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thecrownedbeastarchive · 5 years

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Unholy (Priest!Michael LangdonxReader)

Author’s note: This was a Millory fanfic I wrote a few months back. I edited it to be a Michael LangdonxReader fanfic. I thought you all would enjoy it! More fanfic to come thanks to your requests. 💜

Warnings: public masturbation, blasphemy, domination, bondage, nsfw

You were a faithful churchgoer. From your first breaths to now, your parents had instilled in you a sense of dutiful religion. The first thing you’d done after moving away from home was find a local church; and you found a perfect one in The Cathedral of Our Lady of Purity. The congregation was warm and welcoming, you felt at home instantly. The church leaders were devoted men of God, upright and holy. You believed they were the perfect shepherds to your soul. All except for one. A tall, young priest by the name of Father Michael Langdon.

Your trepidation had no basis in outward appearance. He was by all accounts a calm, disciplined man who took great care for the disenfranchised and delivered the most impassioned sermons you’d ever sat under. He was charismatic, helpful, walking in a regal dignity one expects of a representative of Christ. Perhaps it was his looks that so unnerved you. Often when looking upon him at the altar, you would compare him to the stone and stained glass angels encompassing the sanctuary. His golden hair would glow from the streaming sunlight, casting a halo around his head. His face was artwork, not one feature ill placed or imperfect. His eyes were blue as the heavens, and could hold you fast in your place like a command from God himself. His lips…You shook your thoughts away. Father Langdon had plagued your mind for three months. You would scold yourself, commanding your body to free itself from carnal desires; but the image of his mouth, his body, his manhood hidden under black trousers you wanted to see free and throbbing-Oh God! This was your reason for going to confession today. You’d been neglecting it, but now you knew you couldn’t give allowance to your sins any longer. The Cathedral was as grand and opulent as any; white columns, golden holy imagery welcoming the searching soul. There was a smattering of people, elderly men and women praying, some deacons milling about. The left door of the confession booth opened and a middle aged man stepped out, tipping his hat as he passed you. You entered the booth, making the sign of the cross upon sitting down, and took a deep breath, “Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. It has been 3 months since my last confession.”

Your blood chilled when a familiar dulcet voice came from the other side, “I would have pegged you for more of a faithful confessor than that, (Y/N),” the voice chuckled.

Your legs tensed as you instinctively fidgeted with the hem of your skirt, “Father Langdon…”

The lattice of the window separating you still allowed the general shape of his blond locks to peek through, “I’m sorry, I know that’s not an appropriate thing for a priest to say at confession. I just hate how formal this has to be. I consider us friends, (Y/N),” his voice inexplicably dropped to just above a whisper, “Don’t you?”

You swallowed, your chest thumping, “Yes, but would a friendship at all impede this sacrament?”

His silence made you clarify, “I mean, for there to be bias on both sides.”

He hummed, a vibration that made your breath catch, “As iron sharpens iron, so one man sharpens another. There is no one better to confess to than a friend.”

The booth was suddenly cramped, musty. Your throat dry like a desert.

“The Lord has also given me a unique talent,” he continued, “an ability to discern the darkness of human souls. Those hidden sins, forbidden lusts that wake them late at night,” his tone was penetrative, “cause them to writhe upon their bed. I can unravel their mysteries and bring them to the light.”

You closed your legs even tighter, desperately ignoring the pulse between them, “I don’t have any dark places.”

“None?” He played with every word like a cat with its prey, “If we say we have not sin, we are a liar and the truth is not in us.”

You cleared your throat, the heat beneath your skirt begging for attention, “I meant, of course I have a sinful nature, but I simply don’t possess as deep a dark place as you speak of,” you dug your nails into your thigh, “I’ve never been one to contemplate on sinful things.”

A tense silence hung in the booth before he spoke, “I can sense that in you, (Y/N),” he finally said, “A purity of heart. Yet surely you didn’t come to confession to brag about your own holiness.”

Your voice trembled, barely leaving your mouth, “Of course not.”

His smile was dripping off his tone, “What is thy sin?”

You closed your eyes, imagining it were any other priest, pushing through with gritted teeth, “I have been assaulted by the Devil in more…potent ways than ever.”

“Are these the Devil’s sins, then?” He interrupted.

You paused, caught off guard, “No, Father, they are mine.”

“Then claim them, (Y/N),” his voice was a whisper, cajoling, tender, “Tell me that you have committed sins…and have taken great pleasure in them.”

Your mind felt hazy, “I have allowed my mind to be filled with perverted fantasies against a fellow Christian.”

“How often, my child, have you dwelt on these fantasies?”

If you didn’t know any better, you’d say his tone was…desperate, “Months. I have welcomed sin into my heart and mind, and have let my imagination run wild.”

“Where does it run to, (Y/N)?”

“Lusts of the flesh,” you dodged coyly, “unbecoming to a young woman of faith.”

“Speak them,” he commanded.

You nearly jumped at the sudden change, “Father Langdon?”

“Tell me of your lusts,” he demanded again.

Your voice was so tiny, your heart leaped into your throat, “I don’t think-“

“Sin can only be absolved once it is fully confessed, (Y/N),” you heard him moving, his form leaning closer to the window, “Tell me of your desires. This fellow Christian, as you call them, what do you think of them doing when your imagination takes hold? Are their lips upon yours? Delighting in the sweetness of your mouth with a chaste kiss? Or are they hungry? Ravenous as their tongue dances over yours? Do they bite your lips, drawing beads of blood before licking them clean?”

Your core throbbed at his words. Your mouth hung agape, shallow breaths escaping.

“Are you naked?” Even the way he spoke the word was sinful, “Have your clothes been discarded on the floor in a heap, leaving your sensitive, aching pussy exposed to their lustful eyes?”

Every inch of your flesh was hot and riddled with goosebumps. Not simply from what he said, but how it was as if he’d plucked your own thoughts from your mind and was reading them aloud.

“Are you against the wall?” He stifled a little moan, “On your knees? Spread out on silk sheets, a delicious morsel all for the taking, for devouring? Tell me, (Y/N),” it was like his voice was right next to your ear, “tell me everything that’s in that slutty imagination of yours. Confess every sinful perversion you’ve dreamt about committing,” he chuckled darkly, “the ones you long to have committed against you.”

Your fingers slipped under your panties as if of their own will. You massaged your pulsing clit, your folds already wet with desire.

He continued in agonizing detail, his cadence falling into a steady rhythm to which you pumped two fingers in and out of yourself, biting your lip to detain your ardent whimpers.

“Do you feel their teeth on your soft skin, greedy fingers toying with your hard nipples? Where is their tongue? Is it licking your wetness, spreading it over your lips, or teasing your needy slit? Are their lips gently wrapping around your clit and sucking? Can you hear,” he paused on each word, tasting them, “the slick…wet…sounds? The growling need as they gorge themselves on your perfect, sweet, delectable cunt?”

Hot shame flooded you, but you kept going…faster, harder. What would those poor congregants think if they knew you were making such a filthy scene for the priest?And yet that made your desire grow.

“Can you feel them slide up your body, their hard cock pressing against your soaked thighs? Can you taste yourself on their lips? Do you taste good, (Y/N)?”

An obscene noise almost freed itself from your throat, but you placed a hand over your mouth.

“Do you wrap your legs around their waist like an eager little slut? Are you begging, whining to have them slam their thick, throbbing cock into your pussy over and over again until you cum all over it, screaming?”

His voice was thick with need, “Do you feel yourself stretching around them, taking in every inch? Do you like being filled?” He paused, “Answer me, little lamb.”

Barely trusting your own voice, you whispered, “Yes, Father Langdon.”

You could hear the satisfied grin behind his words, “Do you want to be fucked aggressively? Do you want me to use you as my plaything, my own personal whore to pound my cock into? Do you want to please me?”

You felt yourself climbing towards the edge, “Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

You sounded so pathetic, “Father Langdon,”

He changed pace, as if sensing your closeness; gently guiding you towards your orgasm, “How about I take you slowly? Whisper blasphemies in your ear while I slip in and out of your yearning pussy? Tell you how you feel like Heaven around my dick. Worship you like an idol, sweet hymns escaping my throat in my moans because you feel so fucking good. My ultimate praise spilling out inside you, anointing you as mine.”

The word was like a signal, releasing your tension as you rode the high. As you came down, your breathing slowed, and your mind gained back enough sense to panic over whether or not anyone outside had heard.

“Does that sound like your fantasies, (Y/N)?” He sounded so casual now, returned to his calm, disciplined self.

“Yes, Father Langdon,” you muttered breathlessly.

“Are you sated?”

You removed your fingers from your panties, quickly searching your bag for a tissue to wipe them on, your face painted red, “For the moment, yet they seem stronger than ever.”

He laughed, “Such is the nature of man. Perhaps we could discuss your sins in further detail at a later time.”

You froze at the implication, and scorned how it made a new wave of excitement crash over you.

“Find a way to…absolve them in a more tangible way.”

You sniffled, “Yes, Father Langdon.”

There was a knowing, excited lilt to his voice, “Peace be with you, (Y/N).”

“And with you also,” you returned quickly, stepping outside the booth and trying to hurry outside in the most inconspicuous way possible. Perhaps it was your own anxiety, but you were sure a few squinting glares were thrown your way.

You had never felt more out of place than at Mass the following Sunday from your sinful encounter at confession. Every utterance of holy Scripture burned on your tongue, the wine of communion soured in your stomach. Even your outfit, a draped white blouse and black skirt with heels felt more scandalous today despite wearing it hundreds of times before. you sat at the end of your usual pew, legs pressed together tightly and hands folded demurely in front of you. Your eyes darted everywhere, terrified that somehow the other congregants could read your mind; because all you could think about was Father Langdon’s dulcet voice as he uttered deliciously sinful words right inside the four walls of the holy of holies. Without a single touch, he’d ravaged you so completely. The hymns you sang erupted from constricted breath as you imagined him slipping his elegant fingers between your legs and bringing you to ungodly bliss. You felt hot to the touch beneath the glass stares of saints and angels. You were thankful another priest delivered the sermon today; grateful how utterly boring he was, how completely dispassionate. One of Langdon’s beautiful orations would have been a detriment to your ability to stay calm. When the service ended, you gathered your purse and hurried towards the exit, desperate to feel the chilly winter breeze.

“(Y/N)!” The voice stopped you in your tracks, “Always a pleasure to see you,” Langdon commented sincerely, walking up to you with his hand outstretched for a friendly greeting. You didn’t accept it, and words spilled out of your mouth hastily, “Father Langdon, I want to apologize for what happened at my confession. I should not have let myself give into temptation so eagerly, and in my sin I led you astray. I pray you can forgive me.”

He cocked his head, offering you a playful smile and sympathetic eyes, “Oh, (Y/N), there’s nothing to forgive.”

Your lips parted in surprise, “But…”

He motioned for you to walk with him a bit further away from the crowd, which you did reluctantly, “Human nature is such a fickle beast. If you tell it not to do something, it desires it all the more. The fruit never looked so appetizing until it was forbidden,” he looked at you, “Have you ever read Oscar Wilde, (Y/N)?”

You shook your head.

“Brilliant writer,” he stopped, your eyes meeting, “Perhaps my most favorite quote from him is, “The only way to get rid of temptation, is to yield to it.” I must confess that quote alone influences more of my theology than some parts of Scripture,” he admitted sheepishly before giving a wink, “But that can be our little secret.”

Heat bloomed in your chest, “I’m afraid I don’t really understand.”

He spoke with his hand, the member gliding gracefully through the air, “Consider what happened at your confession as an extreme form of penance. Getting the sin out of your system, freeing the mind,” he smiled, “As long as it is taboo, it dominates your mind, but when you are allowed expression, you dominate it.”

As irregular as it was, you took some comfort in the holy man’s explanation. Though, the ugly head of jealousy peeked through as you thought of anyone else being “helped” by him, “Has your extreme form of penance worked before?”

His eyes lazily rolled over your figure, smile turning impish, “Are you asking whether or not I’ve made other congregates cum like you?”

Hearing him say it aloud, even so intimately quiet, caused familiar panic to jolt through you; along with a sharp pang of desire.

“No,” he chuckled, “My methods would have me removed from the Church.”

Confused, you tucked your hair behind your ear, “Then why…?”

“Why you?” He finished for you, gazing at you with an admiring look, “You’re different, (Y/N). There’s an aura about you, I don’t see any pretense in your faith. You’re…genuine,” he stepped closer, sending a trail of goosebumps down your spine, “Hypocrisy is such a rampant plague among the faithful. In you I see the true image of God. Divinity given human hands.”

You blushed further, if it were possible, “I’ve never seen myself as anything special like that.”

He took your hand between his, the comforting warmth intoxicating, “Then you do your Creator a great disservice, for he made you with a crown upon your head,” he looked away for the first time, as if embarrassed, “And, well, I was also purging my own sins in that confessional.”

Your heart jumped, “I didn’t think you thought of me in that way.”

He laughed, low and gentle, “I’ve thought of you in every way, (Y/N).”

You had a flashing thought of him pinning you against the pew, but threw it away. “And if you are willing,” he continued, letting go of your hand, leaving a trace of abandonment, “I’d like to make good on my offer for us to discuss this in more detail.”

Your mind demanded you say no. What kind of woman were you to be alone with the priest you lusted over?

“How so?”

He held his hands behind him, “Are you free on Friday night by any chance?”

You knew it was the decent thing to say no, “Yes, I am.”

“How about dinner at around 6-6:30? I promise I’m just as good a cook as I am a preacher.”

You nodded, “That sounds great.”

He looked so pleased, “Wonderful, let me tell you my address.”

