.

His tongue kept alternating between sucking on and flicking your clit as you busied yourself with prayers. The priest hummed against you before removing himself; you opened your eyes and lifted your head from the wooden surface, eyes widening when you saw blood on his chin and bottom lip. He removed his fingers from you and showed them to you; they were bloody too. You stared at him silently, uncertain of what to say, but he broke the silence, “See what the evil has left in you? Aren’t you so lucky your Lord is ever so forgiving? That he’s cleaning you up to make you free of sin?” You nodded and bit the inside of your cheek. His eyes were gleaming as his fingers went to your lower stomach, smearing the blood on your skin, which made goosebumps appear.

You studied his face, his sharp, dark hooded eyes were staring at you under his defined eyebrows, his plump lips were stretched in a smile; his tanned cheeks and chin were coated with a sheening coat of your wetness and blood. His hair was now messy—your doing—and his fingers were slowly making their way back to your slit. Without thinking about it, you reached out and cupped his cheek with your free hand, rubbing your thumb against his bottom lip. His tongue darted out to lick your digit as his fingers sank back in you, knocking the breath out of you. Your eyes closed shut as you gasped, your hand falling from his face to rest on your hip. You heard him laugh under his breath before the warmth of his mouth was back on you. Your mind reminded you of the rosary you were holding, and you started reciting the Hail Mary.

As you neared the end of the Glory Be, you felt the man add another finger, the stretch making your eyes tear up as you mewled weakly. The words of the prayer passed in your mind, disappearing as he started to thrust them in and out. Your walls clenched tightly around his digits as your chest rose and fell quickly, panting as your body tried to get adjusted to the burning feeling.

Your fingers landed on the first Decade, and you gathered all your strength to start reciting the prayer, your voice shaky, “Then Jesus came to Galilee to the Jordan to John, to be baptized by him. John would have prevented him, saying ‘I need to be baptized by you, and do you come to me?’ But Jesus answered him, ‘Let it be so now; for thus it is fitting for us to fulfill all righteousness.’ Then he consented.” You were interrupted by a yelp as you felt the priest’s teeth grazing your clit, your free hand landing in his hair, gripping it. Your hips kept twitching as you kept going, stuttering through the words, “And when Jesus was baptized, he went up immediately from the water, and behold, the heavens were opened and he saw the Spirit of God descending like a dove, and alighting on him; and lo, a voice from heaven, saying, ‘This is my beloved Son, with whom I am well pleased.’”

The drag of the man’s fingers had turned pleasurable, and you felt your muscles tense up, the feeling in your lower stomach rapidly growing. You pushed on the back of his head, searching for more friction, and you moaned out loudly when he started mumbling against your clit as his fingers kept moving, “Oh my Jesus, forgive me of my sins, save us from the fires of hell; lead all souls to Heaven, especially those who have most need of your mercy.” You could not register the words but the movements of his lips on you made you come undone, your back arching from the altar as your thighs trapped his head in place, your hips lifting to follow his fingers and urge him to press his tongue harder against you. Your every muscle tensed up, crying out as the waves of your orgasm hit you just like the Red Sea had crashed into the Egyptians as He closed its parting. You spasmed around him, your walls trying to push his fingers out, and you felt wetness drip down your ass.

He separated from your clit, kissing it softly as he removed his digits from you, slowly standing up as you cracked your eyes open, your body still jolting randomly as it calmed down from your high. The light coming from the rose window had moved, and from your angle, it looked like a halo surrounding the priest’s head; a breathtaking sight that had you gape in awe. You watched as he tugged at the collar of his shirt, taking his Roman collar off and letting it fall to his feet. Your wetness was dripping from his lips which were harbouring a soft smile, his hands moving unhurriedly to unbutton his cassock. His eyes travelled up and down your spent body, then to the rosary you had forgotten you were still holding; you clenched your fingers around it and moved to a new bead, your lips moving silently as you recited the Hail Mary in your mind.

You kept your eyes on his hands as they reached the last button, the man shrugging off the black piece of clothing, revealing he was wearing a white tank top and black pants underneath it. You gulped at the true size of his shoulders; you had thought his cassock gave the illusion he was large, but even with it off, he looked huge. The smallness of his waist only accentuated how massive the built of the priest was. He had muscles but they were lean; despite it all, he looked strong and exuded a masculine aura that had you squirming in place.

Your observations were interrupted by his voice, “Do you feel like the weight of your sin has lessened, ma chère?” You dipped your chin once; you did feel lighter. The man grinned wider as his hands wrapped around your waist, bringing your torso up effortlessly so you were now sitting. He brushed a strand of hair behind your ear, leaning over so his lips pressed against the shell of your ear, whispering, “You did so well, dear, you’re almost as pure as the day you were born. There’s only a step left in this procedure, but it will hurt at first.” He pressed a hand on the back of your head and pushed forward, forcing you to bury your face in the crook of his neck. You inhaled and felt his fingers massage your scalp gently.

He smelled so intoxicating; a mixture of moss, rain, coffee, tobacco and a hint of something floral emitted from his skin. You realized you had pressed your lips against the man’s neck when you felt him tense up, his hand stilling in your hair. You backed away slightly, blushing so brightly you were grateful he could not see your face, muttering an apology. His body relaxed again, and he hummed, “There’s no need for apologies. Bite down my shoulder—don’t be scared to bite hard—it will make you focus on something else.”

You opened your mouth to ask what he meant but pressed your lips together when you heard a zipper, followed by the shuffling of clothes between your bodies. You brought your hands to his chest, the rosary still in your hand, fingers fidgeting with the beads as you felt one of his large and cold hands spread your thighs a little further apart. You felt his fingers run up and down your slit and you gasped at the feeling, your nails slightly digging into the muscles of his chest. A wet sound travelled up to your ears and you closed your eyes, a shiver running down your spine when you felt a hand drop to your hip, kneading the fat there, and his voice, now a low murmur, “Bite down.”

You barely had the time to process the words that you felt pressure against your entrance which ceded, your walls wrapping around something so thick you shrieked before sinking your teeth into the man’s shoulder. It felt like you were being split in half; the thickness slowly forced its way inside you as tears gathered at your lower lash lines before they dripped down your cheeks. You bit down harder and pulled away quickly when you felt iron-tasting warmth coat the inside of your mouth, but the hand still in your hair pushed you against the bleeding bite mark, the priest almost growling, “Bite, and drink. At this moment, I am God; I am Christ. His blood is mine, and my blood is His’. Savour, dear one, and let me cleanse you inside out.” You let out a shaky breath before sinking your teeth back in his flesh, your brows knitting as he pushed his length an inch deeper inside you, “So obedient.”

You let the blood fill your mouth and swallowed, cringing at the taste but unwilling to go against Heavenly orders. Your arms snaked around his waist as he kept slowly pushing himself into you. The pain was unbearable, but your mind went to Christ, and how much he had suffered for the sins of all; the ache between your legs was a pinch compared to what he had endured, so you toughened up and let your tongue lap at the blood. Your brain felt foggy, and you could only take it as a sign that it was your body reacting to being filled with the divine energy pouring out from the priest. His length reached deeper than his fingers had, and you wondered how much of it you had left to take in.

You soon had your answer, the man stilling as his pelvis pressed against yours; he was so deep in you, stretching you so wide. Your mouth detached from his neck, and you pressed your forehead against his skin, panting loudly as you tried your best to relax your walls around him. The hand that was in your hair made its way to your waist, squeezing gently as you felt his lips press against your ear once again, “Your Lord is so pleased with you; you’re taking his cock so well. You’ll be redeemed in no time.” He slowly pulled out, leaving only his tip in, before thrusting in you at a medium speed, leaving you sobbing against his neck. It was overwhelming, the feeling of his length rubbing your inside and the warmth spreading in your chest, God’s love making you burn up. The feeling started to transform from pain to pleasurable pressure, your pained cries turning into needy moans.

You had managed to reach the tenth Hail Mary in your mind, your fingers reaching the second Decade. You whimpered out the beginning of the Second Luminous Mystery, “On the third day there was a marriage at Cana in Galilee, and the mother of Jesus was there; Jesus also was invited to the marriage, with his disciples.” The priest started moving faster, his hips meeting yours at a much quicker speed; you whined as his tip hit a certain spot inside you, the rosary dropping on the floor as you dug your nails into the man’s shoulder blades. You could not concentrate on anything other than the drag of his length against your walls, panting and gasping each time he bottomed out.

He slightly pulled away from your body and looked down at you, his hips still moving as he brought a hand to grab your jaw from under, forcing you to look at him. He eyed you before crashing his lips against yours, moaning as he tasted his blood in your mouth. You slid your hands up to his hair, tugging at it and scratching his scalp as your teeth clashed together, tongues dancing. You pressed your chest closer to his’ and sighed as your nipples rubbed against his tank top, the feeling sending electric shocks to your core. You parted away from his lips, catching your breath, and your eyes opened and landed on the crucifix watching you; you smiled softly—oh how good was His clemency. Your gaze went back to the priest who was slightly panting, his lower face covered in blood—just like yours— as he smirked at you, sliding his hand to your cheek, stroking the skin tenderly.

In half a second, he pulled out and manhandled you, so you were now bent over the altar, your breasts pressed against the wooden surface as your feet dangled in the air, his large hands holding you up. His knee nudged your legs open wider and you felt him slip back inside you, the new position bringing a different sensation. His hips met your ass, and he started thrusting into you eagerly, loud smacks echoing through the church. You held yourself up on your elbows, holding your head up as you looked at the front door; if someone were to walk in, they would see the priest cleansing you, a Godsent blessing.

Your elbows started to tremble, and the man noticed; he slid a hand below your stomach and hoisted you up against his chest, your back pressed against him. He held you up, his arms wrapped around you as his pelvis smacked against your ass, your feet dangling one foot above the floor. He slid a hand down, his fingers running down your slit, groaning as he felt where you two were connected. He ran them up again and pushed his middle finger against your puffy clit, gently rubbing it as he kept working himself in and out of you. Your head fell back on his shoulder, and he took the opportunity to attach his lips to your neck, kissing and nibbling at the skin.