You stared at yourself in the mirror of your bathroom for an hour; your makeup, your dress, your hair, even practicing how you would say hello. “Good evening, Father,” you smiled at your reflection before shaking your head. Too formal. You gave a toothy grin, nearly bouncing on your heels, “Hi! Thanks for inviting me.” You groaned, cringing. Too peppy. You took in a deep breath and said pleasantly, “Hi, Father Langdon. Thank you for inviting me.” You sighed, frustrated with yourself, and shut off the light, heading into your room. You grabbed your purse and keys, taking one last glance in the mirror before leaving. You didn’t know what to expect his house to look like, but it didn’t come as a surprise as you pulled into the driveway. It was a modern Victorian home, painted black. A small garage sat adjacent to a set of stairs leading to the door underneath an archway. Three windows gazed over the garage in a semicircle overlook, the glass giving a peek inside. It wasn’t gaudy in any way, but it was most certainly gothic set against the starry sky. You locked your car and cautiously mounted the steps, ringing the silver button doorbell; a pleasant chime emanating from inside. After a few moments, the door opened; Father Langdon’s gracious tone welcoming you. “Hello, (Y/N).” He was everything you expected from the feet up, black boots and pants; but it shifted once your eyes drew up. He wore a black shirt, sleeves reaching to his wrists, a normal solid collar around his neck, but his shoulders and collar bones were exposed through mesh, stopping just above his chest. His smile was genuine, under eyes framed in black eyeshadow. He was a vision of something so feminine, yet radiating with power. You were hit with a bout of shock. A strange feeling formed in your chest, confusion, desire, fear all swirling together. You mumbled a hello under your breath. “I’m so glad to see you.” You managed a squeaky, “You too.” He stepped back, extending his arm, “Please come in.” You stepped inside the little parlor. Cylindrical lights hung from the ceiling, bathing the cream walls in a gentle hue; an ornate black staircase leading to the second floor. “You look beautiful,” he commented looking over your simple dress. You breathed for what felt like the first time since seeing him, “Thank you. You look…different.” He chuckled, “I like playing with expectations,” he quirked an eyebrow, “Do you like it?” You gulped, “I do, it looks…” you held yourself back from saying ‘sexy’, “Good.” He smirked, as if reading your thoughts, and invited you to the dining room. Dinner went by normally. You talked about life. How you were fairing in college, how your family was doing back home, etc. He never went into too much detail about himself, even when you would ask. He only told you that he had moved to the city after his ailing grandmother died and that he’d been a minister for five years. Nothing else, he was strangely guarded for how sociable you knew him to be at the Cathedral. Afterward, you’d moved to a small sitting room, where he poured two glasses of wine. He handed you the glass and settled into the leather chair, taking a sip, “So, tell me, if we may get down to business, pardon the expression,” he laughed, “what attracts you to me?” You stopped, your lips parted over the rim of your glass. He grinned sympathetically, “Come, there really is no point in being coy about it. And that is why we’re here,” he sipped before setting it on a small table next to him, “To exorcise your demons, so to speak.” You swallowed a too big gulp of the wine before nervously fingering the stem, “You’re…very attractive, charismatic, charming,” you glanced up at him, “you command a room.” He hummed, intertwining his fingers, “Have you often had attractions to authority figures in your life?” You thought of your youth minister back in 9th grade. He was a cute, recent seminary graduate; you became his favorite student to gain his attention. Guys your age just didn’t appeal to you all that much. “Some.” “Do you like being dominated?” He asked it so brazenly, it hit you like a slap to the face. You shrugged, stuttering, “I…I guess I have a proclivity to…follow the rules.” His voice became a commanding growl, his controlled expression never shifting, “That’s not what I asked.” Heavy heat settled between your legs at his tone; you yipped a response, like following an order, “I like the idea of it.” His hand rested under his chin, his eyes burning with curiosity, “Why? Is it being helpless?” You shook your head, your voice maintaining a tinny as you confessed, “Not helpless. Just the idea of being corrupted,” you looked him in the eyes, “Of an attractive older man taking an innocent and dirtying me up. Letting go of certain standards that keep me so rigid.” A low, pleased note rumbled behind his smirk, “Are you a virgin, (Y/N)?” You cleared your throat, “Technically I suppose, I’ve never been…penetrated.” your face was red, “I let one guy finger me, but it was kinda uncomfortable.” He tilted his head, waiting for you to explain. “Like, he was kinda rough and he sorta blamed me for not cumming.” That made his lip curl into a snarl, “What a stupid, useless boy.” Your pulse pounded in your ears, breathing becoming shallow. He remained a vision of calm confidence. He gripped both arms of his chair, leaning closer, something dark coloring his eyes, “What makes you wet?” A spear of cold shock and yearning pierced your core, “I’m sorry?” His smile grew, slightly shaking his head, as if at a young child’s antics. He leaned back, looking like a king on his throne, “What makes,” his tone was languid, “your gorgeous little pussy hungry for a big cock to pin you down and own you?” You released an audible gasp, your body trembling. You swallowed hard, “What you just said.” He nodded, “Dirty words. What else?” You felt entranced, his icy eyes stripping away your inhibitions, “Things that are forbidden, things that would make me seem like a whore.” “Hmmm…” He bit his lower lip, moving his hand; his fingers practically danced from his chest to just above his belt, “It’s quite forbidden for anyone, let alone a priest, to touch themselves while another looks on.” You watched his hand glide to his crotch, palming the growing bulge, licking your lips at his tiny groans of pleasure as he played; his knuckles were white, gripping the leather, “Do you like that?” You nodded, a bit too eagerly. He giggled, a breathy evil sound, “What’s the dirtiest thing you can think to do right now?” Your voice was thick, “Crawl on my hands and knees and grind on your cock.” He let out another chuckle as he bit his lip again, his hand palming the black fabric of his pants faster, needing more friction, “You naughty little sinner, wanting to seduce a man of the cloth like that,” he sneered, “Shame on you.” You set your glass on a counter, dropping to your knees and crawling to him slowly, your eyes wide and reverent. He held out his hand to beckon you, and you sat on his lap; releasing a choked moan as his bulge bucked against your wet slit through your panties. Your hips rocked slowly, earning you a needy groan from him; his hands grabbing your ass, “Oh, temptress, what man beset by you could resist?” He pulled you closer, making you move a little faster. His lips left wet kisses on your neck, your skin soft and flushed under the attention of his mouth. “The things I want to do to you,” he growled. His tongue licked a stripe from the curve of your neck to your ear, softly biting it, “Will you let me purge you, (Y/N)? Will you let me cleanse you of all these filthy lusts?” Your hands clutched his shirt, your head thrown back; you intended to grind out every frustrating urge he made you feel. Without warning, his hand was at your throat; gripping just tight enough to cause your eyes to be taken over by fear, then lust. “You’re such a pretty little lamb,” he muttered, his other hand sliding up your body to cup your breast, “straying from the flock of the faithful to play with the wolves,” he chuckled, rubbing his thumb over the now hardened nipple through the dress fabric, “Such a bad little saint. But you crave the wolf, don’t you?” His lips hovered just above yours, “You want to feel that wild, uncontrollable passion, you want to be left gasping, aching, the wolf’s fang marks left in your skin. So when your good shepherd finds you, you’ve been dirtied, defiled,” he tightened his grasp, “claimed.” You moved your hand to brush over his clothed cock. He wrenched you closer, your warm breath passing between your lips, “And even when you’re back safe and sound in your little pen, you’ll be thinking about the wolf and how fucking good he felt. Because no one has ever touched you like he did.” You looked like a frightened deer, doe eyes filled with desire. “Get on the floor.” You slipped off of him, your bare knees hitting the carpet. “Take out my cock,” he commanded. You undid his belt and pulled down his pants, freeing him. Hunger overtook you as you wrapped your lips around the head, sucking gently. He gasped, “Eager little slut.” You massaged his balls, taking more of him into your mouth. He groaned, fingers threading through your hair. You gripped his thighs, gagging as he hit the back of your throat. He moaned and began to roll his hips, fucking his cock in and out of your mouth. Drool poured down his shaft as you moaned gargled noises around his thickness. Tears pricked at your eyes as you pulled back, his dick making a wet pop as it exited your mouth; a strand of saliva still connecting your bottom lip to his head, now red and leaking. He caressed your cheek as you dragged your tongue over each ridge, lapping up his precum. “Come here,” his raspy voice demanded.

You propped yourself on his knees, your eyes falling to his full, beautiful lips. He tipped your chin with his forefinger, “Oh, would you like a kiss?”

You responded quietly, “Please?”

He cupped the back of your head, bringing your foreheads together, your lips centimeters apart, “How adorable, my little lamb,” he tugged a fistful of your hair, “Maybe once you’ve earned it.” His gaze focused on your glossy mouth, “Although,” he leaned in to graze your bottom lip with his tongue, “I’d love to taste your adoration for my big cock in your pretty mouth.” He pulled back with a tiny smirk, “But patience is a virtue.” He delivered a swift, hard slap to your ass, your tiny yelp making his cock jerk. “Follow me.” Father Langdon’s bedroom was as sleek and dark as the rest of his décor; but the two main attractions were the three overlook windows you had noticed outside, and the large bed draped in red silk sheets and a black leather bed frame; two decorative pikes on either side of the headboard. You couldn’t help but eye the bed with curiosity, finding that the priest hid darker undertones of his personality in his most intimate places. “Take off your dress,” he ordered. You nearly jumped, turning around to see him taking three red cords from a little black box. He paused, meeting your eyes when you hesitated. He smiled gently, raising an eyebrow, “Please?” You stripped slowly, letting the dress pool around your feet. He looked you over. “Oh, (Y/N),” he responded breathlessly, twirling the red ties between his graceful fingers, “Heaven couldn’t create a more perfect form.” You blushed, your thighs were slick with arousal as he beckoned you forward; laying the ties neatly over the box. His fingers lazily dragged down your bare stomach before slipping just inside your panties, “How about I relieve some of your tension while you strip off my clothes.” You bit your lip, starting to unbutton his shirt; your blood boiling in anticipation. He moaned as his finger slipped inside your heat, his fingertip lazily rubbing your clit in slow, wide circles. Your knees nearly buckled beneath you; desperate noises breathily rising from your throat. Your hips moved with his rhythm, slipping his shirt off to hang from his forearms. Your hands softly drifted over his toned chest and broad shoulders, nails digging in when his fingers explored your dripping core more enthusiastically. He growled impatiently, snatching his fingers away to remove his shirt. He slid down, wrapping his arms under your thighs; forcing you to hold onto him tightly as he carried you to the windows, pinning you against the middle pane. “I can see practically the whole neighborhood from this view, (Y/N),” he latched onto your neck, sucking and licking up to your ear, “Let’s give any nosy neighbors a show.” His fingers slipped your panties off, throwing them aside. The cold glass stung your bare skin, the scandalous nature of your position pouring hot, depraved passion into your veins. His thumb pressed into your clit with fast, flicking strokes while he moved two fingers in and out of you with unrelenting speed. “I’ve dreamt about this sexy, virgin pussy since I met you,” he groaned in your ear, “I’ve stroked this thick, hungry cock for you every. single. night,” he repositioned to get a better grip on your ass, “Sometimes I’d stare out from the pulpit and fantasize about sinking my throbbing dick into you right there at the altar,” he sighed out a dark chuckle, “Fucking you before God and everyone. Making vile worship pour from your lips and gush around me.” He snarled, curling his fingers inside you, “God, you make me so fucking hard.” You clung desperately, unable to keep up with him; his bulge shoved tightly back into his pants reaching to grind just outside your entrance. “You like knowing that, don’t you?” He angled his head to lift up your bra with his teeth, his tongue seeking to violate your hardened nipples, “You like knowing that while I’m up there preaching about purity and chastity,” he surrounded your nipple with his lips and sucked, making a filthy wet sound as he released it, “That all I can imagine is pounding your hot, horny little hole until I cum inside you.” You choked out a pathetic whine, “Michael, just fuck me already!” It was jarring how quickly he could stop. His eyes glared into yours, soaked fingers pulling out to roughly grasp your chin, “What did you call me?” Terror spread in your chest, “I-I-“ “No,” he pressed down on your bottom lip with his thumb, “I didn’t ask for an explanation,” his expression was aflame, “I asked what you just called me.” You trembled. “Say it.” “Michael,” you answered weakly. “Dear little lamb,” he shook his head disappointedly, “I show you an ounce of mercy, and you think you can use my name so casually, simply command me to do your bidding?” He leaned in, his whispered voice like a razor, “In this room, there is only one god; and he demands respect.” You gulped, “I’m sorry, Father Langdon.” “Oh no, you’ve lost that privilege,” he moved his hand to grip the nape of your neck, “You may call me sir, until I decide you’ve been good enough. Is that clear?” There was no hesitation, “Yes, sir.” He hummed, “Now, I’m a merciful god, my little saint,” he applied a tighter pressure, “but you’ll have to pay due penance if you want me to bury this thick cock in your cunt and save you from your greediness.” Your cold terror was melted, warm lust still coating his bulge. “Get on the bed and face the left.” He dropped you to your feet and watched you crawl onto the mattress, sitting perfectly still on your knees. He brought over one of the red cords, “Hold out your wrists.” You obeyed silently, and he tied you to the pike, not too tightly, but enough to remind you that you were at his mercy. He walked back around to the other side, taking his sweet time; making you wait, your humiliation exposed to Heaven and his eyes alone. You felt like you should be ashamed, insulted at how he debased you. But it only made the need in your pussy throb harder. The palm of his hand connected with your skin, the sting making your cry out in surprise as you tried to bite back a delighted smile. “Stick out that perfect ass.” You leaned over a little farther, presenting before him. You could feel the mattress buckle as he climbed up behind you, pulling your thighs closer and spreading your legs, one hand firmly on your ass, and the other stretched underneath to cup your breast. You barely had time to react to his warm palm on your skin before he dragged his tongue up the full length of your opening. You gasped, gripping at the cord. He lavished every inch of your needy, saturate flesh with long, deep stripes; devouring you viciously, your cries of pleasure riling him up. You heard the rustling of fabric as he slipped off his pants, fully freeing himself. You sighed as he rubbed his pulsing head up and down your slit, bathing it in your cum. “You taste delicious, my little lamb,” he slid his body over yours, his chest against your back; you barely restrained yourself from bucking against his hard cock pressed between your cheeks. “Are you sorry for taking my name in vain?” He nuzzled next to your ear. “Yes, sir,” you breathed. “Do you feel that hard dick?” He thrusted slightly, parting your cheeks further, “Do you want to feel like a really dirty whore?” Shakily, you answered, “Yes, sir.” His smile brushed against your neck, “Would you like it if I put my cock in your perfect ass?” Your mind reeled. It was filthy, wrong, sinful- “Yes, sir, please do that.” He kissed your shoulder, “Say it, (Y/N), we’re well past guarded language.” You almost screamed, begging him, “Please, sir, put your fucking cock in my ass.” He seemed to genuinely pause, taking in your words, before laughing, “Ask and ye shall receive.” He kissed down your spine, sitting up on his knees and positioning his cock right over you, taking fingers full of your juices and slathering them into your asshole, gently massaging it open. You braced yourself against the pike, already aching at the touch. You felt his soaked head stretching you out; you groaned, a slight burning sensation quickly replaced by delicious agony as he gently worked himself in, telling you how tight and perfect you were. He built up a slow, steady rhythm, which you took notice of with a pang of endearment. He wrapped his arm around your waist, using his other hand to caress your hair, “You’re being such a good girl,” he hummed, “such a good, filthy girl.” He pulled out slowly, your body feeling empty, less grounded to reality when he did. You felt the bed shift again as he stood to retrieve the two other ties. When he was in front of you, you looked up at him under innocent, submissive eyes, your lips red and swollen from your biting them so hard. He smiled, tucking messy, sweat-soaked hair behind your ear, “Come up here.” You furrowed your brows, but lifted yourself up to meet him. He pulled you close, breathing out, “You earned this.” He brought your lips together, oddly chaste; simply delighting in your kiss, the feel of your mouths meeting in a covenant of longing. He released the kiss, rubbing your cheek with his thumb, “Are you ready to cum?” You nodded, “Yes, sir.” “Michael,” he corrected, “I want you to be able to scream my name.” He untied your hands, “Lay on your back for me and stretch out your arms.” Once you had, he tied both wrists; one to each pike, and your ankles together flat against the bed so you were in the position of a crucifix. He straddled you, running his hands all over your body, “My beautiful, spotless lamb.” He parted your thighs once more, indulging in the way your tied legs kept you tightly around him as he entered you. It wasn’t long before he decided to forego the gentleness and began pounding into you against the bed, much to your relief. His cock slipped in and out at a frantic pace, the sound of your hips crashing together, wetness dripping between them, your skin slick with sweat and arousal. You were whining pathetically, wishing you could dig your nails into his back with each thrust hitting the exact perfect spot. He pulled your hair back to expose your neck, biting hard enough to puncture the skin. You cried out his name, like honey on your tongue, your breath catching in your throat, as you drenched his thick length. He lapped up the droplets of blood and around the forming bruise, moaning into the open wounds as your fluids soaked his mouth and cock. He hooked his arms under your legs as you fell back, gasping from your pleasure. “Look at me,” he snarled pounding harder, even faster strokes. You met his gaze, your eyes glassy and inundated with pleasure while his burned with dark lust; his chest and throat rumbled with deep, gravelly growls as he came. He roared like an animal, baring his teeth and sinking them into your neck once more. You squealed at the flash of pain, but welcomed his warm wet tongue soothing the abused skin. You moved your hips in tandem, slowly now, your slick heat mixing, each movement massaging it further into you. He took two fingers and gathered your cum, holding it front of you. “Open your mouth.” You obeyed and he spread his messy fingers over your tongue. “Hoc est enim corpus meum, this is my body,” he whispered before placing it on his own tongue and taking you in a passionate kiss. He pulled out, chest heaving deep breaths as he untied you. Your arms immediately wrapped around him, leaving reverent kisses on his skin; he did nothing to admonish your eager affection. You lay there exhausted, wordless. He finally gazed into your eyes, kissing your forehead. “I was right. You did feel like Heaven.”

#michael langdon #michael langdon x reader #michael langdon x fem!reader #ahs apocalypse #ahs apocalypse au #priest!michael

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tsaomengde · 5 years

Text

Tiny Viewing Guide to Star Trek: The Next Generation

Just found out one of my oldest friends, a huge sci fi guy, has never actually seen TNG, or indeed any Trek. He asked if I wouldn't mind writing a viewing guide. Not all that tiny, but the blurb for each episode is tiny. YMMV.

Encounter at Farpoint - Goofy but iconic, series premiere

The Naked Now - Bad but hilarious and a little important

Code of Honor - terrible racist horseshit

The Last Outpost - first time we meet the Ferengi, they're not impressive

Where No One Has Gone Before - interesting enough

Lonely Among Us - I have no memory of this place

Justice - terrible outfits, Wesley episode

The Battle - Picard episode, not terrible

Hide and Q - Riker-centric Q episode, not the best Q episode, not the worst

Haven - first time we meet Lwaxana, don't remember anything else

The Big Goodbye - first of many holodeck episodes, pretty good

Datalore - important!!!

Angel One - totally forgettable

11001001 - meh

Too Short a Season - weird, generally meh

When the Bough Breaks - Wesley episode, don't remember it much

Home Soil - no clue

Coming of Age - more Wesley (can you tell Gene Roddenberry liked the character?), but not bad

Heart of Glory - first time the Klingons get real character, important

The Arsenal of Freedom - automated weaponry is bad, mmkay

Symbiosis - nope, no idea

Skin of Evil - dark, nasty, generally unpleasant episode, important for character reasons

We'll Always Have Paris - genuinely do not remember this one but wiki says there's time travel and that's always fun

Conspiracy - real mixed feelings about this one, it's tense and interesting TV but not really good Trek and it has huge implications that are never revisited

The Neutral Zone - Romulans are reintroduced, pretty cool

The Child - pretty decent Troi episode

Where Silence Has Lease - interesting space puzzle episode sprinkled with Picard philosophizing

Elementary, Dear Data - first Sherlock!Data holodeck episode, excellent stuff

The Outrageous Okona - weeeaaaak, but kind of funny

Loud As A Whisper - cool deaf character, cringey late-80s implementation

The Schizoid Man - Data episode, good acting, cringey dialogue

Unnatural Selection - Pulaski-centric, and I dislike Pulaski so this is a pass for me

A Matter Of Honor - Riker serves on a Klingon warship, some good stuff

The Measure of A Man - Easily a top 10 Trek episode of all time

The Dauphin - Wesley has a crush, receives terrible romantic advice from entire crew

Contagion - interesting lethal archaeology

The Royale - love this episode, it's terrible and bad science but I love it

Time Squared - weird time-travel stuff, not one of the best

The Icarus Factor - lot of good character stuff, terrible future martial arts

Pen Pals - excellent Data episode, thoughts about the Prime Directive

Q Who - WATCH THIS ONE

Samaritan Snare - bad episode, funny moments

Up The Long Ladder - holy shit the Irish racism

Manhunt - Lwaxana Troi at her best, love it

The Emissary - Amazing Klingon stuff

Peak Performance - good episode, lots of fun character bits

Shades of Gray - TERRIBLE CLIP SHOW AVOID AVOID AVOID

Evolution - Wesley episode, not bad but not great

The Ensigns of Command - Mediocre Data episode

The Survivors - space puzzle episode, OK

Who Watches the Watchers - more prime directive stuff, mildly interesting

The Bonding - interesting stuff about grief

Booby Trap - another space puzzle, high stakes, cool payoff

The Enemy - Pretty good, Romulans

The Price - fun episode

The Vengeance Factor - ehhhhhhhh

The Defector - More Romulan stuff, is good

The Hunted - will 100% make you scream at how terrible security is in the future, not a bad ep though

The High Ground - ugh, just not great

Deja Q - good Q episode

A Matter of Perspective - let's use the holodeck to prove Riker couldn't have committed this crime!

The Offspring - WATCH THIS BUT BRING TISSUES

Sins of the Father - first of many Klingon Politics episodes, I love these with a fiery passion and my wife is bored to tears by them so YMMV

Allegiance - space puzzle, not a great one but not bad

Captain's Holiday - WATCH THIS, IS AMAZING

Tin Man - literally put me to sleep once

Hollow Pursuits - First of many Barclay episodes, my beautiful autistic space boi

The Most Toys - alright, worth one watch

Sarek - SO IMPORTANT WAAAAAAAAAATCH

Menage a Troi - bad episode, worth it for the payoff

Transfigurations - Jason Ironheart called, he knows he came after this episode chronologically but he was better

The Best of Both Worlds, Part 1 - YAAAS

The Best of Both Worlds, Part 2- YAAAAAAAAAAAAAS

Family - So important

Brothers - Very Important

Suddenly Human - meh

Remember Me - very interesting space puzzle, one of the Crusher episodes where she gets to be awesome

Legacy - not the most jaw-dropping ep but important

Reunion - KLINGON POLITICS YEEES

Future Imperfect - interesting enough

Final Mission - Wesley episode, not bad

The Loss - v. good Troi episode

Data's Day - fun, wholesome Data times

The Wounded - SO GOOD AND SO IMPORTANT

Devil's Due - I love this episode even if it's not that important or good

Clues - Awesome space puzzle

First Contact - eh? okay? sure?

Galaxy's Child - fine, whatever

Night Terrors - uuuuugh, no

Identity Crisis - this one scared the fuck out of me as a kid and may be responsible for my deep-seated body-transformation-horror triggers, now it's just kind of weird

The nth Degree - BARCLAY, LOVE HIM AND THIS EP

Qpid - YES SO GOOD

The Drumhead - This is Michael Dorn's favorite episode and it is worthy of the title

Half a Life - Lwaxana is great, the episode not as much

The Host - introduction of the Trill, kind of cringey almost 30 years later

The Mind's Eye - brainwashing stuff, meh

In Theory - Data tries to date, hilarities ensue

Redemption Part 1 - GIVE ME THE KLINGON POLITICS

Redemption Part 2 - MOOOOOOOOOORE

Darmok - One of my top 5 episodes in the series

Ensign Ro - so important, introduces the Bajorans and Ensign Ro

Silicon Avatar - important for Data, not a terribly interesting episode otherwise

Disaster - Troi gets to shine! cool episode

The Game - by far the worst Wesley episode. everyone is seduced into acting like a brainwashed idiot by a terrible space future video game. fuck this episode and everyone who wrote it but especially Brannon Braga.

Unification 1 - WATCH

Unification 2- THESE

A Matter of Time - So good, waaatch

New Ground - I am not a fan of Alexander but he is so important to Worf's growth, so... yeah

Hero Worship - more stuff about grief, eh

Violations - I don't remember this one that much but I do not think I enjoyed it

The Masterpiece Society - read the above description

Conundrum - amazing space puzzle episode. easily one of my favorites in the series

Power Play - meh

Ethics - very important, good Trek

The Outcast - THIS EPISODE COULD HAVE BEEN SO MUCH BETTER IF THE LOVE INTEREST WAS MALE. JONATHAN FRAKES PUSHED FOR A MALE ACTOR. watch it anyway

Cause and Effect - fun space puzzle, a little repetitive but totally solid

The First Duty - one of the best Picard Speeches ever, watch

Cost of Living - fun Lwaxana episode

The Perfect Mate - pretty meh but Famke Janssen is fun as Kamala

Imaginary Friend - so bored

I, Borg - INCREDIBLY IMPORTANT

The Next Phase - interesting episode about the afterlife

The Inner Light - THIS IS MY FAVORITE EPISODE OF THE ENTIRE SERIES AND I CRY EVERY TIME

Time's Arrow 1 - Such good time travel

Time's Arrow 2 - Such great Mark Twain

Realm of Fear - Yay more Barclay!

Man of the People - bad Troi episode

Relics - WAAAAAAAAAATCH

Schisms - space puzzle, kind of lame payoff due to effects limitations but the journey is worth it

True Q - By far the worst fucking Q episode ever written

Rascals - uuuuuuuugh. half the crew is regressed into children. Ferengi are involved. you are missing nothing.

A Fistful of Datas - amazing dumb holodeck episode, watch

The Quality of Life - boring episode, good message

Chain of Command 1 - So dark, so difficult, so totally riveting and important

Chain of Command 2 - See above

Ship in a Bottle - Sequel to Sherlock!Data, amazing

Aquiel - could have been written much better

Face of the Enemy - by far the best Troi episode, Marina Sirtis was incredibly happy when I told her it was one of my favorites

Tapestry - fantastic Q/Picard episode

Birthright 1 - Basically exists to set up DS9 but is pretty good and has important bits

Birthright 2 - See above

Starship Mine - DIE HARD ON THE ENTERPRISE

Lessons - Very important Picard episode

The Chase - amazing space puzzle episode, has one of my favorite one-off Klingon characters

Frame of Mind - is Riker's entire life a delusion he has created to mentally escape his imprisonment in a mental asylum? spoilers: no

Suspicions - Good mystery episode, Crusher gets to do stuff

Rightful Heir - Very important Worf episode, good Klingon stuff

Second Chances - uh, kind of bad, but it gets referenced later in DS9

Timescape - super interesting space puzzle, amazing character bits

Descent 1 - WAAATCH

Descent 2 - as above

Liaisons - okay. not great. not bad.

Interface - OK Geordi episode

Gambit 1 - Amazing stuff

Gambit 2 - More amazing stuff

Phantasms - Psychological horror? in my Data? it's more likely than you think. watch

Dark Page - one of the few Lwaxana episodes I don't love

Attached - great Picard/Crusher episode

Force of Nature - environmentalism! is! good!

Inheritance - important Data episode

Parallels - SUCH A GOOD WORF EPISODE

The Pegasus - very important Riker episode

Homeward - Interesting Worf and Prime Directive episode

Sub Rosa - so cringey and terrible, oh my God

Lower Decks - a fun change of pace from the main cast

Thine Own Self - I don't love it, but it is good character stuff

Masks - weird space puzzle episode, I love it but I wouldn't call it Great

Eye of the Beholder - space mystery, it's not fantastic

Genesis - look. this episode is not good. but it has amazing costumework by Michael Westmore. and has some great Picard/Data stuff. watch it.

Journey's End - super important stuff. sets up a lot of stuff for DS9 and VOY

Firstborn - Good Worf/Alexander episode

Bloodlines - More Ferengi stuff, kind of lame

Emergence - space puzzle, weird but interesting

Preemptive Strike - So so so so important

All Good Things... - it's the series finale. and some of the best Trek ever. obviously you're going to watch.

#star trek #the next generation #star trek the next generation #st:tng #tng #viewing guide #blurbs #ymmv

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wrathbites · 5 years

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Wicked game

A little Deckerstar random under the cut. A little bit of angst and a little bit of fluff, I think?

He likes his mattress soft, to cushion muscles overworked and weary from mad-dash scrambling and diving for cover and fighting dirty with humans when the detective is nearby, but not too soft. There needs to be something firm, some resistance to wipe away the lingering echoes of falling, pricking at memories he’d rather leave buried six feet under.

He likes his sheets of satin and silk. Cool, slippery, not at all like the flash fires of hell, the cruel bite of jagged chains round neck and wrists and ankles, the bruise of rock grinding deep into flesh and slaking its thirst with the blood of the damned, their screams ringing out like church bells in the night.

He likes his penthouse and its wide open spaces, its distinct lack of closed doors. Room to prowl and sprawl and spy every nook and cranny with his head on a swivel, ever aware of his domain and the smallest shift in its norm, danger a clarion call the moment the breeze shifts or the elevator pings.

Lucifer has his creature comforts, his needs, his desires, tucked close to his chest where no-one can see, hidden under ribald jokes and gleaming smiles and wandering eyes for days. No-one can know of the chinks in his armour, the gaps his wings cannot cover, the vulnerable core housed in the devil’s shell. No-one can know.

Except, perhaps, for the woman by his side, head stuck partway under the pillow doing absolutely nothing to quiet her snoring. She takes his defenses in hand and tears them all down with a single smile, reminds him what tenderness means in the sweep of her fingers over skin both unmarred and burnt. She looks at him without fear when he’s divine and human and damned, stretches up on her toes to kiss him without hesitation no matter the face staring back at her. She makes a mean waffle in the morning and threatens him with a spatula until he sits his pretty ass down and polishes off the entire plate. She spies the sock content of his underwear drawer and declares him, somewhat scandalised, a boring old fart, and takes it upon herself to replace half of it with an explosion of patterned colour he'll never admit to liking. And a half dozen fuzzy pairs to slide around his home in - something she does with an ease he finds highly suspicious. She plumps up his pillows and reorders his cushions and chucks one at his head when she discovers the stash of Disney movies he’s been accumulating since inspecting the spawn’s collection.

There is no hiding from Chloe now she knows the truth. He cannot deny her honesty on principle but even so... he will not deny her the honesty he prides himself on. No matter the question, situation, or verbal altercation. So why deny her himself, when it is he she chooses as partner?

A daunting prospect for certain, letting her tuck herself under all his protections and stretch herself along the bare bones of him, see him for all the imperfections cast upon him. But it's Chloe, and her version of perfect is the lack of it.

She stirs beside him, pillow thrown from the bed at speed as she flails her arms about and tugs uselessly at the wild nest her hair's become, bleary eyes fixing on him with an adorable scowl. Soft around the edges, just like her heart.

"You think too loudly, Lucifer."

"Pardon?"

"You think too loudly," she says again, one clumsy fingertip thunking him solidly on the forehead and it's a difficult thing indeed, to keep his eyes on her face rather than cross them in a futile effort to spy her finger's movement over the frown lines etched into his skin, "all those cogs turning. Woke me up."

"Are you sure it wasn't your snoring?"

"I do not snore!"

"Oh yes, you do."

"Do not!"

"Do too," he purrs, charmed by the indignant flare of colour in her cheeks as she rises amidst his sheets like a dragon shaking itself from slumber to survey its treasure trove and eat the foolish knight come to slay her.

He realises too late that his wings are still halfway corporeal, catches the mischief flirting about her smile too late as she lunges quick as a striking snake. Her fingers skate over ghostly feathers, warm and tingling and odd -

And Lucifer Morningstar bloody well does not yelp as the sensation skitters all the way to his spine and rockets up and down his nerves. He does not squirm under her teasing ways like a hooked fish. He does not gasp for breath between bouts of laughter and beg for mercy.

He doesn't... unless he's around Chloe.

The little witch knows it, too.

#Lucifer Morningstar #Chloe Decker #Lucifer fanfiction #Deckerstar fanfiction #Lucifer on netflix

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girlmeetsliv3 · 5 years

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Paradiso: Nine

There was a war going on inside your head - two sides violently fighting to decipher a way to get out your current situation. It all relied on one thing: to believe or not to believe the words Hoseok had spoken. Abused? Was I abused? I’m being abused, but was I? It was a difficult question because it all relied on one’s concept of trust. Trust was based on knowledge. There was one undeniable truth in your current situation: no matter what you chose, you were screwed either way. You knew Hobi’s behavior after last night, you knew what annoyed him, upset him, and made him fill so violently with wrath he no longer resembled a human being. That night where the two of you had opened seemingly been your truest selves it seemed like he gave you a peek at the inner workings of his mind, but now you know was all part of his plan to get you to blindly trust him. So, you knew him but only what he wanted, you to know and that lack of information could prove to be fatal.

The other man, the one the old you had loved, you knew nothing about; unless you counted his expressions. For you knew how his face looked when he was happy and how it looked when it was petrified – that expression would remain forever engrained in both his body and your mind. The man in the photo had seemed so content, the way you assumed only picturesque couples and actors on a screen could look. He had looked at you with an expression that screamed utter adoration and compassion. Despite, all this your dreams haunted you. For they were a message from your subconscious and you knew from first-hand experience how easily it came for some to pretend to be happy and in love when they weren’t. To look like angels when they were truly devils. It was an impossible decision, but not one that you necessarily had to make right now. Not when it wouldn’t really matter – since your captor was asleep and you were locked in.