You truly never had felt anything like this; if you had been a fool, you’d have thought you were glowing from how fulfilled you felt. The familiar tension grew in your lower stomach, lewd noises leaving your mouth as the man dug the fingers of his other hand into your flesh, holding you closer to him as his movements became erratic. His groans and grunts were sending shivers down your back, only adding to the multitudes of sensations you were currently drowning in. As if he could feel you were close to reaching your orgasm, he mumbled against your neck, “Let go, ma chérie. Let evil leave your body, let God replace it with goodness.”

Your breath hitched and with a few more nudges on your clit, the pressure building inside you snapped. Your vision went white as you came, the feeling different from your previous releases. Even through the waves of pleasure, you could feel something drip down your thighs and could hear squelches as the priest kept thrusting his length in you. Your mouth was open, silent cries leaving your throat as you clenched tightly around the man. You felt his lips move against your neck, but you were too lost in feelings to understand what he was saying.

Your tensed-up muscles slowly relaxed as the remains of your orgasm washed over your body. You whimpered as the man kept moving, your core feeling overstimulated by his length still burying itself inside your sensitive walls. He quickly pushed your front back against the altar, grabbing your hips as he moved both his hips and yours in sync, your nails digging into the wood as your ass smacked against him. His thrusts were harsh and fast, leaving you breathless; tears were streaming down your cheeks at the delightful ache.

His hips stilled, his length buried deep inside you, as he groaned lowly. You felt your inside be flooded with warmth, whining as you dropped your forehead against the wooden surface, the cold of it grounding you. You were panting, the warmth creating a pleasant pressure inside your core as the priest rubbed his thumbs over your Venus dimples. He stayed inside you for a few more seconds, before easing out of you, leaving you feeling empty. He once again manhandled you so you were now sitting facing him, holding your limp body up as he dragged a hand up your moist thigh, grinning, “See this wetness? It was the remains of evil leaving your body.” His hand reached your slit and he gathered a sticky white substance on his fingers, bringing his hand up close to your lips, “And this is goodness. Do remember, my dear, your sins are scarlet and they shall be as white as snow.”

You gaped at him; he truly was a man of God. He pushed his fingers past your lips, and you let him, wrapping them around his digits as your tongue licked at the goodness. The taste was bitter, but as your eyes met his’, all you could think about was how caring and selfless the man standing in front of you was. You had come to him, worrying about your purity, and he had completely cleansed you of sin and given you his own God-gifted goodness, not asking anything in return. He removed his fingers from your mouth and brushed your cheek with the back of his index, his smile not faltering, “What is this look you are giving me?”

You blinked a few times, your cheeks flushing as you realized you had been staring, “Father, I must thank you. My body and soul were barren, and you made them anew again. I do not know how I could ever repay you.” His eyes narrowed at your words, his hand reaching to grab his glasses before he put them on and ran a hand through his hair. It dropped to your thigh and drew shapes on there, his gaze not leaving yours.

“Alastor,” he said simply before stepping away from you and bending down to grab your clothes. Your expression turned to a confused one as you watched him slip your underwear up your legs, your skirt following. You let him dress you, his fingers skilfully clasping your bra behind your back before he motioned you to lift your arms so he could slip your shirt back on. Once dressed he let his hand lay on your thigh again, before he spoke up, “My name is Alastor. Call me by it and your debt is repaid.” He grabbed one of your hands and dropped the rosary in it before grabbing your waist and helping you down the altar, “Keep this, use it whenever you feel evil is near.”

You nodded up at him and smiled, your grin faltering for a second when you saw that the crucifix on the wall had detached and was now hanging upside down. Oddly, you thought nothing of it and you looked back at Alastor, your smile spreading wide, “Thank you, Fa—Alastor.” You squeezed the rosary between your fingers, watching as he bent down once again, but this time to grab his cassock and Roman collar. You stood silently as he buttoned it up and placed the white collar around his neck. He straightened the fabric with his hands, before meeting your eyes.

“You look quite a mess, dearest, you’d better go home and clean yourself.”

Your hand flew up to your face where dried blood was caked on your chin and around your mouth, and you felt a blush creep up your neck at his words; he did not look any better. Despite it, you nodded, shifting on your feet as you thanked him once again, “I cannot express how thankful I am, Alastor, truly. You, uh, you should probably get cleaned up too; people would probably wonder why there’s blood smeared on their priest’s face.” The man chuckled and nodded before bending down to grab your coat, handing it to you once he straightened up. You took it and quickly slipped it on, putting the rosary in one of the pockets.

You clasped your hands together and bit down your bottom lip as the man put a hand against your back and urged you to walk with him. You walked down the main aisle silently, stopping once you had reached the end of it. You turned to him and opened your mouth to speak, but he beat you to it, “Go, now. Enjoy your newly found purity.” You smiled and dipped your chin once; he grinned back, “I will see you tomorrow, though I am hoping you will not walk back in here with that same pitiful expression you had earlier.”

You let out a small laugh as you gestured that you agreed before giving him one last glance and turning around, walking towards the door. You could feel his stare burn holes in your back but ignore the feeling, pushing against the door and stepping outside, the sunlight momentarily blinding you. You sighed loudly, looking around to make sure no one was close; the last thing you wanted was someone seeing you limp, your face bloody. You began to make your way back home, ignoring the way your thighs stuck together from your and Alastor’s bodily fluids. You thought about his words, and strangely, you found yourself disagreeing; you hoped the faceless man would come back. You had tasted true goodness, the powerful and unconditional love and mercy of God, and you wanted more of it.

[jo-harrington]

Incremental Planning (A Store Manager Verse Story - Steve Harrington/Reader)

Previous Part: On-The-Job Training

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Wicks'n'Sticks!Reader (you'll see)

Summary: You and Steve have been going out for a little while and he suddenly feels the need to step up his game.

Warnings/Themes: AU where the Upside Down doesn't terrorize Hawkins. Fall 1985, Steve and Robin work at Scoops, Reader works at Wicks and Sticks (formerly at Dippin' Dots; you job hop...it's a thing), New Relationship "Troubles," Infatuation/Crush, Cute Dates, Tie in with the Store Manager Verse

Note: Dedicated to @dr-aculaaa (late bday gift), @rosewaterandivy and @carolmunson who've heard little tidbits intermittently but this has taken a minute to come together. And @ghost-proofbaby for the last date idea. Enjoy <3

You can find my masterlist here for more fics featuring pretty much exclusively Eddie Munson content but also a little Steve.

Please do not interact if you are not 18+.

Enjoy!

---

If Steve had to pick one thing that was his best quality, it would be that he was reliable.

"Psshh, yeah right," Robin scoffed. "Reliably late to picking me up for work every day."

"Hey!" Steve argued. "I promised to drive you to school when it starts next week, so could you...I dunno...gimme a break here?"

"You don't need to do your hair every morning; I have band first period so if you could please be a little better with time, I'd appreciate it!"

"Robin!"

Reliable, unfortunately, was boring. And you were anything but boring.

Steve learned quickly that his favorite thing about you was that you changed with the seasons. If the wind blew in a different direction, so would you.

Just like the whole vanilla debacle, you were never satisfied with one flavor. Yeah you liked a root beer float for a while, but before long, you were a banana split person. And shortly after that, hot fudge.

And while changing tastes in ice cream was endearing and made him a little looser--and got him a date--it was how quickly you changed tastes in other things that had him a little worried.

"I quit Dippin' Dots!" you announced one afternoon in early September, throwing your visor at him from across the counter.

"You what?" He stared at you with wide eyes.

"I quit," you raised your eyebrows and tilted your head towards him. "Dippin' Dots."

"No I got that I just...why?" He held his hands out around him. "Rival ice cream shops. That's kind of our thing."

"Well, you're just gonna have to get a job at a rival candle store because you're looking at the new sales associate at Wicks'n'Sticks."

You grinned at him and proudly pulled the little name badge from the back pocket of your jeans, your name already engraved and everything. Steve's eyes darted between it and you, unable to comprehend that you were joking.

"No, I'm not serious," you laughed. "Unless you hate it here, which I know you do."

"Shhh, not so loud!"

"The pay sucks, you always go home sticky, and you get yelled at by every mom in Roane County for getting their order wrong. I've heard you say it enough times Steve."

You were right; he just liked sticking to routines. Routines were nice...reliable.

"So what does that mean for us?" he asked.

"Means we're just gonna have to get another thing," you offered. "Like...making out in the service corridors instead of up against the kiosk after hours."

Ok, so...he could live with that.

What worried him was, well, if you were just just dating reliable old Steve Harrington all the time, you'd get bored with him. Nancy had gotten bored with him and looked for someone...better. You'd already gotten mad at him for being slow on the uptake about the small vanilla cup. What if he was boring in some other way? What if you tired of him just like you tired of your job at Dippin' Dots?

He'd already established a routine with your dates. Movie nights on Thursdays whenever new shows came out, then dinner at Benny's on Sunday nights, and lunch at the food court on Tuesdays when your shifts aligned.

You always said you liked your "dates."

"Is that what they said?" Robin asked as he aired his fears to her on the way to school one morning. "'Dates.' With air quotes?"

"Yeah?" He stumbled over his words. "Why? What are you--why are you--what is that...is that a problem? It's our routine."

"Oh god," she groaned and slammed her head back against the headrest. "You already have a routine? Dating isn't about routines. Is this...did you have routines with Nancy?"

"Yes, why?"

"Ok, new plan of attack," she waved her hands in front of her. "New date ideas. Every week. You, Steve Harrington, are hopeless."

---

The whiteboard in the backroom suddenly became the "Date Idea Board."

Robin had told him to do it as soon as he got to Scoops, brought the board out to the counter with him. Ice cream was less popular in the mornings, it seemed, especially with kids back in school--

He could see why you jumped the Dippin' Dots ship. Aside from the handful of mall employees taking their breaks and wanting ice cream, he was bored.

--so he had plenty of time to think of something before the closing lead came in.

But the board remained blank all the way up until lunchtime.

"What did I do during school?" he threw his hands up in the air as he started towards the food court. "Movies...dinner...parking up at the quarry and making out? We haven't done that yet. I guess..."

He roared in frustration as he got in line at Hot Dog on a Stick, earning dirty looks from several lunch-goers.

"What?" he scoffed at them, and then tried to nonchalantly glance around.

And that's when Steve spotted them, tucked at a table near JCPenney, heads close together as they each held an earpad of a set of headphones connected to a walkman on the table, free hands reaching periodically for a basket of cheese fries: Eddie Munson and the Claire's manager.