His breathing was soft and even, it reminded you of how he had looked when he napped. Innocent and child-like, you felt guilty then for believing you were taking advantage of a naïve man. Truly it was you who was naïve. The longer you stared at him, the more like screaming you felt. All of the emotions bubbling up inside of you, desperate for a way to get out. Any way at all. The chances of you getting out were slim already, most victims never escaped their captors alive. The ones who did, it was because they held onto their past and had a strong belief system – you had neither. Having been laying on your side for so long was causing your back to hurt, never mind the constant stinging of your cheek where he had hit you. A bruise would definitely form if it hadn’t already. You shifted to be on your back and the slight movement it made caused Hoseok’s eyes to jump open and his hand to instinctively cling to yours. His eyes were accusatory, but within them, hidden there was something else there. “What are you doing?” His voice was hoarse and rough, clearly, he had been in deep sleep and you had disturbed that.

“I was just moving to lay on my back.” You whispered it softly, you had wanted to snap at him, but maybe that wasn’t the best course of action.

Hoseok pulled you into him, intertwining his long limbs with yours. Once again ensnaring you into him as if it was a silent warning not to try anything. You wouldn’t at least not for a while if Hoseok had misled you with the trust you would have to do the same. “Go back to bed, Jagi.” His voice was almost soothing as he combed your hair with his fingers, lightly tugging at the ends. You shook your head and tears began to fill your eyes; he was being so kind, and you didn’t really comprehend why. The confusion and trauma causing your emotions to be just as out of whack as your brain – which one would break first?

“I’ll tell you a bedtime story then. That should help you sleep.” He didn’t wait for a confirmation or he didn’t want one. Just continued.

“Once upon a time, there was a boy who loved too much. He desired so much of the world and truly sought to be the very best. That boy went through so much, but he always came out smiling. Still, despite this, he was very alone but one day in detention he made a friend. They were an odd pairing at first, but they made each other happy so no one really questioned it. Whenever one fell sick – the other would too – so as to ensure the other was never lonely. When one got into trouble the other did too, they were partners in crime and soul mates in a way; fully dependent on each other. This was okay when they were kids, for the world deemed it as innocent. But when they began to grow, that view became distorted.”

“You see all his friend ever wanted to do was take care of him – for he knew how fragile the boy was. He strived for perfection in every sense, but he could never achieve and unlike before when he would just shrug it off, now he began to take it to heart. The boy was breaking. He would still smile and laugh, he would still pretend to be sick whenever his friend was, but there was a point where he was no longer pretending; only no one could tell because his illness wasn’t one that had any physical symptoms you see. No matter how hard his friend tried to be there for him, he couldn’t be. Not without a derogatory statement or backhanded compliments being thrown their way. Society no longer saw them as naïve children and began to view everything they did as wrong. When it was never like that in the first place – the love they felt for each other was pure and intimate and beautiful. Eventually, in hopes to protect the boy his friend backed off. Hoping to defend him from the demons all around them. Not realizing that their friendship had been the only line of defense for the demon’s inside them.”

“They promised to reunite once Spring came and they did. Only it was at a grave. The boy had let all his imperfections and demons destroy him and had slit his wrists and drowned in the hatred and sadness he had allowed to consume him. Desperately longing for his friend to come and save him like he always did. He came too late.”

The tears that were streaming down your face where uncontrollable. “Hobi - ”

“This world seeks to taint any innocence it can get it hand’s on. It did it to him and it will do it to you. I can’t let that happen.”

Perhaps the saddest irony was that it had done it to him as well.

#bts #yandere #yanderebts #bts fanfic #angst #bts angst #dark #jeon hoseok #park jimin #fanfiction #kpop #btsau #jhope #jhope x reader #bts x reader

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codyfernaesthetic · 5 years

Text

Unholy

A Millory One-shot

Inspired by @mvllorylvngdon “The Smoke that Swirls”

Summary: Mallory can’t get the handsome Father Langdon out of her mind.

Warnings: smut, public masturbation, derogatory terms, harsh language, nsfw, priest!Michael

Mallory was a faithful churchgoer. From her first breaths to now, her parents had instilled in her a sense of dutiful religion. The first thing she’d done after moving away from home was find a local church. She found a perfect one in The Cathedral of Our Lady of Purity; the congregation was warm and welcoming, she felt at home instantly. The church leaders were devoted men of God, upright and holy. She believed they were the perfect shepherds to her soul.

All except for one. A tall, young priest by the name of Father Michael Langdon.

Her trepidation had no basis in outward appearance. He was by all accounts a calm, disciplined man who took great care for the disenfranchised and delivered the most impassioned sermons she’d ever sat under. He was charismatic, helpful, walking in a regal dignity one expects of a representative of Christ. Perhaps it was his looks that so unnerved her. Often when looking upon him at the altar, she would compare him to the stone and stained glass angels encompassing the sanctuary. His golden hair would glow from the streaming sunlight, casting a halo around his head. His face was pure, sculpted marble, not one feature ill placed or imperfect. His eyes were blue as the heavens, and could hold you fast in your place like a command from God himself. His lips...

She shook her thoughts away. Father Langdon had plagued her mind for three months. She would scold herself, commanding her body to free itself from carnal desires; but the image of his mouth, his body, his manhood hidden under black trousers she wanted to see free and throbbing-

Oh God!

This was her reason for going to confession today. She’d been neglecting it, but now she knew she couldn’t give allowance to her sins any longer.

The Cathedral was as grand and opulent as any, white columns, golden holy imagery welcoming the searching soul. There were a smattering of people, elderly men and women praying, some deacons milling about. The left door confession booth opened and a middle aged man stepped out, tipping his hat as he passed her. She entered the booth, making the sign of the cross upon sitting down, and took a deep breath, “Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. It has been 3 months since my last confession.”

Her blood chilled when a familiar dulcet voice came from the other side.

“I would have pegged you for more of a faithful confessor than that, Mallory,” the voice chuckled.

Her legs tensed as she instinctively fidgeted with the hem of her skirt, “Father Langdon...”

The lattice of the window separating them still allowed the general shape of his blond locks to peek through, “I’m sorry, I know that’s not an appropriate thing for a priest to say at confession. I just hate how formal this has to be. I consider us friends, Mallory,” his voice inexplicably dropped to just above a whisper, “Don’t you?”

She swallowed, her chest thumping, “Yes, but would a friendship at all impede this sacrament?”

His silence made her clarify, “I mean, for there to be bias on both sides.”

He hummed, a vibration that made her breath catch, “As iron sharpens iron, so one man sharpens another. There is no one better to confess to than a friend.”

The booth was suddenly cramped, musty. Her throat dry like a desert.

She closed her legs even tighter, desperately ignoring the pulse between them, “I don’t have any dark places.”

“None?” He played with every word like a cat with its prey, “If we say we have not sin, we are a liar and the truth is not in us.”

She cleared her throat, the heat beneath her skirt begging for attention, “I meant, of course I have a sinful nature, but I simply don’t possess as deep a dark place as you speak of,” she dug her nails into her thigh, “I’ve never been one to contemplate on sinful things.”

A tense silence hung between them.

“I can sense that in you, Mallory,” he finally said, “A purity of heart. Yet surely you didn’t come to confession to brag about your own holiness.”

Her voice trembled, barely leaving her mouth, “Of course not.”

She could practically feel the smile dripping off his tone, “What is thy sin?”

She closed her eyes, imagining it were any other priest, pushing through with gritted teeth, “I have been assaulted by the Devil in more...potent ways than ever.”

“Are these the Devil’s sins, then?” He interrupted.

She paused, caught off guard, “No, Father, they are mine.”

“Then claim them, Mallory,” his voice was a whisper, cajoling, tender, “Tell me that you have committed sins...and have taken great pleasure in them.”

Her mind felt hazy, “I have allowed my mind to be filled with perverted fantasies against a fellow Christian.”

“How often, my child, have you dwelt on these fantasies?”

If she isn’t know any better, she’d say his tone was...desperate.

“Months. I have welcomed sin into my heart and mind, and have let my imagination run wild.”

“Where does it run to, Mallory?”

“Lusts of the flesh,” she dodged coyly, “unbecoming to a young woman of faith.”

“Speak them,” he commanded.

She nearly jumped at the sudden change, “Father Langdon?”

“Tell me of your lusts,” he demanded again.

Her voice was so tiny, her heart leaped into her throat, “I don’t think-“

“Sin can only be absolved once it is fully confessed, Mallory,” she heard him moving, his form leaning closer to the window, “Tell me of your desires. This fellow Christian, as you call them, what do you think of them doing when your imagination takes hold? Are their lips upon yours? Delighting in the sweetness of your mouth with a chaste kiss? Or are they hungry? Ravenous as their tongue dances over yours? Do they bite your lips, drawing beads of blood before licking them clean?”

Her core throbbed at his words. Her mouth hung agape, shallow breaths escaping.

“Are you naked?” Even the way he spoke the word was sinful, “Have your clothes been discarded on the floor in a heap, leaving your sensitive, aching pussy exposed to their lustful eyes?”

Every inch of her flesh was hot and riddled with goosebumps. Not simply from what he said, but how it was as if he’d plucked her own thoughts from her mind and were reading them aloud.

“Are you against the wall?” He stifled a little moan, “On your knees? Spread out on silk sheets, a delicious morsel all for the taking, for devouring? Tell me, Mallory,” it was like his voice was right next to her ear, “tell me everything that’s in that slutty imagination of yours. Confess every sinful perversion you’ve dreamt about committing,” he chuckled darkly, “the ones you long to have committed against you.”

Her fingers slipped under her panties as if of their own will. She massaged her pulsing clit, her folds already wet with desire.

He continued in agonizing detail, his cadence falling into a steady rhythm to which she pumped two fingers in and out of herself, biting her lip to detain her ardent whimpers.

“Do you feel their teeth on your soft skin, greedy fingers toying with your hard nipples? Where is their tongue? Is it licking your wetness, spreading it over your lips, or teasing your needy slit? Are their lips gently wrapping around your clit and sucking? Can you hear,” he paused on each word, tasting them, “the slick...wet...sounds? The growling need as they gorge themselves on your perfect, sweet, delectable cunt?”

Hot shame flooded her, but she kept going...faster, harder. What would those poor congregants think if they knew she was making such a filthy scene for the priest?

And yet that made her desire grow.

“Can you feel them slide up your body, their hard cock pressing against your soaked thighs? Can you taste yourself on their lips? Do you taste good, Mallory?”

An obscene noise almost freed itself from her throat, but she placed her other hand over her mouth.

His voice was thick with need, “Do you feel yourself stretching around them, taking in every inch? Do you like being filled?” He paused, “Answer me, little lamb.”

Barely trusting her own voice, she whispered, “Yes, Father Langdon.”

She could hear the satisfied grin behind his words, “Do you want to be fucked aggressively? Do you want me to use you as my plaything, my own personal whore to pound my cock into? Do you want to please me?”

She felt herself climbing towards the edge, “Yes.

“Yes, what?”

She sounded so pathetic, “Father Langdon,”

He changed pace, as if sensing her closeness; gently guiding her towards her orgasm, “How about I take you slowly? Whisper blasphemies in your ear while I slip in and out of your yearning pussy? Tell you how you feel like Heaven around my dick. Worship you like an idol, sweet hymns escaping my throat in my moans because you feel so fucking good. My ultimate praise spilling out inside you, anointing you as mine.”

The word was like a signal, releasing her tension as she rode the high. As she came down, her breathing slowed, and her mind gained back enough sense to panic over whether or not anyone outside had heard.

“Does that sound like your fantasies, Mallory?”

He sounded so casual now, returned to his calm, disciplined self.

“Yes, Father Langdon,” she muttered breathlessly.

“Are they sated?”

She removed her fingers from her panties, quickly searching her bag for a tissue to wipe them on, her face painted red, “For the moment, yet they seem stronger than ever.”

He laughed, “Such is the nature of man. Perhaps we could discuss your sins in further detail at a later time.”

She froze at the implication, and scorned how it made a new wave of excitement crash over her.

“Find a way to...absolve them in a more tangible way.”

She sniffled, “Yes, Father Langdon.”

There was a knowing, excited lilt to his voice, “Peace be with you, Mallory.”

“And with you also,” she returned quickly, stepping outside the booth and trying to hurry outside in the most inconspicuous way possible. Perhaps it was her own anxiety, but she was sure a few squinting glares were thrown her way.

#michael langdon #mallory #millory #millory au #michael x mallory #ahs apocalypse #one shot #my writing

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thetravelerwrites · 6 years

Text

The Bargain: Prologue

Rating: Teen Relationships: Female Human x Male Demon/Elf Additional Tags: Arranged Marriage, Marriage, Demons, Elves, Princes, Princesses, Monster Boyfriend, Monster Husband Content Warnings: Blood Mention, Pregnancy, Babies Words: 5193

Based on "The Princes" series of shorts written by tumblr user @your-monster-romance, with her permission.

Read the Original Shorts Here: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4 The Following Chapters: Pallidus, Viribus, Genus, Gale (NSFW), Fawn (NSFW), Tyria (NSFW), Epilogue

Of the mistakes King Rodai had made during his reign, getting involved in another country’s war had proven to be the worst.

He had done it with noble intentions; he sought only to aid the neighboring king, who had been his close friend since childhood. He thought that his assistance would be limited to offering shelter to the refugees and sending weapons and food to the soldiers, but in time, more was asked of him. More food, more weapons. Soon it was money and resources. And then soldiers. By the end of the first year of his involvement, he had sent half of his wealth and most of his army, none of which had returned.

Five years on, and he had gone from a man rich in sons, power, and the love of his people, to a broken, despised widower king with only a small boy, Coll, to inherit a country crumbling beneath his feet. Rodai’s wife, after having lost four of her five sons to war, died herself of grief, and it was this loss that had finally pushed Rodai to act.

His childhood friend, the king he had sought to help, had been deposed and sent into exile mere weeks ago, and the conqueror who now sat in his throne had his sights set on Rodai’s kingdom, Suida. And it would fall. Gods knew, it would fall.

The only hope Rodai now had was to make a deal with the devil.

The vast Empire of Cavernae was said to be a fairy tale, something fit only as a campfire legend or bedtime story. No one really believed it even existed. It wasn’t even mentioned in history books anymore. Perhaps that was best.

But Rodai’s father, the previous king, had been a superstitious man of the Old Ways and taught his son in secret how to find this elusive kingdom. It would be difficult, he had said, since the entrance moved rather frequently to prevent unwanted visitors. Even then, finding it would cost you something. Blood, a year of your life, an eye, maybe.

It was worth it, Rodai believed. For his people, for his last living son, Rodai swore he would pay any price. An oath he would come to regret.

He had left his castle alone one night, slipping past his guards disguised as a horseman, and made his way into the forest at the foot of the Great Mountain with nothing but the clothes on his back and a bag with a few essentials. He did not bring jewels or money, since he no longer had either in his coffers. He could only hope that he might still possess something worth bartering, even if it was his own life.

After two days of sleepless searching, he found himself in a clearing. The winter woods around them were dark and cold and full of dead, lifeless trees, but this circle of meadow was lush and green under his boots, as though spring existed here in perpetuity.

This must be it, Rodai thought. It has to be.

Taking a knife from his bag, he put the point of it to his wrist and dug in, not deep enough to kill him but enough that a steady trickle of blood fell to the meadow floor, painting the green grass red at his feet.

“Hear me,” He said, hissing at the pain. “I seek an audience with the Demon King of Cavernae. I offer my blood, and whatever else he might wish, as a show of good faith. Open the way and let me pass.”

Vines snaked between his legs and around, creating a doorway behind him. He could still see the forest and meadow beyond it, but it wavered as though looking through imperfect glass. After wrapping his wrist with a spare sock from his bag, he stepped toward the gateway. Reaching out a cautious hand, he saw that his fingers disappeared as they crossed the threshold. Taking a long, slow breath, he stepped forward and into the barrier.

He did naught but close his eyes, but in the span it took him to blink, he had left the clearing and was standing at one end of a grand hallway.

Before him, walking toward him quickly, came two… men? No, these creatures he saw couldn’t possibly have been mortal men. They were demons, rightly enough. One had dark red skin like brick, the other bright red, like holly berries, both standing head and shoulders above him. They must have been guards; it was their stance that gave it away. They walked up to him and stopped, their eyes bore down at him quizzically.

“State your business,” One of the guards said, his voice was like two stones being rubbed together.

“I…” Rodai began. “I am King Rodai of Suida. I seek to parlay with your king. I apologize that I arrived unannounced, but the matter is urgent.”

“He has been expecting you,” The other replied, his voice much the same as his companion. “You’ve come very late. He is otherwise occupied at the moment. You must wait.”

“I will,” Rodai said. “I will wait as long as it takes.”

“Very well,” They turned and began to walk the hallway. “Follow.”

Rodai obeyed, and followed them to a very large sitting area just off the main hall. It was lavish and extravagant. The chairs and couches and footstools were made of fabrics and furs and leathers he’d never encountered before. He picked up and examined a wine decanter so fragile and delicate that he thought it may have been made of dragonfly wings.

“Why is it men wait so long to reach out for help?” He heard a voice ask. He spun on his heel and saw a woman standing at the doorway, holding a moving bundle in her arms.

She was unlike anything he’d yet seen, and he’d seen plenty at his age. She was blue, all varieties of blue. Her skin was pale celeste, her long hair crested scarab blue and faded down to white at the tips. Her eyes were a solid lapis hue all the way across. He was unable to discern where the irises and pupils were from where the white part should have been; it was all just one color. Even the thin dress she wore was sapphire in color, over which she wore a sheer white dressing gown of lace that seemed to have been woven from the dew on a spider’s web and trailed far behind her. She looked like a moving sculpture carved of glacier ice, dusted with snow. She even had a smattering of white freckles on her nose, as if she had indeed been standing outside in the snowfall.

Rodai collected himself and bowed, realizing this must be the dark emperor's queen. As he rose, he looked again at the bundle in her arms, and a small, waving grey fist popped out from between the cloth, grasping for her fingers. He felt a stab of pain at the sight, remembering a time not so long ago when his last son had been born, a time when he was still happy, his wife still lived, and his land was still whole.

“My Lady,” He said. “Thank you for allowing me passage into your land. I was not certain I would be accepted.”

“We’ve been waiting for you, Rodai of Suida,” She replied, her voice like the crack of a whip. “I must say, I’m surprised you waited so long to ask for our help. Would it not have been wiser to come sooner? Before your sons and wife were lost?”

Her words were like another knife through his heart. “Her Majesty is blunt.”

“This is not the time for tact,” She said shrewdly. “I am not without sympathy, King Rodai, but you have waited far too long. What you seek may no longer be within reach.”

“It has to be!” Rodai replied emphatically. “I’ll do anything, I’ll give anything. I just want my people and my son to be safe and well. I know it is much to ask, but your husband is a man of great power. Surely he can accomplish such a feat.”

“That is for him to decide,” She said. Her eyes darted and her head turned slightly, as though she were listening to something. “Come. You have been summoned.”

He followed her out of the receiving room and into an absolutely enormous great hall made entirely of black marble. At the other end was a long, wide stairway, and at the top was a throne sitting on a gold dais.

Sitting there was a man, straight-backed and imposing, peering down at Rodai. His eyes similar to that of his wife’s, but instead of solid blue, his were solid white. His skin was the color of the smoke from an oil fire, and he wore garments of black, red, and gold. From the nest of black curls on his head rose horns, long and twisting, shiny black near his head and fading to red near the points. He sat with his legs crossed, regarding Rodai thoughtfully, his hands resting on his knee. His demeanor was not arrogant or proud, but it was nonetheless commanding. Intimidating.

The Queen took the steps carefully and went to stand at her husband’s elbow, handing him the bundle as she did so. The Demon King cradled his child with one arm and rubbed his chin with the other, waiting.

Rodai bowed. “My Lord--” He began.

“Kneel,” The Demon King said, his deep voice reverberating around the massive chamber.

Rodai looked up. “Pardon?”

“I am Zinzo, King of the Dark Creatures, Lord over all Magic, and Emperor of the Night Sky Above and the Dark Cavern Below. You will kneel.”

Rodai hesitated. Kings did not kneel to other kings. Bowing was customary as a sign of equal power and mutual respect, but kneeling was a sign of inferiority, of weakness. To kneel before someone was to surrender to that person, and a king did not surrender to anyone. It was simply unheard of.

Well, Rodai thought. I may not be a king before long, as it stands.

Slowly, as he had never done this before and it felt most unnatural, Rodai took a knee before King Zinzo.

Zinzo smiled. It wasn’t comforting.

“You may rise,” He said. His voice reminded Rodai of a stone falling down a hill, rumbling and terror-inducing to anyone in its path. “I know of your plight, King of Suida. However, you have nothing now that is of any use to me. Therefore, it would not benefit me to help you.”

“I will give you anything, anything at all,” Rodai pleaded. “There must be something you need. Something I could do. I’ll work it off, if I have to. I’ll be your servant, I’ve give you every coin that comes into my hands, I will give you my life, if that’s what you want. Anything to save my people.” His eyes looked down and the sleeping baby in King Zinzo’s arms. “For my son, I will do anything. I would give anything. I swear to you.”

“Anything, you say?” Zinzo said in a curiously soft, slow voice. His smile widened, revealing very white, very sharp teeth. “Interesting.” He rose from his throne, keeping a tight grip of his infant, and walked slowly down the stairs. “I think I might just be able to work something out for you.”

“Thank you,” Rodai breathed in relief. “Thank you, my Lord. What recompense would you have from me?”

“Oh, nothing you have at the moment is of any interest to me. Perhaps one day, though, you may be able to repay me.”

“Yes, anything, just name it,” Rodai said.

Zinzo stopped in front of him. “Children.”

The blood drained from Rodai’s face in horror. “I’m sorry, My Lord, I don’t understand.

“I want children. Specifically, your children,” Zinzo clarified.

Rodai’s heart began to hammer in his chest. “Please, Your Majesty, please, my son is all I have left.”

Zinzo waved his hand impatiently. “Not the son, I have plenty of those.” He bounced the infant a little to emphasize his point. “I want daughters. My sons will need brides when they become men. It’s becoming harder to find women of nobility among the elves and fae that are not already interbred. I was fortunate to find Yuana,” Zinzo motioned his head to the blue lady standing beside the throne. “But there are few of our women left to which my sons are not already related. Seems the logical option is to begin marrying them off to humans, as inferior a species in magic as they may be. It would not be my first choice, but we are desperate men, are we not?”

Rodai was confused. “But I have no daughters.”

“Not yet,” Zinzo said with a sly grin. “But you are not an old man by any measure. Still young enough to find another wife and father more children. I only need three, though. Should you have any addition children, they will be yours to keep.”

Rodai blinked and watched Zinzo warily.

“Do we have a deal?” Zinzo asked him.

Three daughters? How would he achieve that? What if he didn’t? What if he never remarried or had a mistress? He had dearly loved his late wife and had no interest in remarrying. What if the daughters Zinzo requested never came to be? What would Zinzo do?

“Y…Yes,” Rodai said.

Zinzo stuck out a hand with abnormally long fingers, the tips of which were red, like his horns. “Very well,” He said. “Take my hand and the contract will be sealed.”

Slowly, carefully, as though expecting an attack, Rodai reached out his hand and clasped Zinzo’s.

All at once, there was a flash and he felt a push against his chest, which knocked him breathless and to the ground, and when he opened his eyes again, he was sitting on the ground of his bedroom back at his castle, wearing his evening clothes as though the trip through the forest had never taken place. Had he dreamed the whole thing? He hoped not. What of the deal he had made?

A banging on his bedroom door interrupted his spiraling thoughts and made him jump.

“My lord?” A guard called through the door. “Are you all right? It is midday and you have not come out. Shall I call a doctor?”

“No,” Rodai called weakly, looking out the window. It was indeed midday. “I’m fine, I will be out in a few moments.”

A fortnight later, an ambassador sent from the Conqueror King arrived at the castle to speak with King Rodai. Rodai was reluctant to receive him, but did so under heavy guard.

Once seated in Rodai’s private office, he said, “What business does the Conqueror King have, Ambassador Rook?”

The ambassador, an elderly man with a crown of wispy white hair, said, “My lord sends me with a message of peace.”

Rodai snorted. “I highly doubt that.”

“He has decided not to invade your country. In fact, he’s offering a trade deal with you. You would benefit greatly from this offer. Should you refuse, however, he will attack.”

Rodai was disgusted. Trade with the man that had killed his men and usurped his friend’s throne? Madness. But if he didn’t, the cost would be high.

“What are the conditions?” Rodai asked in exasperation. “I know there are conditions. He wouldn’t just decide to offer me a peace accord if there was nothing in it for him.”

“There is only one condition,” The ambassador said. “You must wed his daughter, Aralie.”

A chill shot up his spine and over his shoulders. “What?”

“You will wed Princess Aralie, and your progeny will rule both kingdoms, uniting them without conquering them.”

Zinzo’s unnerving smile crept into Rodai’s thoughts. “If I refuse?”

The ambassador shrugged. “Then you will be destroyed.”

The wedding took place nearly three months later. He met with the Conqueror King several times begrudgingly so that the contracts could be drawn up and signed. Never in all that time did Rodai ever meet his would-be bride. It seemed that would have to wait for the wedding day. Perhaps she was unattractive or deformed, something that made the king nervous about her future, which is why this was the only condition upon which he had insisted. It would make sense.

The day dawned, and Rodai dreaded every second that passed. It would be a morning ceremony so that all of the Conqueror’s ilk could party like maniacs for the remainder of the day. Disgustingly.

He stood at the altar with the Conqueror at his side, as if to make sure he stayed put. The princess was led in by her mother, wearing a simple gown of pale rose silk. Her features were neat but rather plain, not dowdy or deformed like he was expecting. Her hair was a pretty honey color and her eyes were steely grey, like her father’s. She also wasn’t as young as he expected, perhaps in her mid-to-late 20’s. He was grateful for that. He didn’t much like the idea of a child-bride.

She wasn’t the beauty his late wife had been, nor did she possess the strange etherealness of the Zinzo’s tall elven queen, but Rodai had to admit she was charming.

She smiled at him in an almost apologetic way as she approached. When she came to stand next to him at the altar in front of the priest, her father, the Conqueror, left them to stand with his wife. As he did so, Aralie leaned toward Rodai and said in a side-whisper: “Sorry.”

Rodai smiled a little and whispered back, “Me, too.”

It seemed his new wife had brought with her light and prosperity when he took her back to his land. The crops flourished, and with them came new wealth and livelihood for his subjects. Life was returning, and Rodai was grateful.

He found Aralie surprisingly easy to talk to. She was well-read and quite intelligent, and they had many interests in common. He confessed he was rather astonished that she was not already married at her age, and she admitted that her father had done a good enough job of scaring every available young man in all neighboring countries away from asking for her hand since she was old enough to marry, so it wasn’t so much a choice as it was lack of backbone on the gentlemens’ part. Rodai had to laugh at that.

They became friends very quickly, and though Rodai had committed himself to the two of them staying friends out of respect for his late wife, he couldn’t help thinking about Aralie more and more. He looked forward to talking to her each day, and he missed her company on any day when he didn’t see her. It wasn’t until nearly a year later, when she had gone to visit her father for a few weeks and he was left to pine for her, he realized he had come to love her.

He was still wary of getting too close. The promise he had made to Zinzo was at the back of his mind at all times. So he kept his distance and tried to ignore his feelings. What he didn’t count on was her feelings or her willingness to act on them.

One night, he heard the door to his sleeping quarters open and shut. Blinking groggily, he looked up to see Aralie in her sleep shift approaching with a candle.

“Aralie?” He asked, rubbing his eyes. “Are you all right? Is something the matter?”

She didn’t answer right away, instead putting the candlestick down on his bedside table and sitting on the edge of the bed, not looking at him. Her breathing was uneven and she appeared to be shaking.

“Aralie?” He reached for her shoulder, concerned. At his touch, she looked around at him.

“Rodai,” She began softly. “We’ve been married for some time now, and you’ve been a true gentleman, but I must ask: how do you feel towards me?”

Rodai was unable to answer her. He looked at her with sympathy and affection, but kept his jaw clenched shut.

At his silence, she lowered her eyes and looked away. “I know that our marriage was arranged for political reasons and that you may not feel anything for me beyond friendship, but I must confess I… I’ve become rather fond of you. I feel more than just friendship for you. So much more.”

Rodai’s heart rate hitched up. “Aralie…”

She stood before he could say more and pulled the shift she had been wearing over her head, revealing her body underneath. She let the garment fall to the floor and made to sit on her knees next to him on the bed, close but not touching. She was breathing rather fast. So was he. His hands twitched, longing to touch her, but he forced them still.

“If this is not what you want, if it’s a mistake, you need only say, and I will leave you in peace,” Aralie said, not meeting his eye. “But I… I had to know… if you wanted me as much as I want you.”

All he could do was look at her. The way her neck curved into her shoulder, the way her hair looked as it cascaded down her back, strands escaping to hang in front of her face. The pout of her lips, the shape of her eyes. The dusting of freckles across her breast. His hand moved to stroke her collarbone, and she looked at him with those wide, beautiful silvery eyes in surprise, lovely and excited and just a little bit terrified. How could he have ever thought her plain? She was perfect.

He couldn’t fight it anymore. More to the point, he didn’t want to fight it. He took her face in his hands and kissed her hard enough to wipe out any doubts she might have had about his feelings for her. He touched every inch of her body with every inch of his. He wanted her so much and he proved it. He proved it over and over again that night, and many nights after.

Happiness with her felt as natural as taking breath. It was effortless, easy. She could make him forget any trouble, any worry. And in time, he did forget. He forgot all the hardships he had faced during the war, and so did his people. She had breathed new life into him, and he in turn breathed new life into his land. With her, everything was good, and right, and just. The world was exactly as it should be.

And he forgot.

Their first child was born on a cool, clear day in spring; a perfect little baby girl. Rodai had only sons with his previous wife and never a little girl, so he hadn’t known how to handle one at first. With his son, now twelve and growing quickly, starting to train with his generals to be the next leader of the land, Rodai had much time to spoil and coddle this new little lamb, and he was more than pleased to do it. Aralie told him he had to be firm or she’d never obey him, but he couldn’t help but melt when his little girl looked at him with those sweet eyes. How could he not?

They named her Tyria after a spring blossom that collected near her nursery window that was native to his land alone. She would be tall, like her father, and nearly as tan, but her every other feature was a mirror of her mother.

Two years later, the second one came on the first day of autumn, with maple-colored hair like her father and freckles like her mother, and eyes as brown as a doe. She was a petite little thing, sweet and caring, and had an affinity for all living creatures. They named her Fawn.

She was a cuddly girl and loved nothing more than to sit in her father’s lap as he read and dictated, whereas Tyria was very independent and could often be found watching her brother’s training with interest. Coll, now fifteen, ruffled his sister’s hair with a fond laugh and told her he might teach her a few things once she got older.

Rodai had been happy before the war, but the sorrow he had experienced during and afterward made him treasure his newfound happiness all the more. Knowing what loss felt like made every moment with his family precious and irreplaceable. Priceless.