It kind of made Steve a little antsy, like he was observing a private moment, the way they smiled at each other and bantered back and forth. He didn't even get this feeling watching couples make out in the hallways at Hawkins High. He wondered for a second if anyone felt that way when they saw the two of you together...

No one saw you together at the movies, or late Sunday nights at Benny's. And during lunch on Tuesdays, you definitely sat across the table from one another...not next to each other like that.

Was that it? Was that the answer? Just...go more places together. He really wished he had someone to ask about this.

And his wish was granted when Eddie looked at the time on his watch and then, with a flick of his girlfriend's dangly earrings, he ran out of the food court.

Steve abandoned his place in line and rushed across to plant himself in Eddie's vacated seat.

"Uh," the manager squinted her eyes at him in recollection. "...hi cherry lipbalm guy."

"It was strawberry, actually," he then pointed to his name tag, "and it's...Steve."

"Hi Steve," she amended and pointed to her own name tag to introduce herself.

"Hi."

It was awkwardly silent for a moment.

"I don't have any lip balm down here," she chewed her fingernail for a moment. "If that's why you stopped by. You have to go ups--"

"I need dating advice," he blurted out. "Again."

"Wha--"

"Where does Eddie take you out for dates?"

"I don't...they're not..."

"Because I...ok you remember the Dippin' Dots cashier?" he launched right into his story, despite her deer-in-the-headlights expression. "They agreed to go out with me--thanks, by the way--but they're...I'm afraid they're getting bored of our routine."

"Routine?" she winced.

"That's what Robin's reaction was too. Sorry, Robin, that's my friend, she works at Scoops too. Anyway..."

Steve continued his tale, telling her about your new job and general shift in likes and dislikes from day to day. How unpredictable you were, how much he liked that about you but how much he feared that meant you wouldn't like him before long.

"And I just...like them so much? I don't want to screw it up."

The Claires manager's expression had softened the longer he talked and once he was done and out of breath she smiled.

"Well this is a really nice development."

"That's all you have to say?" he asked incredulously.

Her expression fell.

"Listen, Steve, I only have 5 minutes left of my lunch and I'm very happy to give you advice if you need it but it seems like you don't really need it. You know what it is your friend likes, or rather...how your friend's likes change...you just need to be...spontaneous and deliver the unexpected!"

"But what is that?" He raked his hands through his hair. "What should I do? What does Eddie do?"

"Eddie doesn't..." she sighed. "You shouldn't just mimic what he does, but he's himself. He's goofy and loud and we do goofy and loud things. He likes snacks, I like snacks...we're constantly sharing food."

She gestured to the cheese fries.

"Just do what feels right? Be yourself. Incorporate them into things that you want and need to do. Need to go to the laundromat? Ask if they want to go and watch the soaps with you while your towels are in the dryer."

For a minute that didn't make much sense to him. That wasn't a date. Who went on dates like that? But...you know, once upon a time he used to watch his parents pretend to waltz as they folded bedsheets together. The love that used to be in their eyes during a menial task.

Not that this was love with you but...he knew he could be a little bit of a romantic. One day maybe...

"I do like All My Children," he finally nodded. "Ok this could work."

"No Steve, wait..." The manager held her hands out as he stood from the chair and started jogging back to Scoops.

"Thank you!" he shouted and waved.

---

Thus began the gauntlet of unexpected, inventive, spontaneous dates.

He started with the Laundromat; it was stuck in his head now and it was either going to be a win or the biggest failure he had. And you'd break up with him.

You were a little baffled when he told you his idea, but you went along with it. He picked you and your basket up promptly at 9am on Wednesday.

"Did your mom stop doing the wash for you Stevie?" you joked as you tossed your basket in the backseat.

"Ha ha," he deadpanned. He actually begged his mom not to snatch up his dirty Scoops uniforms from the hamper so he could take care of them himself. She gave him the proudest smile and a kiss on the forehead.

But he would never tell you that.

You, by chance, were a regular at the All Washed Up on Main Street. Said hello to Cheryl the Attendant, who was folding the hourly drop offs. Had your dollar bills all ready to go and you did a little dance as the change machine chugged and spat out quarters.

You took the lead for him, when he--understandably--looked a little confused.

"Obviously they don't have soap for you to use," you rolled your eyes and slotted coins into the little machine with different soaps and fabric softeners. "You need to bring it yourself. Or buy it. What do you like? Snuggle? Do you like lavender?"

But he still had a few tricks up his sleeves.

He brought Uno and a deck of cards to teach you to play Gin Rummy.

"Just like my granny taught me," he smiled and your expression melted.

And when you started shuffling your clothes into the dryers, he got snacks from the vending machine for you both.

"Dr. Pepper and HandiSnacks." He proudly handed you your treat.

"How did you know I always get this when I come do my laundry?" you held them to your chest excitedly.

---

A night at the arcade was next.

To be honest, Steve thought with everyone's latest obsession over StarCourt, he'd be free to show his face at the Palace Arcade.

Unfortunately, his heart stopped when he saw the gaggle of familiar bikes chained up outside.

"Ooh, ok what do you say to pizza after we play some games?" you asked when you saw the pizzeria further up the strip mall. When you turned to him, you noticed his stricken expression. "What's wrong?"

"N-nothing," he shrugged, trying to act cool. "No nothing, it's just...some kids I used to babysit..."

Great lie there Harrington, you still babysit them.

"...are here. Those are their bikes."

"Aww," your eyes got soft and you put on the baby voice you used to tease him sometimes. "Big bad babysitter Stevie and little his Kindergarten Crew. It'll be fine, they won't bother us playing Skee Ball."

You walked confidently into the arcade, straight to your favorite game, all while Steve sent cursory glances down each row of machines and tried to be as stealth as possible.

Like a ninja, he told Nancy once.

"Steve?" Dustin called as he spotted him ducking between a few Pac-Man cabinets. "What are you doing here?"

"Uh," Steve's eyes slid in your direction and then he waved awkwardly. "Hey Henderson, you know. Killing time."

"Max is trying to unlock a secret level of Galaga," he thumbed over his shoulder. "Maybe you can get next turn if she can't."

"I'd love to I'd just--"

"Steve?" He winced at your voice behind him. "You coming?"

"Yeah," he shot you a smile and then turned back to Dustin with murderous eyes. "I was just telling this little twerp to beat it."

"This one of the kids?" you sidled up next to him and smiled at Dustin. "Hey."

"Hey!" He got a sly look on his face and wiggled his eyebrows at Steve, who looked positively livid. "You on a date there, Harrington old boy?"

"Who are you, Jay Gatsby? I like you," you laughed at Dustin and then clapped a hand on Steve's shoulder. "I like this kid; you might as well introduce me to all the little rascals. It'll explain why you're such a PTA mom all the time."

Steve groaned as Dustin grabbed your arm and dragged you over to the rest of the kids, but he couldn't help the way his heart skipped a beat when you gave him a look of sheer glee and affection.

Maybe he was doing something right?

---

He blindfolded you for the next date--the last idea he had for this two week sprint full of creative dates--although...he might not have needed to do it for the whole car ride.

"Steve I'm gonna be sick," you had groaned pathetically from the passenger's seat of his car.

But it was worth it.

He'd gone to the mall office to grab the mail--who knew stores at the mall got mail--when he saw a pamphlet for local tourist attractions and he'd been inspired.

The Fort Wayne Children's Zoo.

You were in awe, it's such a sweet date idea.

The two of you held hands as you dodged groups of field trip goers, parents with their kids on playdates, and other bored adults. You told him fun facts about your favorite animals and his.

"I always wanted to be," you told him, nose scrunched in embarrassment. "I dunno...a vet or a...marine biologist or something. One of those big jobs that kids always dream about. Now I work at StarCourt Mall and I'm on the verge of finding a new job again."

"So do I," he chuckled. "At least you've thought about your future. I sort of never did."

"There's always time," your eyes sparkled. "We're still young and have our whole lives ahead of us. I've been looking at pamphlets for the Tri-County Community College. We could take classes in the next semester."

"Yeah?" he asked, slyly. "We?"

"Shut up," you pushed him to the side.

"Didn't know you'd still plan on dating me next year."

"Why not?"

Steve shrugged but kept his mouth shut, and then steered you towards your final destination.

The Reef.

So it wasn't a full aquarium, but it was close enough. He couldn't drive you all the way out to Indianapolis without arousing suspicion. Besides, the Reef had enough of an array of colorful marine life to make you happy. You gushed over all of the different fish that you recognized as the two of you wound through the small aquarium building.

You'd actually told him about your dream career as a kid before and he'd stored that little tidbit away. Pulled a favor with his mom to pull a favor with someone she knew and low and behold--

"Steve!" you exclaimed as you saw the little setup on the bench in front of the tank of Moon Jellies, an assortment of sandwiches and sodas basking in the blue glow emitted from behind the glass. "What's this?"

"Surprise!" He held his hands out a little pathetically. "The real date...not just the zoo but...a little picnic too."

"I love it!" you laughed.

"You do?" he beamed in relief. "I've...I've really been trying. I know...you're always so...and Robin said I was boring, so I thought maybe we could try some new dates. Not just...dinners and movies. I wanted to make you happy. Make you smile."

He kept rambling on about the other ideas he had, but then confessed that he sort of missed late dinners at Benny's on Sundays because he got to hold your hand across the table. He didn't notice the way your gaze got softer as he said the things that you'd been thinking all day--because these spontaneous dates were great but you missed the sweet dinners at Benny's and the movie nights where you made out in the back row at the Hawk during boring scenes--or how you inched closer you him until your hands were caressing his cheeks and your lips descended on his.

From the outside looking in, it was almost picturesque.

Something from a John Hughes movie as the two of you rocked back and forth in the glow of the jellyfish tank and one big smooch turned into little sweet ones, soft lips pecking at each other, over and over. Tasting the words that you each wanted to say to one another but...didn't quite have the courage to.

Yet.

Next Part: Developmental Achievement

[avxlyse]

Awash In Crimson Wine Chapter 2 - Agatha x Succubus!Rio

A/N HIII I wrote chapter 2 bcs I was bored and bcs I can!! Hope you enjoy :) lmk your thoughts!! I'm still getting everything together for this fic so i'm sry if any if this is incoherent, i'm just writing it for shiggles.

Chapter 2

The morning sun crept through the heavy curtains of Agatha’s room, casting the space in a dull amber light. She lay still in her bed, eyes fixed on the ceiling, as the events of the previous night replayed in her mind. She could still feel the phantom touch of Rio’s hand on her skin, the mocking smile that refused to leave her thoughts. Despite herself, Agatha shuddered. It wasn’t just the heat of the encounter that unnerved her—it was how real it had felt.

Agatha Harknesshad lived for centuries, and with that the list of things that could catch her off guard slowly dwindled. But this? This was unlike anything she had ever summoned, or encountered. Succubi were dangerous enough in theory. In practice, they were disastrous.

She threw the covers off with a frustrated grunt and sat up, rubbing her temples. The dull ache in her thigh reminded her of the claw marks still etched into her skin, vivid proof that she wasn’t dreaming. With a quick glance, she confirmed they hadn’t healed. They were still as fresh as the moment Rio had raked her nails down Agatha’s leg.

"Of course," Agatha muttered under her breath. Her healing abilities had been significantly diminished since Wanda stripped her of most of her power, and it seemed the succubus had no intention of letting her forget it.

She stood, shrugging off her robe, and headed toward the small mirror by her dresser. Her reflection stared back at her, disheveled and haunted by sleeplessness. She could see it in her eyes—the nagging feeling that this was just the beginning of a far bigger mess than she had anticipated. She cursed under her breath and began gathering the tools she’d need to attempt a binding spell.

Rio Vidal wasn’t going to simply walk away. Agatha knew that much. Succubi weren’t known for their patience, and once summoned, they had a tendency to dig their claws in—literally and figuratively. But there were ways to contain them, to limit their influence. Agatha had just enough magic left to do that. At least, she hoped.

She lit a few candles on her desk and arranged a circle of protection, drawing sigils on the floor with white chalk. The room filled with the scent of sage and rosemary as she muttered ancient incantations, the words flowing from her lips like second nature. The ritual was complex, designed to keep Rio at a distance, to ensure she couldn’t invade Agatha’s dreams—or her waking life—without permission.

As she completed the final verse, the room grew still, the air thick with magic. Agatha exhaled, a satisfied smile tugging at her lips. The binding was set.

“Not bad for a witch running on fumes,” she muttered, straightening up.

Before she could revel in her small victory, the candles flickered. Agatha froze. The room temperature rose  suddenly, and a voice—velvety, mocking—drifted from the shadows.

"Are you really trying to lock me out, darling?"

Agatha spun on her heel, eyes narrowing as Rio materialized from the dim light, her form graceful and unhurried, as though she had always been there, waiting. Her long, dark hair shimmered like molten ink, framing a face that radiated mischief. She wore a loose-fitting silk robe that clung to her curves in all the right places, exuding an effortless seduction that made Agatha’s pulse quicken against her will.

"I’m impressed," Rio continued, stepping closer, her fingers trailing along the edge of Agatha’s desk. "Even with your powers diminished, you’ve still got some fight left in you." She flashed a wicked grin. "But we both know this won’t hold me for long."

Agatha clenched her jaw, ignoring the wave of heat that stirred in her belly at Rio’s proximity. "You have no idea who you’re dealing with."

Rio raised an eyebrow, amused. "Oh? And what exactly are you going to do?" Her voice dripped with amusement as she leaned in close, her breath hot against Agatha’s ear. "You can’t resist me. You’ve already tasted what I can offer, haven’t you?"

Agatha shoved away, trying to put as much distance between the two them as possible. She hated how Rio’s presence seemed to unravel her control, inch by inch, with every teasing word. Her magic flared, a pulse of anger that briefly lit the room in a soft glow. But Rio only smiled wider, as if she was enjoying the show.

"Your little spell might keep me at bay for now," Rio purred, stepping back and surveying the chalk markings on the floor. "But you and I both know I’ll find a way around it. I always do."

Agatha’s fingers twitched, the urge to lash out with magic rising within her. But she knew better. She had to keep her composure. Succubi thrived on chaos, on raw emotion. If she let Rio feed on her frustration, her lust, her need for control—it would only strengthen her.

Instead, Agatha forced herself to breathe, to center herself. She folded her arms, narrowing her gaze at Rio.

"What do you want, Vidal?" she asked, voice low and dangerous. "You’ve had your fun. You’ve toyed with me. Now state your terms, or get the hell out."

Rio’s smile didn’t falter. In fact, it seemed to grow even more playful, as if she was pleased with Agatha’s directness.

"You summoned me, darling," she said, casually running her fingers through her hair as she paced about the room. "You called to me with that little ritual of yours, and now, I’m here. To serve you, to fulfill your deepest desires."

Agatha snorted, her eyes rolling. "I didn’t summon you to be my lapdog."

"Oh, I know," Rio said with a wink. "But that doesn’t change the fact that you need me."

Agatha took a step forward, her patience wearing thin. "I don’t need you. I can fix this on my own."

Rio tilted her head, a small laugh escaping her lips. "Oh, sweet Agatha. You’re powerful, yes, but even you can’t reclaim your magic alone. Not without help."

Agatha paused, her gaze flickering with doubt for just a moment. Rio saw it—sensed it—and moved in closer, her voice dropping to a whisper.

"I can make you strong again," Rio murmured. "Stronger than before. With me, you could take back everything Wanda took from you. And more."

Agatha’s breath caught in her throat, her heart pounding against her chest. It was a tempting offer, no doubt. To have her power back—all of it. To feel the weight of the magic coursing through her veins again, to command the world with a flick of her wrist. To never feel weak again.

But there was a cost. There always was.

"You think I don’t know your game?" Agatha’s voice was sharp, cutting through the haze of desire. "You’re a parasite. You feed on power, on control. You want me desperate, dependent. And I won’t give you that satisfaction."

Rio’s expression shifted, her playful demeanor slipping just slightly. "I don’t need you desperate," she said, her voice softening, almost sincere. "I just need you to want it."

Agatha’s eyes hardened, the moment of temptation passing. She shook her head, stepping back and glaring at the succubus.

"Leave," she commanded, her voice cold. "I’ll deal with you on my own terms. Not yours."

Rio studied her for a moment, her gaze lingering on Agatha’s face, searching for something. Finally, she sighed, a smirk playing at the corners of her lips.

"As you wish, darling," she said, turning away with a graceful flick of her hair. "But you know where to find me when you change your mind."

And with that, Rio vanished, leaving the room colder and quieter than before.

Agatha stood in the silence, her mind racing. She had won this round—but she knew it wouldn’t be the last. The succubus was patient, and Agatha could feel the weight of her own desire gnawing at the edges of her control.

She would have to be careful, this was only the beginning.

Agatha stood still, the echo of Rio's final words lingering in the air like the scent of smoldering incense. Her room felt unnervingly empty now, and yet, the weight of the succubus's presence remained, pressing against her like a too-heavy cloak. She exhaled sharply, her pulse still racing. Rio’s offer hung in her mind, teasing, prodding at her insecurities, whispering promises of power she desperately craved.

She clenched her fists, the dull pain from the claw marks still burning on her thigh. Agatha Harkness, for centuries in control of herself and her power, felt more vulnerable now than she had in decades.

How had it come to this?

The words of Rio Vidal, smooth and seductive, replayed in her mind. "With me, you could take back everything Wanda took from you. And more."

The offer was clear: strength, magic—everything she had lost. Everything Wanda had stripped from her when she’d been left a hollowed-out version of herself. She had tried to suppress that yearning, that desperate need for power, but it was there. It had always been there, gnawing at her since the moment Westview had crumbled and she was left powerless, stranded in a reality where her once-great magic was little more than a flicker.

And now, Rio knew. The succubus could sense it as easily as a predator sniffing out blood. Agatha hated that, hated being read so easily. She felt exposed to the demon in every sense of the word. But she hated something else even more: the truth behind Rio’s words. Without Wanda’s interference, Agatha would never have been in this position. She had been on the verge of something great before it had all come crashing down.

The bitterness welled up inside her, pushing the ache in her thigh further from her mind. She didn’t need Rio. Not like this.

But she couldn't deny that the temptation lingered.

Shaking her head, Agatha paced the room, trying to clear the fog the succubus had left in her wake. Every step sent a reminder of the throbbing wounds still etched into her skin. That succubus had marked her—claimed her, almost. And Agatha wasn’t sure if it was out of possessiveness, amusement, or something deeper. Perhaps Rio saw something vulnerable in Agatha that she had buried even from herself.

Her vision blurred slightly as her focus drifted, thoughts swirling in her mind like a storm. She had survived too much, endured too many battles, to let a creature like Rio Vidal pull her down into a pit she couldn’t crawl out of. The succubus’s words were enticing, yes, but she knew the truth behind those seductive promises: it was a trap. Power always came at a cost, and Agatha had spent centuries paying that price.

She turned from the mirror, her steps resolute as she crossed back toward the circle of protection she had crafted on the floor. The sigils still glowed faintly, a reminder that her magic, while diminished, wasn’t entirely gone. She wasn’t powerless. Not yet.

With a deep breath, Agatha knelt and began to reinforce the spell, tracing over the chalk marks with careful precision. Her mind wandered as she worked, thinking back to Rio’s smile, the way the demon had so easily taunted her, pushed her to the brink of wanting. She would need to be stronger if she was going to resist Rio’s influence. Stronger and smarter. 

Finishing the last mark on the floor, Agatha stood and surveyed her work. The protection spell would hold—at least for now. But deep down, she knew it wouldn’t be enough to keep Rio at bay forever. Succubi had a way of finding cracks in the strongest defenses, slipping through the smallest weaknesses.Her fingers twitched with the urge to summon more power, to strengthen her defenses further, but she knew that pushing her magic too hard would leave her more vulnerable. She needed to conserve what little she had left.

A small part of Agatha feared that if Rio returned, she wouldn’t be able to resist. You’re a parasite, Agatha had told her, her voice sharp, filled with certainty. You feed on power, on control. But the truth was, Agatha wasn’t so different. She had always craved power. And now with so little of it left, she was more vulnerable than ever to someone like Rio, someone like herself.

Agatha closed her eyes and exhaled, her mind steadying. She had faced worse than Rio Vidal in her long life. This was just another challenge, another obstacle. And she would handle it—on her own terms. But even as she stood there, preparing for whatever came next, she couldn’t shake the feeling of Rio’s eyes on her, watching her every move and waiting to strike at her weakest.