If only that odd nagging feeling would go away…

Their third daughter was born during a summer storm that threatened to blow the castle over. They named her Gale after the winds that howled to harmonize with her newborn cries of outrage. After the birth, Aralie took a well-deserved nap while Rodai held his new baby in his arms, smiling down at her. She was strong already, gripping his finger like a vice. Her curls were a mix of his brown coloring with a little of the honey of Aralie, and he thought her eyes might be blue, like his. His smile widened.

A cracking sound made him jump as a bolt of lightning hit a parapet outside the window. With that flash, a memory he had buried for the last six years re-entered his mind, one that made his heart drop like a stone.

I want daughters.

Aralie woke from her sleep to find Rodai sitting on the bed next to her, looking down at their daughter with tears streaming down his face. She could tell from his expression that these were not tears of joy.

“Rodai?” She asked him softly, pulling herself into a sitting position.

He shut his eyes tight, more tears falling, one landing on the cheek of the sleeping infant.

“Forgive me,” He said in a pained whisper. “I’m so sorry.”

“What? Why?” Aralie carefully adjusted herself so that she could see him better. Taking his cheek in her hand, she force him to look at her. “What are you sorry for?”

He took a very large breath, and said, “Before we met, after your father invaded the neighboring kingdom, I was desperate to save my people and Coll, my only remaining son and family. I would have done anything to spare him from death or worse, so I sought out help.”

“From who?”

“Zinzo, the Demon King,” He admitted to her fearfully.

A very worried look came over her face. “What did he want?”

“Something I didn’t have.” He stared down at his daughters sleeping face, his lip trembling. “Not at the time, at least.”

“Which was?”

“Brides,” Rodai said sorrowfully. “For his three sons.”

Aralie’s jaw dropped in horror. “Rodai, what did you do?”

He squeezed his eyes shut tight, holding his little girl up and pressing her forehead against his. “I made a deal.”

Aralie’s eyes filled with tears, and she covered her mouth with her hands in shock. “Rodai, how could you do such a thing?”

“How could I have known?” He asked her desperately. “How could I have ever known? Back then, I had no intention of marrying again or having any more children. After losing my wife and sons, I couldn’t face that kind of loss. Not again. I was so desperate to save my home and people, I would have promised everything, even my own life.” He reached out to touch her face, tears falling unimpeded. “How could I have known how much I would love you? How could I have known you’d have given me these three beautiful gifts? I couldn’t. I thought I had already lost everything. I could never have imagined how much more I’d stand to lose.”

She clutched his hand to her cheek, her face falling.

“What can we do?” She sobbed.

“I don’t know,” Rodai said, resting his forehead on hers. “He is a powerful man. I don’t know if there’s anything we can do.”

“But this nation is rich again,” She said, grasping desperately for some solution. “We can give him gold, resources, anything he wants. There must be something else he would be willing to take instead.”

“There isn’t,” A voice said in the shadow of their room. Rodai shot to his feet, clutching his child to him and flinging out a hand to shield Aralie.

The Demon King stepped into the light, looking the same as he did six years ago, down to the garments he wore.

“We have a deal,” Zinzo said, with a hint of menace in his voice. “I do not suffer broken oaths, King of Suida. Not at all.”

“Is there nothing else we could offer?” Aralie cried. “There must be something else.”

“There isn’t,” He repeated. “However, I am not a cruel man. My sons are not yet grown, and your children are still babes yet. There’s no reason to take them with me now. I will wait until the time is right. You will have them until then.”

He stepped toward Rodai, who held Gale to him tightly. Aralie gripped Rodai’s shirt.

“A deal is a deal, Rodai,” Zinzo said, his strange eyes narrowing. “You will honor it, or you will find exactly how much you can lose.”

“Don’t threaten me,” Rodai said with far more confidence than he felt.

Zinzo smiled. “It’s not a threat,” he said. “It’s simply a fact. I would think your losses would make you more mindful of that.”

Rodai’s face contorted in fury. “Leave.”

Zinzo stepped back into the shadows. “I will return,” He said as he disappeared into the darkness. “Be ready.”

When they could no longer feel his presence, Aralie dissolved into weeping. Rodai could do nothing but hold her and weep himself.

“What do we do?” Aralie asked quietly. “Should we tell them?”

“I supposed we’ll have to, at some point.”

“When will that be?”

Rodai sighed. “When the time is right.”

She shook her head at him, exasperated. “And when will that be?”

Rodai looked at her, his heart heavy with guilt and grief. “I’m so sorry, my love. More sorry than I can ever say. I hope one day you can forgive me, but if not, I understand.”

She grabbed him and held him, burying her face in his neck. “I’m very angry with you.”

He used his free arm to press her closer to him, holding Gale so she wouldn't be crushed between them. “I know,” He said into her hair.

There was a knock at the door. It was seventeen year old Coll, leading his little sisters, five and three, in to meet the new member of the family. The girls hopped happily on the bed and cooed over the little one. Coll bear-hugged his father and put a comforting hand on his step-mother’s shoulder, smiling widely and congratulating them.

Rodai and Aralie shared a look, wiping their tears, and silently agreeing to keep their shame a secret for now and let this family moment play out. They didn’t know how many they would have left.

Since my work is no longer searchable, please do me a favor and reblog this story if you enjoyed it. Help me reach a wider audience! To help me continue creating, please consider buying me a Kofi, becoming a Patron, or donating directly to my PayPal!

Thanks for reading!

My Masterlist

The Exophilia Creator’s Masterlist

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peterchristensen89-blog · 5 years

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A Perfect Fit - Chapter 1

Peter Parker is a high-school graduate, on his way to Empire State University. As a potential Stark Internship candidate, Peter dreams of the day working under his idol, Tony Stark. Unfortunately, life remains as cruel as ever.

An attack by a supernatural gang, The Demons, leaves the streets of Queens laced with a new bio-plague. With thousands dead at the hands of "The Devil's Breath", only Peter Parker stands alive in the wake of the attack, saved by his Aunt May. Transformed by Devil's Breath, Peter learns from Tony Stark that he's far from human anymore. A Super-Soldier with the power of the Hulk, the control of Captain America, and the stealth of Black Widow. And, oddly enough, he can stick to surfaces like a spider.

As the only living human with an immunity to the plague, Peter is the last hope of the Avengers. The only weapon they have against The Demons and their cruel leader, Mister Negative. With his newfound powers and training from Iron Man himself, Peter races against the clock with the help of the Avengers to stop The Demons. To stop Mister Negative's crusade of revenge, and save the life of his last living relative.

By any means necessary.

Read on A03 or Below the Read More

“May, I’m home!”

Peter stumbled inside the Parker apartment, both arms donning plastic bags. He kicked off his sneakers, popping out his earbuds, and made his way through the modest apartment. Pausing in front of his Aunt’s bedroom, he heard the sound of a shower running. That, and the sound of her off-tempo singing with the radio. Peter rolled his eyes, laughing.

Stepping into his room, Peter felt the summer breeze blowing through the open window. The bustling street of Queens, New York echoed from down below. He tripped over his box of high school memorabilia, knocking out a wrinkled cap and gown.

Peter sat at his computer desk and stared inside of a bright pink terrarium. A fuzzy tarantula scurried in her home at the sight of her owner.

“Karen, you are not going to believe my haul today.” Peter collected his pet and sat her on the top of his hand. With his other hand, he produced a red and gold metallic action-figurine from a thrift store bag. “Look at it! A limited edition 2016 Iron Man Mk 2 Comic-Con exclusive metal-plated model! 80% off! Know why?”

Karen scurried up Peter’s arm, coming to rest on the top of his shoulder, facing away from the figure.

“Oh, come on! At least pretend like you care! Ned’s gone off to MIT, and MJ’s off saving the rainforests! You’re the only one I can talk to!” Peter tugged at the figurine’s arm, which popped off with zero effort. “See that? A huge discount all because the figure’s arm falls off! As if someone couldn’t spend a few hours, a little ingenuity, and five bucks on fixing that! They act like because it’s broken, it’s not worth anything…”

Peter scoffed, staring around his room. Most of his electronics were jury-rigged or in varying states of repair. Like his figurine, most of Peter's possessions were a thrift-store price for retail value.

His eyes fell on a shelf of dozens of other Iron Man figures, each their own shape, size, and model. All, at one point, had been an imperfect copy, like the one in his hand.

“You’d think people would have a little more respect for the world’s greatest hero.” Peter sat the figure on his desk, beside a whole host of tools and parts. As he lifted his head, Peter’s eyes fell to a photograph beside his computer, beside a badge of gold and blue.

Peter picked up the frame, seeing himself as a child in the arms of an officer of the NYPD. Both were smiling. “Well… Second greatest hero…”

Scurrying across Peter, Karen came to rest beside the photograph. She crawled to the top of the frame and settled on Ben Parker’s head.

Sighing, Peter leaned backward in his chair and chuckled. “You’re going to have to give me a break on that one, Uncle Ben… I’ll always love you, but Tony Stark is my idol.” Peter looked past the picture and up at his ceiling. Every inch of it covered with posters of Iron Man, Stark Expos, The Avengers, and Tony Stark. “Mr. Stark is one of the smartest people on the planet! He's Iron Man, Uncle Ben, the coolest superhero of them all! He even turned Stark Industries into something that’s going to change the world! When everyone tried to ignore their climate change findings last month, Mr. Stark flipped off congress and told the President of the United States to suck a dick! He’s so cool, Ben! He’s the man that science and the world need right now, more than anybody!”

Peter put the frame next to the badge, sighing as he collected Karen from the photograph. “But, even then… You’ll always be my number one hero. Always.”

Closing his eyes, Peter’s shoulders fell. He sat in silence, letting out a tired sigh. “…anyway...“ Peter sat a fussy Karen back into her terrarium. Karen made herself home inside a hollowed out plastic tree.

Peter sighed, collecting the other sack, emblazoned with a crimson “ESU” graphic. “My less impressive, haul, Karen.” Peter shook his head, dumping out a pile of college textbooks. “All those AP classes and I still have to take a crap ton of useless classes, Karen! Fun tip, Karen, “Full-Ride” does not always mean “Full-Ride.” Do you know how much this semester, in books alone, is going to cost me? I’ve already burned through the entire Midtown Decathlon Scholarship!” He groaned, laying his head down atop the books, tracing his hand on the glass of Karen’s home. “To put it in a way that you would understand... Enough crickets to feed about a million of you every day for a lifetime.”

Karen poked out from her tree for a moment, her front legs buzzing at the mention of food.

Peter rolled his eyes, reaching for a second plastic container. He popped a few crickets inside the terrarium for Karen to hunt. “…I don’t even want to think about how much the materials are going to cost if I get into the Stark Internship. Do you think they pay for that, or does that come out of the check they pay you? No way it’s free, though. Nothing in life is free.”

“Wait…”

Peter gasped and rushed to his computer. He clicked through his bookmarks to the Stark Internship Application website. After logging in and slamming his mouse many times, Peter reached the "News" section of the site.

All dissertations are currently under review.

Due to the high volume of candidates for the 2019 selections, decisions for internships and research grants will deliver via certified mail in approximately 3 months.

Peter sunk back into his chair, groaning. He stood up, pacing back and forth in his room. “It’s been three and a half months since the cutoff, Karen! What are they waiting for?!” He stopped, staring outside the window, and to Stark Tower, far off in the distance. It glimmered in the summer sun, like a star in the night sky, so close, but still so far.

A chill overcame Peter, despite the warm sunlight all around him. “What if my dissertation didn’t even make it into the main pile they looked at? Do they even send rejection notices about those?” He folded his arms, head dropping. “What if I mailed to the wrong address? No, no… That’s impossible, I mailed it certified, and made May double checked the address.” Peter clutched his stomach, overcome with a nauseous pain. “What if that pissed someone off?” Peter’s pacing intensified. “What if I made the front desk guy at Stark Industries get up off his butt, and ruined his coffee break? What if he threw it in the trash?! What if they never saw it? Should I call? Should I make sure they even got it?” Peter groaned, slapping himself in the face. “It’s past the deadline! I should have checked BEFORE the cutoff! Now it’d be too late!”

Peter leaned against a wall, sliding down and crumpling into a heap, tucking his legs beneath his chin. “Or what if they hated it?” He turned, now tucked into a tight ball. “What if they took one look at my essay and laughed me into a burn pile?” He banged his head against the ground. “Was I stupid to talk about you and Ben in my essay? I mean… You and Ben are both a big part of my research. You guys inspired it, so I felt like you deserved mention… I thought it was personable. I thought… I should just be myself?”

As Karen munched on a cricket, Peter whined, now splayed on his back and covering his eyes. ”Why didn’t I listen to Ned? Nobody wants that!”

“Can’t you have a mental breakdown with your friends, like a normal kid?”

Peter screamed, spinning around as he spotted May in the doorway to his bedroom. Her long brown hair still damp from a shower. She smirked, hiding the faintest sign of wrinkles that had overtaken her face in recent years.

“Aunt May!” Peter gestured to Karen. “How rude can you be? This is a private conversation!”

May rolled her eyes, hands tucked behind her back as she let herself inside Peter’s room. “Oh please, you’re acting like this is the most embarrassing shit I’ve caught you talking with that thing? Like, oh… Senior year, about a month before Prom, talking to Karen about asking out that cute Junior? You know, the time you went on and on about how much you liked his butt when he wore tight jeans?”

“That never happened and you never heard any of that!” Peter’s face flushed, eyes planted on the floor.

“I know, I know-“ May chuckled, wrapping an arm around Peter’s shoulder and tucking him in close for a side-hug. She smirked, prodding Peter on the nose. “I happened to overhear your crisis about the Stark Internship. Which reminded me our mailman made me sign for a certified letter while you were out.” May presented Peter with a silver envelope, embellished with an embellished "S". “Stark Industries?”

Peter hitched his breath, standing still for far too long. He forgot to breathe as his body shook, gasping for air. He struggled to grasp onto the letter, requiring May’s help from dropping it. The sender was the Stark Internship Selection Committee.

“…it’s here. This… This is it.” Peter choked out, voice cracking mid-sentence.

“Yep,” May said, stepping backward, clapping her hands together, and waiting for Peter to act. “Well?”

Peter stared at the letter, noticing how thin it was. Roughly the same size as the junk mail they received daily. His arm dropped, the envelope dangling in his hand.

“Not going to open it?” May slid beside Peter, clasping a hand on his shoulder. She offered a sympathetic smile. “All these months of teenage angst for nothing?”

Peter turned away, hiding the red on his face. “I’m scared, May…. This is…” He bit his lip, hand clenching against the letter, crumpling the edges. “This is everything to me. If I failed, I-”

“Hey-“ May grabbed both of Peter’s shoulders, spun him back around, and brought her face within inches of his. She planted a soft kiss on his forehead. “No matter what’s in that envelope, you’re going to do great things, Peter Parker. You don’t need the approval of Tony Stark or anyone else in this world to tell you that.” Leaning back, May cocked an eyebrow. “This letter does not define your value as a person or your future. Do you understand me?”

Peter’s shoulders unglued themselves. He nodded at May, took a deep breath, and closed his eyes. Tearing open the envelope, Peter yanked out the letter, unfurling it. He felt the silky-smooth material of the paper, like ice on his hands.

With one final push and a slap to the back of the head from May, he opened his eyes and scanned the letter.

Dear Mr. Parker,

Out of an approximate 62,600 applicants for the 2019 Stark Industries Internship Program, we are pleased to announce that you have been selected for one of our 10 open positions.

Your dissertation ranking among the applicants was: 1

As a result of your ranking, we assign Dr. Anthony Stark as your mentor.

Your date of employment will begin on August 1st, 2019.

Stark Industries is also pleased to announce that you have been selected as a candidate for a potential Research Grant due to the content of your dissertation:

“Chemical Tensility for Law Enforcement Officers – Saving Lives with Non-Violent Webbing Deterrent & Spray-On Ballistic Weaving.”