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

Her dream that night began like so many others, softly at first, with whispers of familiarity. Agatha found herself in an endless field of lavender, the wind brushing through the flowers in waves, carrying a sweet, intoxicating scent. It was peaceful—a momentary reprieve from the chaos of her waking life. But beneath the tranquility, there was an energy, a heat that simmered just out of sight, growing stronger with each breath she took.

Agatha moved through the lavender, her fingers grazing the tops of the flowers, but the farther she walked, the more the scene began to change. The air thickened, the sky dimmed, and a warmth spread through her body, not unpleasant but alarming in its intensity. She tried to shake off the feeling, to focus on the beauty of the field, but her mind betrayed her, drawing her toward the warmth instead of away from it.

The landscape blurred, the lavender wilting into darkness. Agatha felt her pulse quicken, her senses sharpen. And then, she saw her.

Rio Vidal emerged from the shadows like a flame licking the edges of Agatha’s subconscious. Her silhouette was illuminated by a low, flickering light, the curves of her body highlighted by the silken fabric that clung to her skin. The succubus’ eyes gleamed with mischief as she approached.

Agatha tried to pull back, tried to force herself awake, but her body refused to obey. The warmth that had been creeping over her flared into something more potent, more primal, as she felt Rio’s familiar tug.

“Dreaming of me, already?” Rio’s voice was a soft purr, rich with amusement. She circled Agatha slowly, her fingertips barely grazing the witch’s skin, sending sparks of sensation across her body.

Agatha shuddered as Rio’s touch moved lower, teasing at the edges of her awareness, blurring the lines between dream and reality. She felt herself leaning into the touch despite her resistance, her mind clouded with desire that she couldn’t control. Agatha’s throat went dry, and for a moment, she was trapped in Rio’s gaze, lost in her magnetic pull. The air around them thickened, charged with unspoken desire and the promise of something far more dangerous. Agatha opened her mouth to speak, to demand that Rio leave her dreams, but the words never came. Instead, Rio leaned in, her lips brushing Agatha’s just lightly enough to leave her wanting more. Agatha’s control slipped, her hands moving toward Rio’s waist as though they had a will of their own.

Before she could touch her, before she could give in completely, Agatha felt a sharp pain in her thigh—the same place where Rio had marked her the night before. The jolt snapped her back to herself, just as the dream began to unravel.

The lavender field vanished, the warmth faded, and Agatha awoke in a cold sweat, her heart hammering in her chest.

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

Agatha sat up, wiping the moisture from her forehead. The marks on her thigh were still there, vivid against her skin. More pressing, though, was the ache between her legs as she remembered the feeling of Rio’s lips against hers. She gritted her teeth, frustrated at how easily Rio could infiltrate her dreams, how helpless she felt against the succubus’s influence. With a groan she rolled out of bed and stood, forcing herself into her morning routine.

The rest of the day passed with a sort of strained calm. She spent hours poring over her ancient tomes, searching for anything that could help her regain her power—or at least keep Rio at bay. The candlelight flickered beside her as she turned the pages, her fingers trailing over spells she hadn’t used in centuries, some so old they had been forgotten by most witches. Nothing seemed useful, binding spells, protective charms, sigils for control—she’d tried them all. Agatha leaned back in her chair, rubbing her temples as a dull headache set in. Wanda had stripped her of so much, and without the Darkhold, she was grasping at the few remnants of magic she had left.

She needed more power. Real power. And Rio’s offer still lingered in her mind, tempting her with every passing minute.

“No,” Agatha muttered to herself, shaking her head as though to clear it. She couldn’t trust Rio. Whatever she was offering, there would be a price—one that Agatha wasn’t willing to pay.

She closed the book in front of her with a sigh and stood, stretching her stiff muscles. The sun had dipped below the horizon, casting the room in deep shadows. For the first time that day, Agatha allowed herself to relax, believing she had some respite from Rio’s influence. The succubus hadn’t shown up all day, and the wards around her home seemed to be holding. Maybe she had won a small victory, if only for now.

As soon as that thought crossed her mind, the temperature in the room rose. Agatha stiffened, her senses immediately on high alert. She turned, and there, in the corner of the room, Rio materialized from the darkness.

“You didn’t really think I’d stay away, did you?” Rio’s voice was as smooth as silk, her figure emerging with that same effortless grace. She smiled as she stepped forward, her eyes gleaming with amusement.

Agatha’s heart sank. Of course, it had been too easy.

“What do you want now?” Agatha growled, trying to mask the rush of heat that Rio’s presence always seemed to bring.

Rio chuckled softly, her fingers brushing over one of the books Agatha had left open. “Still searching for a way to regain your power, I see.” She glanced up, her smile widening. “You won’t find it in there, darling.”

Agatha crossed her arms, forcing herself to tear her eyes away from where Rio’s robe dipped at her chest and meet her gaze.  “And I suppose you know where I can find it?”

Rio took a step closer, her expression shifting from playful to serious. “I do, actually. But you won’t like the answer.”

Agatha raised an eyebrow. “Try me.”

Rio’s eyes flickered with something darker, more intense. She leaned in, and whispered almost mockingly in a sing-song voice. “I can help you get your power back, Agatha. All of it. More than you’ve ever had before.”

Agatha’s pulse quickened, the temptation curling around her like a vice. She wanted it—God, she wanted it—but she couldn’t ignore the warning bells ringing in her mind.

“There’s a catch,” she said flatly, her tone guarded.

Rio’s smile returned, though it was softer this time, almost sympathetic. “Of course there is. But it’s nothing you can’t handle.” She reached out, brushing her long nails along Agatha’s arm in a gesture that sent a shiver down the witch’s spine. “All I need is your trust.”

Agatha stepped back, narrowing her eyes. “And why the hell should I trust you?”

Rio’s expression didn’t change, but there was a flicker of something in her eyes—something dangerous. “I’m offering you exactly what you want, Agatha. Power. Control.”

“And what do you get out of it?” Agatha demanded, her voice rising in suspicion.

Rio’s smile widened, her gaze locking onto Agatha’s. “I get you.”

Agatha's breath caught in her chest, fear rising in the pit of her stomach. She recognized the look in Rio’s eyes, the hunger for someone who knows you have complete control over their desires. She had seen the look in Rio’s eyes reflected in her own many times before.

Rio stepped closer, her voice low and seductive. “Think about it, Agatha. You don’t have to make a decision right now. But the clock is ticking, and every day you wait, you lose more of yourself.”

Agatha stared at Rio, her mind torn between the danger of the offer and the overwhelming desire to be whole again. The silence stretched between them, thick with tension.

Rio leaned in ever so slightly, bringing her lips yet again to Agatha's ear. “I’ll be waiting,” she whispered, and planted a feather-light kiss on her cheek before disappearing into the shadows once more.

Agatha’s skin burned ever so slightly where Rio had kissed her, and as she raised her hand to her cheek she let out a soft groan. Pain was unfamiliar to her still, and the way it danced on her skin paired with the need for Rio’s touch sent electricity straight to her core. Agatha knew this torture was only the beginning, but already she could feel the frustration from Rio’s teasing touch being to take a toll on her body. The worst part was that she knew she couldn’t act on it. Leaning into the sexual desire brought on by the succubus only feeds its power, even if you aren’t reliving that desire through direct contact with the demon. She lets out a long, slow breath and decides what would be best now is to take a very long, very hot shower.

[hughiecampbelle]

Random Headcanons About Baby Roy:

Warning/s: addiction, addiction mention, drugs, alcohol mention

A/N: I think about Baby Roy all the time, lol. I just love them. I thought some fun headcanons would be nice :) Based on these headcanons and this fic series!

Baby loves screamo. Anything and everything screamo. Also any alternative artist! The more raunchy, the better. Any car or room they're in, they're listening to it or humming it or playing it in their headphones. Everyone's come to expect it and ignore it as best they can. Especially Karl and Frank, they hate it. Gerri just shrugs. it's not hurting you or anyone else, leave it be

It absolutely drives Connor insane, especially when you and Roman gang up on him and recite verses. Roman doesn't love your music, but it's so worth it to watch your other siblings cringe and get all uncomfortable

"That d*ick tastes like yankee candl-" I love Ashnikko lol

"Y/n, please."

"You wanna hear a so-"

"No."

Baby unironically plays Where's My Juul?? by Lil Mariko in front of Connor who has no idea what a juul actually is lol

Baby has a wicked sweet tooth. Kendall's been sneaking them candy since they were little, but it seems like you always have something sweet. A lollipop, gumballs, gummy bears, etc.

"You'll get a cavity."

"This is my one vice, let me be."

Shiv is always holding out her hand for whatever you've got. She doesn't ask, she just expects it. You never mind, it's nice to share with her. Besides, it makes her feel like a little kid, too

Baby loves gory movies. Growing up, when all the kids were together, they'd have movie night. When it was your turn, you always chose the goriest thing you could find. Rome would sit with his hands over his eyes and Connor would hold a pillow, But you, Ken, and Shiv would be totally into it

"Just wait! His head gets ripped off!"

"This can't be appropriate."

Baby is actually very smart. Despite all the partying, their grades were perfect. Logan had no need to worry. Maybe you weren't showing up to class, but you were there for tests and that's all that mattered. You throw your intelligence in your brothers faces

"Can you even spell egotistical?"

You make endless jokes about your sobriety that none of them like except for Roman. The others shoot daggers at you with a look that says "not funny" You think it's funny though, and that's all that matters

"I'll be at the bar, you guys chat. Kidding! I was kidding, jeez."

"Does anyone else need a strong drink right about now?"

"They say the food is like crack, but I know crack and this isn't that."

"I used to take handfuls of pills to this song. Now look at me, I've become a monster."

Connor is horrified. Every time you say anything, he's speechless. Shiv gets very serious and Kendall spirals, but Rome likes it. If you can't joke about it, what good is it?

Baby has lots of tattoos and piercings. It's the only socially acceptable way to self harm that isn't drugs and alcohol. Logan hates them and Connor thinks they're unsightly, but you don't really care. Gerri always wants to see the new ones you got, though she prefers they be covered up in the office

"I like that one, that one's very cute."

"Thanks, Mommy."

She hates when you call her that. For you, your and Gerri's relationship, it's not at all sexual like it is with Roman. She is genuinely your mother figure. She is warm and caring and only wants the best from you. She can always tell when things are getting bad again

"Oh honey, you don't look so good."

"Mommy, I don't feel so good."

She really does love you. Someone has to. She knows your mother and Logan don't. Someone has to be there for you

Both Karl and Frank are afraid of you. Between the music, the addictions, the tattoos, the piercings, everything is intimidating to them. You're not competing like your siblings, that scares them the most. You want nothing to do with the company

"Think they're rabid?"

"Might be."

You love it, the way they always back away when you get too close, like you're demonic or infected

Baby, I think, would write a lot. Not just your feelings, which are so hard to put into words, but good things that happened, reasons to stay sober

You have a notebook or something that they use to write in. You've brought it to every rehab you've ever been to and constantly reread it over and over. No one knows about it, and if they notice, they don't bring it up. It's yours

Reasons To Stay Sober: Connor, Kendall, Shiv, Rome. Connor, Kendall, Shiv, Rome. Connor, Kendall, Shiv, Rome. Connor, Kendall, Shiv. . .

You have a sobriety birthday and every month you bake a cake. It always turns out shitty, lopsided, and burned and runny at the same time, but decorating it makes you feel like a kid again

You're always wearing your siblings clothes. You're always stealing someone's jacket or socks or shirt or sweater. You like it. It makes you feel close to them

They've just come to expect it

"You look better in that shirt than I do, keep it."

"I was going to anyways."

You have those moments of deep regret and embarrassment and self-consciousness that always end up in tears, but your siblings are there to pick up the pieces

Connor especially will just hold you as long as you need and listen to everything you have to get out

You feel so deeply sorry for hurting them and scaring them so much. You just wanted it to stop. You wanted not to he angry anymore

They tell you they understand, but you know they don't. Not really. They can't unless they've felt the way you have

Baby falls asleep on all the siblings. Even Roman will let them get away with it, but no one else. You snuggle into them and have the best sleep of your life

"Quit moving."

"Don't use me as a pillow, then."

You get away with (mostly) everything because you're their baby and they love you so much. They love you so much it's gross

Connor still prides himself on the way he raised you. There were bumps in the road, but you ended up perfect. Absolutely perfect

They all pride themselves on how they raised you. It wasn't always good, they weren't always there, but they're making up for all that now. Logan is gone. Slowly they're breaking the cycle, for you and for them

Things will get better. You've hit rock bottom so many times and always found a way out. This is that. This is your out

[partyanimal167]

Never a Shortage- Miguel x F!Reader

I didn't forget this story idea! I was trying to clear some of my drafts, but this idea was nudging for a bit. Plus, I know it's going to take me a bit to develop it. I'm so excited to see where this goes and enjoy the sexy drama~

Poll Results Song Inspo

CW: SMUT, mdni, black fem reader in mind, Miguel variants, mild cussing, dirty talk, jealousy trope (not crazy toxic), praise kink, lowkey brat!reader x brat!miguel lol

It was always so good with Miguel. You knew what each other liked. Boundaries were respected. It helped with his grumpiness and for you to relax a bit. But Miguel hadn't learned to watch his mouth. And that was going to get him in trouble. A wakeup call was due.

You tried to be mindful of your strength as you held onto both the headboard and Miguel's head slurping at your core. You've gotten lost in the feeling of Miguel's skilled tongue on you before, and the financial cost wasn't cheap.

Your thighs tightened and stomach flexed as you continued to moan aloud. "Damn baby, damn baby! It feels so good," you panted loudly as Miguel grinned to himself.

It was always so good with him. He seemed to be able to tell that you were a bit on edge and was in a giving mood. He'd let you use him for whatever you'd want especially if you'd sing him praises loudly.

"Fuck," you gasped as your orgasm slammed into you suddenly. Your thighs immediately tightened as Miguel continued to lick and suck on both your hole and clit. You pulled at his hair which Miguel groaned before coming up for air.

A cocky remark was on the tip of his tongue before he was yanked up and met with your lips. He eagerly matched your enthusiasm and hummed as he remembered all that strength that was well-hidden.

"Did you like that kitten?" Miguel chuckled as he peppered your face with kisses.

You pouted. "Behave, Miguel."

A kiss and a chuckle. "I think you like it when I don't."

"I like it more when your mouth is occupied."

"Well then let me get to work then." He easily lifted your torso and slowly licked his tongue up from your hip bone to your collar.

Your body began to simmer once again and you sighed into that feeling. "Good boy."

~~~

You stretched your arms and let out a quiet groan as you released some of that built up tension. A day of dimension hopping was not the way you wanted to celebrate your latest victory against your city's 'villain of the year.' But if the wicked never rest, then neither do the heroes. So you continued with your Spider Society work at least comfortable knowing that things were good back home.

But you needed some rest.

So soon you found yourself in a hot bath with candles around and your mind floating away.

The water soothed your muscles, and you wanted to melt into the feeling. It was nice being super strong and durable, but you still wanted soft, gentle moments. You enjoyed the sweet scents from your body wash and notes from the lofi in the background. Things had been good for you recently to be honest--even with the chaos of fighting evil.

There was some more stability in the multi-verse, and you were trusted to check in with different dimensions--even before your little arrangement with one Miguel O'Hara.

It made you laugh because your random moment of boldness worked in your favor. Your mind had just been running, and when you caught O'Hara at the Society's pool party, the words 'Holy shit' found their way out. Miguel simply raised a brow and ask if you saw something you liked. Cliche? Yes, but he is a nerd so. Your boldness popped out when you followed up by saying you wanted to see more. And well...mix tequila and reggaeton and inhibitions tend to lower.

So somehow hot, steamy sex was incorporated into your busy schedule and who could complain really? You weren't necessarily looking for more. There was too much baggage you carried and didn't want to deal with. It seemed the same with Miguel. Either way, it was all easy-peasy going.

You continued to soak when the door to the bathroom slid open causing the candles to flicker a bit more. You kept your back facing away as there was only one person really who would be so bold to interrupt your quiet time like this. But it wasn't unwelcomed either.

Miguel groaned as he stepped into the hot water and filled in what space was left in the tub. He leaned over to peck your cheek. "I haven't seen you in awhile." he mumbled before pulling you into his lap.

You giggled as you sat back and played with the bubbles. "I just saw you like 5 hours ago when you were sending the team out."

"Yeah, but that was for work. I mean my little princessa." Miguel corrected. He certainly seemed in a 'good' mood.

You hummed to yourself as you started to lather up your loofah. "Busy saving the world back home: getting people away from falling cars, dismantling complicated weapons. I'm sure you heard about it." You went on nonchalantly. But Miguel knew the truth. You may not have been the most scientific nerdy Spider, but you were still too smart for your own good. He doubted much could actually give you trouble. That's why you were so reliable.

"Hmm, well let me get that for you," he reached for your loofah, but you reached it further. "Hey!"

"Ah ah, this is my relaxing time. Not sexy bath-fucking time. I want to stay clean." you argued and huffed.

"Aww don't be like that, mami. I know you're relaxing. You would have came to me otherwise if it was something else."

You paused mid-stroke and turned to look up at him. "What does that mean?"

Miguel held his hands up and shrugged. "Well you definitely seek me out when you want something, so I-,"

"You say that like it's meh to you," you shoot back.

"Definitely not, but I'm pretty sure I'm the favorite compared to whoever you're seeing." Miguel cockily replied. "And you do come by whenever I'm not too busy. Keeping tabs on me, hmm?"

You puffed your cheeks as you poked hard at his chest. "Don't act like I don't give it good to you either! I know some of things you like whispering in my ear. Just so you know, I certainly have options."

"Mmhm."

"What the hell was that? I'm serious!"

Miguel grinned and chuckled. "I'm sure you are, bebita. I like being the one you go to; that's all."

But his cockiness annoyed you for some reason. You were catch no matter where you were. And even if Miguel was too, he should certainly appreciate having you around to match his freak.

You didn't fight him off as he kissed up and down your neck or as he massaged the exact knots in your back. You liked it, wanted it. But a little idea was forming in your head, and you were beginning to plan exactly how you'd get your point across to that cocky Spider.

~~~

And we begin! I'm trying to think of who should be the first variant Reader goes after~ Maybe I'll do a poll and let you all decide

I'm excited to see how this fun little idea goes. Thanks so much for reading!

Taglist: @sukunash0e @jinnieminniemoon

[monsterfloofs]

The giggling and pitter-patter from a duet of small beings approach the door, eyes bright and expectations high:

"Trick or Treat" They chant.

(quick traditional inking for the special occasion <3 your verses are a delight to read in each reply AAA)

One last set of rascals, frollicking up the steps. With eyes bright and glittering. The porch is dim, the night perhaps at it's darkest. Candles long out, but oh? A small flicker, a stutter, to flame! To light! Fire surges forth from blacked wicks and the space is once again bright.

A cozy scene, with flickers of flame refracting in glassy windows. The door opens slowly and the lights dance from the small gust of air.

"Ah. It's you two." Says a voice beyond the threshhold. "I was wondering when you would arrive."

Out slinks a thin shadow, who stretches and yawns.

"What a night eh? It's come and gone so fast."

The shadowy figure pauses, head tilting up to stare breifly at the obscurred sky, wind whistling, rain plinking against the wooden stairs. The faint sound of wind chimes pling in the distance, a haunting melody that may be promising an on coming storm. His jagged smile twitched in amusement.

"But obviously you two aren't here for pondering." He whirls on his heels, retreating into the house before reappearing. He drops two bags of treats into the awaiting sack they hold up eagerly.

"Take them, it's either you do, or I find myself devouring it."

He makes a face wincing, "And I think I have had enough of that to last an eon."

He watches the two bound off the porch with their treasures. And once more, for one last time, the glassy door snaps tight.

Windy and Corny have recieved double the goodies since there are two of them! Lucky duckies!

Windy:

Shadows stride and ride the halls, you can see them slowly creeping up the walls.

You’ve received a digital shadow treat bag! This bag contains:

♡Dark Chocolate with Raspberry Filling

♡Black Candy Apple with Purple Sprinkles

♡Black Cherry Hard Candy

♡Blackberry Taffy

Corny:

Bones jingle and jangle with every jaunty step, parading down dark streets with ghoulish pep.

You’ve received a digital skeleton treat bag! This bag contains:

♡Bone Shaped Sweet and Sour Candy

♡Skull shaped Chocolate

♡Skeleton Sugar Cookies

♡Gummy Organs

Enjoy trading and noming on your spoils! The illustration you made of them is so dear!! I love it so much!! ; O ;

Happy Halloween!!