Your presence is requested on July 1st, 2019 for a formal panel interview to defend your dissertation from their professional critique.

Please bring copies of your research notes and have a presentation prepared to share the theory of your study. You will present your theory to Stark Industries CEO Pepper Stark, Stark Industries CRO Dr. Anthony Stark, Stark Industries Head of Research and Development, Dr. Bruce Banner, as well as nine representatives of the Strategic Homeland Intervention Enforcement and Logistics Division.

Please call to confirm your appointment immediately with my secretary, the number is listed on the back of this letter.

We look forward to hearing from you and finally putting a face to the most exceptional submission Stark Industries has accepted in the last ten years.

As CEO, I am excited to see what the future holds for you, Mr. Parker.

Sincerely,

Pepper Stark, CEO, Stark Industries

“Well?!” May broke the silence, trembling in place as she clasped her hands together. “Peter, you’re killing me here! I just turned 40, you can’t play with my heart like this! Do we celebrate or am I heading out to buy us some eggs to throw at that asshole’s car!?”

Peter gulped, mouth finally parting. “I got it,” He cracked.

May’s mouth dropped a mile. “You got it?”

Peter nodded, tears rolling down his face and dribbling over the letter which he handed to May. He started to laugh. “I got the internship AND an interview for a research grant! May, I got both! I got both!”

May read the letter, and after a brief stint of silence, the woman reared her head back and roared in pure joy. She grabbed Peter, lifted him like a small puppy and spun them around in a tight hug. They squealed in unison, as loud as their lungs could manage.

“I got it!”

“You got it!”

“We got it!” They both yelled together, before tripping over Peter’s textbooks. The duo tumbled to the ground in each other arms on a plush beanbag. The letter fluttered down, landing on Peter’s face.

May grabbed the letter, giggling as she scanned the letter, buzzing from head to toe. “I cannot believe it, Peter! Do you realize how many people’s asses you kicked? I am so-” She rose up from the ground, pausing as she hovered over a single sentence. “Uh, Peter-“ She pointed to a paragraph in the middle. “Sweetheart, this is a “formal” interview.”

Peter rose an eyebrow, taking May’s hand as she helped him up from the floor. “And?”

May laughed, poking at Peter’s chest. “I don’t think your usual wardrobe is going to cut it here. Not even the punny science shirts with the cats on them.”

“Uh-“ Peter turned around, staring into his closet, lined with nothing that even came close to formal. Unless he was going to comic-con, that is... He groaned, shaking his head. “Probably not.”

May set the letter aside, folding her arms. “You’ll need a suit and tie, Peter. Which, unfortunately, is not going to be in either of our budgets.” She bit her lip, eyes staring outside of Peter’s room and down the hallway.

“I’ll call down to Mr. Lee’s pizza place!” Peter ran to his cache of take-out menus, digging through them. “Stan always needs delivery boys, I can save up and find a suit somewhere cheap!”

“Peter, your interview is next week, and suits are expensive. You’d need more than one week's paycheck to afford it, and Stan can only afford part-time. Besides the fact that tips around here are the absolute worst!” May huffed, planting on a pained smile. “Besides, you need time to prepare a presentation. That, and figure out how you’re not going to pass out in front of Tony Stark the instant you meet him.”

Peter frowned, glancing down at the menu. “Then… Should I rent one?” He cringed at the idea, recalling how expensive it’d been at Prom. They’d both had to save for that expense well ahead of time as well.

Taking Peter’s hand, May guided Peter down the hallway. “I think… I’ve got a better idea.”

They stopped at the furthest end of their apartment, to a spare closet neither of them dared to open. A mausoleum of sorts, untouched for almost 8 years now. May sighed, opened it, revealing a wall of plastic totes on one side. The other filled with several well-preserved NYPD uniforms, in clear garment bags.

“May-” Peter muttered.

May pulled out boxes and rummaged through the closet’s contents. “I couldn’t bear to throw anything away after Ben passed on. Still can’t. I know it’s not healthy, but my therapist can kiss my ass. I’ll cope how I damn well please.” She sat Ben’s uniforms gently on the ground, careful not to wrinkle them. She reached the far end of the closet. “Besides, I’d always hoped… One of these days, they might come in handy for you.”

May pulled out another clear bag, this one holding a man's suit and tie. She smiled, unzipping the bag and casting its casing away, admiring the outfit. “Ben wore this to every formal event since I started dating him. He took better care of this than he did his own uniform. Said that every man needs at least one good suit.” She handed it to Peter, letting it fall against his hands. “Turns out he was right.”

Peter nodded, gulping as he slid the jacket from the hanger. He slipped into it, watching as the sleeves slid well past his wrists. Too big in the chest, the suit engulfed him, as the tails of the coat went well past his waist. At least a size and a half too big.

“A little big on you…” May sighed, trying to tuck the suit in at key places, wiping away a tear as she laughed. “I’ll do what I can to help you with the fit, and we can fake it’s a better fit than it actually is. You won’t be able to sit without a needle in your ass, but, hey, women deal with that bullshit all the time in fashion. Welcome to my world, bucko!”

Peter chuckled, letting May help him out of the jacket. “Uncle Ben had some big shoes to fill. A big suit, too, apparently.”

“You’ll grow into it.” May hung the suit back on the hanger, winking at Peter while she slid it back into the garment bag. “Now, enough of this mopey bullshit. I haven’t cried this much since the funeral, and I’ll be damned if we’re going to ruin your big day with bullshit feelings.”

May gathered her oversized purse from the closet door, the suit, and Peter himself. She dragged them both of them towards the front door. “After we chuck this at the dry cleaners, we’re heading to Mr. Lee’s for pizza and ice cream! We’ll eat like kings and pay like peasants!”

“Two for one date night coupon?” Peter smirked.

“Two for one date night coupon.” May winked.

“Hell yeah!” May and Peter said in unison, high-fiving each other as they exited their apartment.

#iron dad #spider son #protective tony stark #tony stark has a heart #hurt and comfort #peterchristensen89writes

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ayanamimon · 5 years

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IMPACT // Island Confrontation

[previous/next]

As Golurk touched down on Utmost Island, Rei climbed onto their shoulder to survey the landscape. The island wasn’t large by any stretch of the imagination; from the looks of things, it would barely be able to fit downtown Jubilife and nothing more.

While heavy, lush foliage covered the island, Rei could make out the very top of some sort of temple sticking out over the trees. If Mew was going to be anywhere, it was there.

“You ready?” Asuka asked as her girlfriend jumped down to the ground. “They might already be here... if I were you, I’d send out Zee or Banette. Probably both.”

“...good idea.” Golurk would soon find themselves back inside their ball, recalled in favor of Zee. The cybernetic Pokemon noticed the temple in the distance and began to speed ahead by himself, but Asuka’s Talonflame stepped in to keep that from happening. “Not quite yet, Zee... we need to wait for Dr. Akagi before-”

Speak of the devil. “I’m ready. Ready as I’ll ever be, at least.” Ritsuko handed Magnezone’s ball back to Rei, having used them to get to the island. “I’m assuming you’ll lead the way, Rei?”

Rei nodded. As she looked back towards the temple, her eye twitched... while she didn’t show it, or at least tried not to, it infuriated her that she would have to confront the man who created her again.

But if he was going to force her to show up, she’d make sure this would be the absolute last time.

She didn’t respond; she simply began marching ahead, Zee by her side. Asuka and Ritsuko exchanged a concerned glance before they followed Rei down the winding, overgrown path leading to the temple.

Shining a small light from his eyes, Zee led the way as Rei, Asuka, and Ritsuko followed down the temple’s main hall. Even with the illumination, they found themselves struggling to see well. Occasionally, paths branching off to the sides of the hall could be seen, but the layout seemed rather straightforward; it was better they keep moving ahead. They didn’t want to get lost, after all.

As the hall came to an end, Zee’s light shone upon what seemed to be the entrance to the main room, guarded by an enormous stone door... that had been blasted right through.

They’d been beaten here.

“Scheiße... Scheiße, we’re too late, aren’t we?” Asuka stamped her foot on the ground out of frustration. “Dammit, I knew this wou-”

“Quiet.” After shushing Asuka, Rei cloaked herself beneath her hood and crouched down as she peered through the shattered door. Sunlight illuminated the room through a hole in the ceiling, shining down on an ancient shrine that appeared to be dedicated to Mew. In front of it stood two old men, two men Rei instantly recognized. Two men whose very presence made Rei’s blood boil.

With Zee ready to attack, she stepped through the door, hands balled into fists.

“Back away from the shrine.” Her voice echoed through the cavernous room, prompting Charon and Lorenz to turn around. “I do not want to fight... I hope you understand that provoking Mew and Arceus will lead to... disastrous consequences.”

Lorenz, seeming slightly taken aback by Rei’s presence, shook his head. “Quite the contrary... perhaps you may see the consequences as disastrous. However, Instrumentality... uniting all souls into a single, collective existence... it will completely erase the imperfections of human nature. Why would you oppose such a thing?”

Sensing a fight, the old man released his Malamar. “All the conflict and discord in this world can be traced back to our flaws as a species. Our physical weaknesses, our mental insecurities... all of that would be eliminated by a single, perfect existence. Granted... I’m not surprised that you wouldn’t understand. From what your father has told me, you seem rather... incapable... of comprehending such things.”

“He is not my father.” Her growing fury had begun to bleed into her voice; it took on an aggressive tone very rarely heard from Rei. As she looked over towards Charon only to see a mocking smirk on his face, she continued, “He does not have the slightest idea of what my life is like... everything he says stems from my refusal to be his perfect little doll.”

Ritsuko stepped forward, trailed by her hulking Metagross. “Quit deflecting, Mr. Lorenz. What you call a ‘perfect existence’ is what the rest of us would consider tantamount to genocide. I’d recommend you stand down and turn Charon in before you make things worse for not only yourself, but all life on the planet.”

Lorenz stood stoically for a few moments, as if he were contemplating Ritsuko’s ultimatum; it really was difficult to decipher him beneath the visor he wore.

“Malamar, deal with this before it becomes a headache.” He turned away, acting almost as if the confrontation wasn’t worth his time, as his Malamar suddenly flashed out of sight. Zee beeped frantically as he tried to locate where the squid would re-materialize; it would be right behind him, and before anyone could realize it, the Malamar let loose a brutal Superpower attack on the unsuspecting Zee.

“Holy shit...! Talonflame, Sturzflug, now!” Asuka’s Talonflame would indeed be the next to go after the Malamar, flying up as high as the temple’s ceiling would allow before tucking their wings in and diving straight at their target.

Normally, this would have been a fantastic move; the Malamar had just performed the immensely draining Superpower, meaning its guard would be down. At least, that would’ve been the case had its ability not been Contrary. Instead of taking the impactful Brave Bird like Asuka had expected, the Malamar smashed its tentacles against the ground, lifting up large chunks of stone with its psychic powers and flinging them at Talonflame. Already mid-attack, Talonflame had no chance to dodge the oncoming Rock Slide, and they crashed to the ground hard.

As both Asuka and Rei rushed to check on their fallen Pokemon, only Ritsuko’s Metagross remained standing. The monstrous metal arachnid stormed ahead, seemingly preparing to unleash a Meteor Mash. The Malamar, however, had other plans, again warping out of harm’s way. This time, though, Metagross guessed correctly that it’d show up right behind him, and turned to swing at the Malamar when it did.

Not even catching on to its tricks would save the Steel-type, though; as the Malamar re-materialized, its Contrary-backed strength allowed it to counter the attack easily before unleashing a flurry of Night Slashes on its target. Metagross tried to stay upright after the barrage, even with their body sliced up by the Malamar, but ended up collapsing.

Fear took hold of fury as Rei, clutching Zee in her arms, looked up to see her creator and Lorenz glaring at her. That Malamar... she didn’t know exactly what it had been put through, but it seemed nigh-unstoppable. If it could make such short work of some of their most powerful Pokemon, then...

“Hmph.” Lorenz reached into his coat; Rei’s immediate instinct was that he had a gun, but once she saw the purple top half of an empty Master Ball, she almost wished she’d been right. “It really wouldn’t have mattered if you did defeat my Malamar. It wouldn’t have stopped me from capturing Mew... do you see now, Ayanami? How foolish you are?”

“Big talk for someone who thinks he can tell Arceus what to do,” Asuka suddenly cut in, marching between Rei and Lorenz. “Listen, arschloch, you don’t even know if Mew’s gonna show up, so what’s the point of-”

“Malamar.” At Lorenz’s command, the Malamar suddenly began flashing its lights, emitting a strange psychic energy that manifested as a beam aimed at Asuka’s head. Once it made contact, the redhead suddenly stopped talking, her eye going wide as the vivid blue iris faded to white. Her knees buckled, and as she slumped to the ground, Asuka simply stared ahead blankly, not moving or speaking at all.

“What in the goddamn... was that... was that Simple Beam? Is that... really capable of-” Ritsuko would be hit by a similar beam shortly after, and just like Asuka, she collapsed, the Simple Beam having completely blanked her mind.

“Impressive... isn’t it?” For the first time in the entire confrontation, Charon spoke; by this point, Rei was actively dreading having to hear his voice. “You know, Rei... I... imagine you try to avoid reading about my accomplishments... so I thought you’d be interesting in knowing I was the one who discovered Simple Beam could put humans in a mindless state. Very convenient way of eliminating... distractions.”

Charon appeared to be in better shape than during Rei’s visit, but not by much; when he crouched down to look Rei in the eyes, he visibly struggled, and his voice still sounded strained and weak. Nevertheless, his very presence was a haunting one, akin to a terrible nightmare that just wouldn’t go away. “Now, listen to me... Mr. Lorenz here was gracious enough to get me out of that personal hell in exchange for my scientific expertise. I am not about to let a little freak like you ruin this for me... so I suggest you take your mindless friends home and let us continue with our work.”

“Fuck you.” The moment Rei moved to tear her creator limb from limb, Lorenz’s Malamar fired off its third Simple Beam, causing her to unceremoniously faceplant on the ground, her mind empty.

It would come just in time, too; shortly after he returned the Dark-type to its ball, Lorenz noticed the legend they had come for had finally shown themself. Mew peered out from behind the shrine dedicated to them, curiously watching those two old men.

By the time Mew noticed Lorenz possessed a Master Ball, though, it was too late; they were sucked inside the moment it bounced against their head, and no amount of thrashing would be enough to break free before the capture was processed.

“Well... that concludes the first step.” Lorenz moved to retrieve the Master Ball as nonchalantly as if it were merely a Starly inside. “Now that Mew is in our possession, we can proceed with the creation of the vessel... which, considering their basis happened to come to us...”

“Hey... you said it yourself.” Still lingering over the simplified Rei, Charon produced a scalpel. “She’s a foolish little brat.” Carefully brushing back his creation’s steel-blue hair, he made an incision in the side of her neck, from which slightly orange-tinted blood began to leak. He allowed it to drip into an empty vial he’d brought, sealing it shut and stowing it away in his lab coat once he had enough.

Charon stood, beginning to walk back towards the ruined door. “I think we’ve spent enough time here... let’s get going. There’s work to be done.”

“Of course.” With that, Lorenz followed his accomplice out of the temple, the Master Ball containing Mew gripped tightly in his palm.

Their three would-be saboteurs were left lying in the empty shrine room. The wound on Rei’s neck continued to drip orange-red blood, forming a small puddle on the ground beside her.