[darkhorse-javert]

Little sparks of light.

@flashfictionfridayofficial

Yes, I know this is far far too early, please blame the prompt, and my fond memories of "Carols by Candlelight"s past.

A/N I have no idea whether any of the Hastings Churches managed a "Carols by Candlelight" or Candles at Minight mass during the war. But I liked this idea, so forgive me

It's a risk, goodness knows how much of a risk. But surely it's worth it. People come, arriving not in a column but in dribs and drabs, until the church pews are full shoulder to shoulder. It's so dark, somehow they've actually managed to at least partly blackout the great gothic windows. Rustlings, hands dip into pockets, coming out holding small sticks that glint pale in the weak light, every one of them. Every single one. Somewhere in the church there's the click of a lighter, then another on the other side. A gradual bloom of soft light, comes behind them

“Once in Royal David's City…”

It's a single voice rising along the aisle from west to east and up to the rafters, sweet and pure. A girl's, but none the less beautiful. Someone taps his shoulder and gently turns to the offered candle, lighting the wick of the one he carries, offering the flame to Sam's in turn, as surplice bodies follow the singer up the nave with quiet feet. 

The ripple of light - spark by spark by spark - reaches the front of the church, where the vicar adds his own candle, lights the two on the alter  as the choir files into their places,still matching his pace to the soloist singing. Thern er turns to face them sweeping his arms wide, raising them  and bringing them down as the organist struck up the notes of the second verse.

A/N 2 "Once in Royal David City" is one of the traditional leading carols of a carol service, with the first verse sung solo. The other one used is often "Oh little town of Beathlehem."

[littlelostmabari]

Day 22: Templar

Characters: Carver Hawke, Cullen Rutherford

Word Count: 1k

CW: Lyrium, initiation, brief references to bodily fluids

A/N: Carver and Bethany are alive in One of the Good Ones, Carver joined when Bethany was taken. I wanted to explore what his vigil might have been like, knowing how much rage Carver had in Kirkwall.

The candle was quickly burning out, but he wasn't quite through this recitation of Transfigurations. A lay brother or sister, dressed in dark and nondescript clothes as not to distract his eyes slid into the room behind him to replace it. They murmured a small prayer as the flame flit from the melted one to the fresh wick.

My Maker, know my heart: Take from me a life of sorrow. Lift me from a world of pain. Judge me worthy of Your endless pride.

It was the sixth time he'd repeated this verse, because it was the only one he could reliably remember. The others took longer to recall, which meant his mind seemed to wander away from the candle to topics that this vigil was meant to wash from him. Instead, his lips moved over words the same words he had been praying since he was a child.

A memory burbled up. He tried to let the fire burn it away, focusing on the first droplet of wax as it dribbled down the side and solidified a third of the way down it's length. Unfortunately it grew and grew and grew until he could feel the warm breeze across his face and heard the laughter of his sisters as his father chased them around the great tree in front of their house pretending to be a monster. He palmed the wooden sword in his hand, and pointed it at his father and crowed a warning with a grin on his face. His father turned and mimicked a wound, falling to the ground and moving only when the children piled on top.

His mother called his name, and when he turned and saw her silver hair and the wrinkles at the edge of her eyes and it was sandstone behind her instead of wood and the great tree and the grasses of the place that used to be their home… Then he was in the stone and plaster room where his vigil took place, and he had been distracted from the candle and Transfigurations. "My… My Creator…"

My Creator, judge me whole: Find me well within Your grace. Touch me with fire that I be cleansed. Tell me I have sung to Your approval.

His sister, younger than him by an hour, wrapped her arms around his shoulders and told him it would all be okay as the candle passed the quarter mark. She held him as he watched the men in steel and red cloth take her by the elbow and force her to her knees. She held him as he watched them squeeze her fate around her wrists as chains of lyrium, and she held him as she did not cry like their mother did and like he desperately tried not to.

Their mother cried harder when he packed a bag of only the essentials and screeched at her that he would never let his family be alone in that Circle. He cursed at his older sister as she arrived just in time from her adventures to see their family torn apart and permanently affixed to the city she had brought them to. He spat that she had made her choice when she chose that dwarf instead of her family.

The rage of that memory was too fresh, it built in him until he was burning with the same fire that he had wished on his older sibling, and suddenly it was gone in a wash of purged magic. He seized, breath shoved out of his lungs as they were crushed against his spine with the strength of the Maker and his Light.

He had not eaten in twenty-four hours, so the contents that he spit up onto the stone floor at the base of Andraste's feet was nothing but bile and acid. He coughed through it, shaking and digging his fingertips into the carpet under his knees. When he finally felt strong enough to sit up, he looked up into the eyes of the Knight-Captain who stood over him with his lips pursed into a tight line.

"The vigil is a delicate thing, recruit. During this moment, you are as susceptible to possession as a novice mage." The Knight-Captain stepped back into his watch position. "I do not know what drove you to such rage, but do not lose yourself to emotion again."

The recruit pressed himself back into a kneeling position, sitting back on his feet and ignoring the spot of his embarrassment and failure on the floor that he knew that lay-person would need to clean later.

O Maker, hear my cry: Seat me by Your side in death. Make me one within Your glory. And let the world once more see Your favor.

He did not know how much time passed between his indiscretion and the ungloved hand landing on his shoulder. He looked up into the face of the man who had watched him all day and all night, and his mind was so empty that he hardly recognized the face that had chastised him before.

A vial was pressed to his lips, and he drank.

The blue tasted of syrup and herbs and something that he could only describe as a blanket made of a sorrowful lullaby. It was thick and thin, blue and clear, sweet and bitter, and he knew in that moment that there was no life without it. It was the light that swallowed his entire world.

The Knight-Captain lowered the man in his care to the ground gently, and held him as he seized so his head would not strike against the cold stone. The boy's body shook and the scream it wanted to make was stifled into a groan. When he finally settled, the Knight-Captain lay his head on the carpet and rose to open the door.

"Ser Barnier. Ser De Mora. Take your new brother to the infirmary."

He watched the Knights take the boy out of the room with the gentleness they received at their vigil years ago. He glanced back at the room with its fourteen burnt out candles and the evidence of the grueling process of rending a soul from it's shell and preparing it for what came next.

"Welcome to the Order, Ser Hawke."

For You are the fire at the heart of the world, And comfort is only Yours to give.

[torvagatai]

Homing (Fic)

Fandom: Shadow and Bone (TV Series), Six of Crows

Pairing: Kaz Brekker/Inej Ghafa

Status: Completed (One-shot)

Summary: She hears him before she sees him. The window is closed, curtains drawn, but there’s a faint glow inside, like a guttering candle has been kept burning all throughout the night. Typical Kaz, she thinks. No rest for the wicked.

An imagining of show!verse Kaz and Inej's first reunion post-season 2, written for the @savesabshipweek prompt 'Reunited'.

Read on AO3

[cobblestonesummers]

I want bells to be hung on our door…

So that when people enter they can hear them jingle and smile. I want to have a kettle on when they come through. I want the kitchen to be messy, even though I’d just cleaned it, because I got carried away making dinner before they came. I want almost fresh flowers on the mantle, and for guests to study pictures on our walls. I want a piano in the corner that anyone can play, even if they don’t know how. I want autumn scented candles and orange garlands in our windows, and old books resting on our bookshelves. I want a fireplace for stockings and roasting marshmallows when the power goes out. I want a hook in the kitchen for my apron, and a teacup in the bedroom for my rings. I want blankets to be laid across the couches, I want to decorate with sentimental things.

I want you to take your coat off when you come inside, and hang it on the claw-footed coat hanger by the door. I want to see you from the kitchen and ask you how work was, for you to hold me from behind while I finish cooking. I want us to eat at the table and talk about our days and how much time we wasted and remember our mistakes and smile at them. I want us to get lost in conversation until the late night cups of tea and hot cocoa get cold. I want to sit and read together, quietly, while the wood-wick candles crackle on the table, and Beethoven plays from the speaker on the shelf. I want to settle into rhythms, habits, and beautiful things. I want to recognize your patterns, memorize your expressions, fully know and love them all. I want to hear your whispered prayers before you go to sleep, for us to pray together about everything. I want to sit in the kitchen on cold nights with you and talk about what we’re studying.

I want to have people over often. The newlyweds, the neighbors, old friends, new friends, our families, the quiet couple from church hoping to connect. I want to say “make yourself at home, would you like something to drink?” I want to listen to their stories and share some stories of our own. To laugh and cry and pray with them. I want us to be good hosts.

I want to have a hidden bottle of sparkling cider for when your birthday rolls around, for anniversaries, engagements, pregnancy announcements, or promotions. I want our home to be one of celebration.

I want our Bibles to be open on the table while we read together, and underline verses with pens from the junk drawer. I want plants in every window and journals on bedside tables, and letters kept in boxes under our bed.

I want us to watch movies on the weekends and have the ice cream from The freezer and for us to wash the dishes after dinner.

I want to dress up fancy for a night in, have dinner by candlelight, even if there’s not an occasion to celebrate.

But even if I have none of this. Even if it takes years to build it, you are the one I want to build it with. These pieces of perfection take time and such commitment, I’d be happy to commit to them with you. I may have little savings, but I’ve been practicing my baking, my citrus garland making, and I have a teacup we can use for my rings. I don’t have much in terms of money, but your letters already have a home in a little wooden box, our favorite books can fill an old shelf until we find a better one. Breakfast may be oats, and dinner may come from the freezer section, but so long as I have God, and you, and my crafted decorations, I’m confident we’ll make it to these pieces of perfection.

(Photo not mine, credit to owner)

[lost-ash-es]

freestyle

fucking lit

like a wick

on a candle

that gets lit

by my fucking lighter bic

and they calling me a dick

and i say

why

you saying lies

they say look me in the eyes

you speak these curses

like they're verses

but you dying all the time

not freestyle part

you talk like you're rough

but you ain't fucking tough

act strong

like you belong

drinking potion

from the ocean

you say its mystical

but you're getting critical

and this aint fucking cool

you're swimming in a pool

of your self made doubt

in water like a trout

but you cant fucking breathe

you don't have oxygen you heave

you saying you're sublime

drinking whiskey with the lime

and you're running out of time

dont even got another line

BUT LIL SQUID GOT BARS LIKE XANAX

MAKING THE WHOLE CROWD PANIC

THEY CALLING ME SATANIC

AND SAY IM FUCKING MANIC

PUT ME IN A STRAIGHT JACKET

LIKE I CANT FUCKING HACK IT

and i wish i could stop

but i cant till i drop

and they clean me up with a mop

until then

i'll hang with my friends

cuz my mind i cant bend

these thoughts i cant send

just waiting till the end

-ash

[regicide1997]

It's both linear and cyclical. It's cylindrical. It's a tube. A pipe. A barbershop pole. Endlessly cycling but always going forward; still, never getting anywhere.

I see the same patterns playing out in the lives of the people I hold dear, those same patterns playing out in my own life.

It's a song, and it's sung as a round. The verses overlap. "Sawtooth wave of history", like Margaret Killjoy said, but… why is it getting faster? Why is my part getting faster? Why is anyone's???

I have seen so much pain, and I don't even know the half of it. I don't want to know the rest of it, except so much as I can try to help heal it.

I don't know the half of it, but I can tell that if I don't do something to break the cycle, that pain will be all that I know.

Tapestries unwoven, the threads made into candle wicks to be burned at both ends…

[ts-wicked-wonders]

Why do we celebrate the winter solstice?

Let’s start with the science. The Winter Solstice is the point of the year at which the path of the sun in the sky is farthest south. Here in the Northern Hemisphere this occurs in December, between the 20th to the 23rd of the month. The sun travels the shortest path across the sky giving us the shortest day of the year with the least sunlight and subsequently, the longest night.

The hushed darkness of winter is at its deepest on the solstice, yet for thousands of years it has been celebrated as a promise of the brighter days ahead. The winter solstice is a tipping point, a moment of stillness when the balance of the seasonal scales will once again begin to tilt towards the light. Since long, long ago humans have been aware of this tipping point and celebrated the long night as a marker of new life and warmth returning.

These days we may find that Christmas celebrations become the focus of our attention around this time, there is usually so much to do and little time to rest when we find ourselves preparing for family visits, buying gifts and tackling the mighty food shop! But there is so much internal gold to be mined at this midwinter point, so much connection and grounding to be found in this quiet seasonal milestone, I think it’s well worth carving out some time for each year, if we can.

How to celebrate the Winter Solstice

3 simple ways to honour the shortest day

1. Light up the longest night

“In the Druidic tradition the name of this festival is “Alban Arthan”, Welsh for “Light of Winter”. According to an older and more poetic interpretation, the name is “Alban Arthuan”, meaning “Light of Arthur”. In this poetical image, Arthur is symbolized by the Sun. The Sun dies and is reborn, just as the mythical Arthur is sleeping deep inside a mountain and will wake up again when the people need his help.” Www.druidry.org

Of course I would choose candlelight for number one! Even the small act of striking a match and lighting a wick can be easily turned into a mindful ritual, an action which provides a minute of clarity within a busy day and one which takes us back to the present moment, even in a house full of noise, chaos and kids running wild!

Bringing light to the dark is a simple yet powerful acknowledgment of the seasonal shift and an invitation to take some time to consider what the winter solstice means and how we are feeling at this point in the year. Candles are symbolic of the returning of the light and have been used for many centuries past to focus our attention and create a sacred space.

Lighting a fire in the grate, or a bonfire in the garden is also a traditional way to mark this day. The ancient Norse would burn a Yule log in their celebration of the return of the sun at winter solstice. “Yule” came from the Norse word hweol, meaning wheel. This practice of burning a Yule log can also be found in many other countries and in the Pagan, Wiccan and Druid traditions too.

2. Reflect on the year gone by

The solstice and equinox points give us quarter milestones in the year to reflect and reset. This has been a year of huge upheaval, emotion and uncertainty so I know I am likely not alone in needing a little time to consider what this past year has changed in me and how I might use that knowledge in the next chapter ahead.

Winter is a time for stories, a time for hopes and dreams birthed from the darkness and given time to stretch and grow before they see the light of day. What story do you want to see come to life next year?

Journaling is a wonderful way to get down some of these thoughts and reflections on the winter solstice. Remember that journaling doesn’t have to look like pages and pages of thoughtful verse – you can choose to jot down a few key words which sum up your feelings, or if you are more visual person sketch out a spider diagram or mind map which pulls out your perceptions of what has passed and your hopes for what might be – use whatever method works for you.

“There is a reason why some of our most enduring holidays of mysticism occur during the cold months. Winter is a time when unseen energies steps forth out of the fog— when the above-ground world goes back to the roots and the hidden mysteries of spirit can bloom.” Asia Suler – One Willow Apothecaries

3. Find nourishment in your favourite winter comforts

Brew up your favourite seasonal tea or make a hot chocolate with the works. Find something which warms your body and feels like a small luxury and take it to a quiet part of the house, or over to your favourite window. Sit down and take the time to savour it. Letting our bodies be still and allowing our minds to wander doesn’t always feel easy, there is a temptation to constantly fill ourselves up with scrolling, doing chores, working, cleaning – anything to keep our minds occupied.

But the stillness of the winter solstice, and the call of the winter season in general, is an invitation to let ourselves drift. So try to give yourself a little time to do just that.

“Pause here. You are deep in the heart of the darkest nights. The world is hushed: The trees are dwelling in their roots, and the earth’s small creatures have gone to ground. Turn inward and listen to the stories of your deepest self.”- Maia Toll

http://www.Tswickedwonders.com

[conjuremanj]

Hoodoo Enemy Spell To Rid Of Bad Neighbors Coworkers.Etc.

When it comes to riding your self of a bad neighbor or coworker there are many ways like a Hot Foot powder. Hot Foot candle spell but this spell targets more then just the body but the mine and spirit.

But this isn't like a hot foot , it doesn't make them move. This applies pressure to they makes them think and whatever happens, happens.

First you will need to do is make sure you trim the wick down. Don't need a long wick.

When you use this spell you won't know how it will effect that person. But when it hits it will hit hard enough that he/she won't have time for you any more.

The set up. You will use stick candles.

You will need three black stick candles. These are bad luck candles and will be dressed in Crossing or Confusing oil.

Then three blue stick candles, This will bring on a confused state of mine. They are dressed in Confusing or Crossing oil.

The middle candle is your target. Blue for male and red for female. (That's why you see all the blue,) You can use figure candles as your target candle if you like, I do.

The top white candle is for you. It allows you to see all the things that is going to happen to your target. Dress your candle in ansestor oil or holy oil or altar oil. I use ansestor oil.

Should look like this.

Before you begin make sure your white candle is not in the way or in the line of fire.

I like to burn crossing incense (read my post on incense)

Now light the white candle first.

Next light ether the bad luck or confusion candles first. Then light the other three candles.

Last light the targets candle.

Read the 3rd Palms bible verse. (King James Version)

Let candles burn for 30 mins then blow out the flame.

This is a three day spell.

When you put out the candles do it in reverse making the white candle the last to go out.

Each day repeat the same process. When lighting and distinguishing the candle's. But each day you will move the bad luck candles and the confusion candles closer to the the targets candle. On the 3rd day it should make a H. letter.

[105nt]

When, like a running grave by Dylan Thomas

I'm reading this verse by verse, because it's so opaque to me.

When, like a running grave, time tracks you down,

When you get old, approach death, become decrepit? Or when you become aware of it for the first time?

My Reader's Guide to Dylan Thomas by William York Tindall takes quite a literal view, the poet is both chaste and chased ... the opening line "establishes a race track here" and is echoed in the "cinder path of the last stanza" (cinder being a material once used in running tracks.)

See link below for a more interesting take on this line, arising from the translation into German ... superating wounds, bleeding hearts and time staining or pickling ...

Tindall also sees this connection: " 'running' also means liquid corruption ... for Thomas, grave also meant womb, be is being pursued round his track by the idea of woman, agent of death."

Your calm and cuddled is a scythe of hairs,

(Is the "calm and cuddled" the object of the poet's love, or the poet himself, and could this refer to a change in his state - changing to ... what? A scythe could be a symbol for death/time passing again: but "a scythe of hair" could mean hair being scythed or a scythe made out of hair. Age might mean the poet's once luxurious head of hair being depleted - but it says "is" - so does he feel threatened by a scythe made from a thousand tiny blades which represents love, possibly in a time of aging as opposed to youth? Love as a hairshirt, a self-imposed mortification of the poet's flesh, or a device for cutting away such a garment and so feeling relief?

Hair is used elsewhere in his poetry ... "Where no wax is, the candle shows its hairs" in Light Breaks Where No Sun Shines, for example, where the wax of the candle seems to inhibit the poet's potential/potency, represented by the wick or the "hairs".)

Tindall says, "However 'calm and cuddled,' a girl (or a penis; for both seem intended here) is 'a scythe of hairs' like the scythe of Father Time ... This scythe, composed of hair, cuts hair off."

Love in her gear is slowly through the house,

I assumed "gear" did not mean clothing and "the house" not a building ... perhaps love moving at its own speed, creeping up on the poet when he does not want it?

However, Tindall again takes this more literally, "Love's 'gear' is both her finery and low gear or night-gear" ... he also refers to other poems where natural phenomena are mechanised, nerves are 'girdered', nature has a green 'fuse', does love proceed through changes of gear?

Up naked stairs, a turtle in a hearse,

(Climbing the stairs is possibly a metaphor for death. In Altarwise By Owl Light, life and death are represented by Adam and Abbadon, two parts of a ladder: "Child of the short spark in a shapeless country / Soon sets alight a long stick from the cradle; / The horizontal cross-bones of Abaddon, / You by the cavern over the black stairs, / Rung bone and blade, the verticals of Adam, / And, manned by midnight, Jacob to the stars."

The sea in Dylan Thomas is the place where life comes from - the womb ... a turtle would be an inhabitant of the sea - a foetus? - in a hearse because all things that live have to die. Going back to "Love" moving slowly through the house - perhaps he is suggesting that sexual desire, in the aging, is as unlooked for as the death of a child not yet born.)

Hauled to the dome,

(The dome might be the skull, home of the thinking parts of the body, or heaven, where the poet might be heading after death. In Before I knocked, the conception of Jesus is described in terms of hammers falling from a dome: "Felt thud 'beneath my flesh's armor / As yet was in molten form, / The leaden stars, the rainy hammer / Swung by my father from his dome.")