#IC //#ASUKA //#RITSUKO //#CREATOR //#IMPACT //#DRABBLES //#SAVE //#blood tw #violence tw #ask to tag

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help-i-might-care-kinda · 3 years

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That’s the ass of a deer in retreat. I had a busy street fireworks wise and it’s still early and it was really weird the police who usually are out to see whatever antics our crazy family has gotten into were here along with an ambulance just in case although I guess in case of what I’m not really sure. And then I was here trying to edit with no high-speed Wi-Fi my film that I made earlier sitting on the porch after completing well not completing..... after deciding to take a break from one of the most disgusting cleaning jobs I’ve done ever and it’s still not done and it really shouldn’t be done without a hazmat suit. The fact that we don’t have a hot water tank functioning really pisses me off because this is the kind of cleaning job that you really want to take a shower after. And it’s a holiday and it’s a holiday weekend so even the rec center won’t be open for me to take a humane shower tomorrow. I wonder sometimes I don’t give a shit what people think about meBut other times I can’t help but worry because this isn’t Cleveland anymore. This is a hoity-toity Green chunk of suburbia that might not be sympathetic to people who need to shower in the rec center because they are devoid of amenities. See I should have my shit together I could see the long narrow wobbly judge mental eyeball of society which isn’t even exist as I use an abstraction I mean we all do when we say society everybody is society and nobody is whatever but the point is I feel judged. I feel very very judged and I’m not even there in the rec center yet in their $6 million sport and swimming complex where I swam competitively in high school when there was Far less to my own physical form I realize how much less and yet there with my mom giving me Dexedrine just in case I was going to get hit like the women in her side of the family and I seem to be showing whatever the precursor version of a vestige is of such hips that’s crazy now when I think about it I was probably 112 pounds soaking wet and most of it muscle back then and now well now I could probably double it some sort of device to you have kids climb on disgusting and horrible thought that I would just end my days in the Mayfield Village recreational center with children climbing on me like some giant lipid infused inflatable Barney- I really wanted to do was take a nice hot shower and that’s it which is kind of funny because when I was in high school and that place was new I remember our gym teacher practically had to bribe us in wine and show us the beginnings of her menopausal frustration tears because we wouldn’t take a full shower and swim class before and after. Now I give no fucks and take no shit from anyone who wants to giggle at me an imperfect human being aged over 40 but under 50 with all my tattoos and round places where I used to have sharp youth ones I just wanna shower it is so hot it is so hot it is hot as the devil’s ass crack hot. Go figure people are putting off fix both of us all around me that’s not what I said I hate talk to text I said setting off explosives all around me you know incendiary devices and dogs are barking nervously and my cats are eyeing the front stoop suspiciously. The STREA has her little black paws up on the front door window the screen part and she’s looking suspiciously at the ass end of the steer as it exits into some other part of the calendar year and it’s not even late night yet it’s not even the kind of fireworks that look like spaghetti or cheerleading pom-poms this is just an 80s and M-16s and other things that make sure the soldiers have seen combat blink in the wrong places and babies are fussing and here we are the crazy family but nobody’s home except me and the cats and we nobody’s home I’m not crazy because nobody’s there pushing my buttons and it’s not as if I don’t forewarn people saying I feel kind of fucked up and crazy so I’m going for a walk or I’m going upstairs I’m going to hide in plain sight and you can draw around me. But then I realized just now I feel productive not crazy I probably look crazy blue red hair USA!

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sqwidgirl · 7 years

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masterpost of iconic lines/moments in Froot (2015) by Marina and the Diamonds

Happy:

when the chorus effect starts on the line “melted away like I was free” and my soul escaped my body, went to hell, and was immediately forgiven by the benevolent god that is marina diamandis

“I realize to be happy, maybe I need a little company” and I started crying one minute and forty seconds into the album

the sheer force with which my head was ejected from my body when she hits the high note on “I believe someone’s watching over me”

the chord changes in the bridge making me feel melancholy realness, honey

invented the piano, invented happy songs that sound sad, invented music

I’ve fallen asleep crying to this song an uncountable amount of times

Froot:

THE FUCKING BASS RIFF IN THE FIRST TWO SECONDS which precisely and methodically severed my ear canal from my cranium

everything about this song

“ju-u-u-uice, la la la la la la la” >>> the entire discography of the rolling stones, the beatles, led zeppelin, and all of your dusty-ass “iconic” faves

the sultriness of the fucking low G she hits perfectly and consistently throughout the verses

“but I ain’t in a patient phase” probably the most iconic modern music will get

the way she sings “come on fill your cup uuuuuuuUUUUUPP” shattering my femur

“i’ve been saving all my summers for you” assassinates all of the poetry by William Shakespeare combined

every part of the second verse, especially “baby I am plump and ripe, I’m pinker than shepard’s delight, sweet like honeysuckle late at night” which was better sex-ed than I received throughout my entire adolescent academic career

“birds and worms will come for me, the cycle of life is complete” making fucking DECOMPOSITION the sexiest thing anyone has ever said in the compendium of human history

The Fucking Bridge Melody that she sings well beyond the troposphere, above the stratosphere, and sitting sexily in the mesosphere

“oh my body is ready, yeah it’s ready, yeah it’s ready”

I’m a Ruin

marina single-handedly addressing the complexities of young-adult relationships with “I could treat you better but I’m not that smart”

the insane degree to which I scream “yeah yeah, uh huh, woo hoo, yeah yeah” at the end of the chorus, thus startling my neighbors and setting off car alarms

“It’s difficult to move on when nothing was right and nothing was wrong” making me spray tears out of my eyes like a machine gun

the way the back up vocals come in on “I’ve had my share of beautiful men, but I’m still young and I want to love again”

the dichotomy of “I’ll ruin you” and “I’m a ruin” are proven to be one and the same, thus ending the careers of marriage counselors across the world

Blue

the iconic and instantly-memorable backing track

the continuity between the themes of the last song with the opening line “we’ve broken up and now I regret it”

the FORESHADOWING of “and I don’t know why but I can’t forget it” which alludes to the themes of the NEXT song, Forget, basically proving Marina doesn’t need references to any body of literature but her own goddamn songs

“gimme love, gimme dreams, gimme a good self-esteem” ejecting my wig at mach 3 into another dimension

the sheer craftsmanship of the pre-chorus, which is perfectly catchy and memorable while refraining from cliches

the way the beat picks up on the chorus and I demand my non-existent ex to “gimme one more night”

“I’m sick of looking after you, I need a man to hold on to, I’m bored of everything we do, but I just keep coming back to you” proving marina is just as fed up with fuckboys as we are, but is just as flawed and hypocritical as us, showing her imperfections and making her more worthy of our worship

ending the song on the pre-chorus like the fucking INNOVATOR of MODERN MUSIC she is??? like please tell me WHEN will your fave

Forget

this list doesn’t include the visuals from the music videos but I will make an exception for the ICONIC wig she wears in the video

the vocals for “never heal” sending me into a tailspin and crashing into a ditch at 70 mph

50% of the chorus is the word “forget” and it is STILL the height of modern literature

after her mention of an “abacus” in the second verse, abacus sales went up 2000% and surpassed their unprecedented popularity in ancient Greece

“yeah it’s time to be letting go, yeah baby you know what I’m talking about” probably the most iconique start to a bridge physically possible in this dimension

“YEAH I’VE BEEN DANCING WITH THE DEVIL I LOVE THAT HE PRETENDS TO CARE IF I’LL EVER GET TO HEAVEN WHEN A MILLION DOLLARS GETS YOU THERE OH ALL THE TIME THAT I HAVE WASTED CHASING RABBITS DOWN A HOLE WHEN I WAS BORN TO BE THE TORTOISE I WAS BORN TO WALK ALONE” is not supposed to be a high-intensity part of the song but I don’t fucking care obviously

the way she fucking develops the lyrics of the chorus throughout the song and makes each line the best life lesson you ever heard??? who is this woman?????

Gold

by FAR the most underrated song on the album for no goddamn reason like, have you demons even listened to it?? hmmmmm????

i have no idea how the accompaniment was made for the song but whoever did it was a genius and needs to be remembered for the rest of time

“doesn’t matter long as I am your star, sta-AAARRRR” melodically groundbreaking, please take notes everyone

“don’t think i want what I used to want, don’t think I need what i used to need” addressing the pains of growing out of old friendships and passions in a fun approach

“you can’t take away the Midas touch, so you better make way for a GREEK GOLD RUSH” YES MAMA REPRESENT YOUR COUNTRY LIKE THE GODDESS YOU AAAARE

knew she could rhyme “El Dorado” with “Colorado” and fucking did

the fade out at the end of the song painting her as a con-artist or corrupt gold-dealer being hauled off to jail while reveling in the near success of her schemes is what???? I C O N I C

Can’t Pin Me Down

this song is direct proof that marina is a straight up motherfucking KUNT in charge of her destiny. the album is labeled as explicit because of this ONE song and only ONE line: “you might think I’m one thing, but I am another. You can’t call my bluff, TIME TO BACKUP MOTHERFUCKER” like not only is this the most badass line in the history of language, but this line was so important to her that she made the album explicit JUST FOR THIS ONE LINE. SHE IS AN ICON. END OF STORY.

she is a feminist! BUT! “Do you really want me to write a feminist anthem, I’m happy in the kitchen cooking dinner for my husband” proving that you do NOT know this bitch. she is nothing you think she is. except that she is an I C O N.

the meter of “just another girl in the twenty-first century” has me unpredictably and immeasurably shook because she is just! that! kind! of! girl!

“You think I’m like the others, boy you need to get your eyes che-e-e-e-e-e-ecked, che-e-e-e-e-e-e-ecked” blew the skin clean off of my face

“i can be your russian doll” like,,,, gag

the entire concept and existence of this song is revolutionary and cements her position as the strongest female artist of our generation

Solitaire

holy FUCK you guys love to hate amazing songs, don’t you?? this song is without a doubt one of my favorites and you fuckers have the NERVE

the production on this song is one of a kind and continues to prove her versatility in style on this album. any reservations you had about her from electra heart better be EVAPORATED by this point.

the melodies on this song are, besides Froot, the catchiest on the album for me. they are so well crafted and inventive, i am shaking

“hard like a rock, cold like stone, white like a diamond, black like coal, cut like a jewel, yeah I repair myself when you’re not there” is such an amazing pre-chorus for this song like it could no possibly be better than that

the way the mood shifts from the verse to the chorus cut off my arms with raw blunt force

the flourish on the line “and I’ll admit all I wanna do is get drunk and silent” gave me an aneurysm

holy fucking SHIT the end of the bridge is for sure a highlight on the album. “but I’m not cursed, i’m not cursed, I was just covered in dirt” like damn marina go all the way off

the extra-dimensional high notes on this song are second to none, babes

Better Than That

“You’re just another in a long line of men she screwed” is the FUCKING WAY TO START A SONG, GIRLS. ARE YOU JOTTING THIS DOWN??

“So why’s she looking like a cat who got the cream?” ugh marina is so perfect I cannot deal with this bitch anymore

the sheer vocal talent on the chorus, like how high can this girl go? someday she’s going to rupture my eardrums and I will thank her personally

“with an angel voice, devil in disguise” the vocal production for this is perfect and successfully made me shit myself

“and she’ll network till her dreams come true, even if it means getting in a bed with you” miss marina is out for BLOOD everyone, the music industry is cowering in fear of her objective talent and lack of fucks

“i’m not passing judgment on her sexual life, I’m passing judgement on the way she always stuck her knife in my back” whoever this woman is she is getting READ for FILTH by lady diamandis and you all need to watch your backs

Weeds

this song is straight out of a sappy rom-com and I am fully living for it

“but it keeps growing back like WEEDS” I am currently screaming please give me a moment

“and God knows what sex is, a way to feel a bit, a little bit less lonely” marina chose sex to be a prominent theme on this album but she has shown she can handle it in the moment mature way any woman in the industry can. it’s subtle, it’s methodical, it isn’t vulgar, it’s just straight real and honest and such an important thing to discuss! this song is another aspect of how sex can be important in our lives. she better preach tbh

the aesthetics can reserved character on this song are a beautiful contrast that the album needed. filler tracks who???

Savages

full disclosure, this song blew a hole right through my body with the sheer impact of its lyrics and chorus

there are so many fucking good lyrics on this song, it’s truly baffling that anyone has a career in the music industry after this was dropped

“I’m not afraid of God, I am afraid of man” I am Screeching

the first beat of the chorus, my bodily fluids are already dripping from the ceiling and my bones are crushed into a fine powder

“underneath it all, we’re just savages hidden behind shirts, ties, and marriages” she is prophet, the chosen one, the woman who will deliver us from our mortal coils

“another day, another tale of rape, another ticking bomb to bury deep and detonate” Marina is fully aware of the important problems our nation is facing at the time the album was released and even to today. she isn’t a shallow artist like the persona she created in electra heart, she has become almost the exact opposite. She is taking on these issues with a clear judgment and grace and I am so proud and appreciative of her work.

“are you killing for yourself or killing for your savior?” YES YOU BETTER ASSASSINATE THESE MOTHERFUCKERS

the buildup in the last chorus to the E T H E R E A L ending is clearly the climax of modern pop music

Immortal

you could play this song for me and tell me it’s a message from an angel and I would 200% believe you

the melody on this track is so fucking pristine it’s like a glacier melting in your mouth

it continues the themes of humanity from Savages but looks at a completely different issue about it. this album is cohesive, planned out, and a complete and full body of work

the moment the chorus hits with “I’m forever chasing after time” my limbs are being forcibly extended by a device of love and torture

“but if the earth ends in fire, and the seas are frozen in time, there will be just one survivor, the memory that I was yours and you were mine” ok not kidding anymore this is STRAIGHT up MOTHER fucking POETIC genius and innovation at its most concentrated and talented moment

when she says “twice” on the high note in the chorus, it’s like the most beautiful bell shattering in my ear, tbqh

THE FUCKING BRIDGE is actual art. “I just wanna be able to say the I live my life” the way she executes this melody is cold-blooded and frankly she should be charged with manslaughter for it

bottom line, Marina Diamandis released the biggest breakthrough in pop music to date in 2015 and all of you demons let it flop. if you have the nerve to call this album a failure, I have literally 0 respect for you and no one is ever going to love you

#marina and the diamonds #marina diamandis #froot #i am obviously very passionate about this album

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forloveoflibertea · 6 years

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The USUK Database | Part 02: The Drafts

( I have also included a couple other fics which aren’t necessarily USUK, but well... you’ll see. )

WARNING: Please do not steal these ideas.

If you are interested in adopting any of these fic ideas, please talk to me first. I am an approachable person, and if—only if—I allow you to adopt an idea, please take the time to give me credit. That’s all I’m asking of you, dear reader. And, if you have been inspired to write something similar or based upon one of these ideas, feel free to do so, but still with proper credit. Also, please refer them to me, because I’m always open to read anything.☺️

I’m posting this list in order to get feedback, so, if you can take the time to leave a comment, please do so. It’s very appreciated by an amateur author like me.

Now, onto the list!

| 0 1 | The Through Boundless Seas Duology

| 0 1 . 1 | Main Storyline: And LiberTea For All | YouTuber, Soulmate AU ; main pairing: USUK ; side pairing/s: brotherly! FrUK, RusCan, PruHun

synopsis: “When the whole world tells you who to love, listen to your heart."

In which fate (and humorous circumstance) brings them together.

| 0 1 . 2 | Prequel: Ocean Eyes | YouTuber, Soulmate AU ; main pairing: USUK ; side pairing/s: RusCan, one-sided AsaKiku

synopsis: “You're lovely but you're an ocean away."

"But when you love someone, you'll always find a way."

In which they reach out into the void and find each other.

| 0 2 | The Divide Collection | a collection of songfics based on the album, “divide” by Ed Sheeran ; main pairing: USUK

| 0 2 . 1 | To Fall In Love | based on Galway Girl | tagline: “Hold my hand, let's pretend we know how to fall in love one more time."

| 0 2 . 2 | Let Me Know | based on Dive | tagline: “Let me know if I'm crazy for loving you when I know better."

| 0 2 . 3 | If I Told You (I Love You) | based on How Would You Feel (Paean) | tagline: “If I told you I love you, can you look me in the eyes and lie that you love me too?"

| 0 2 . 4 | Empty | based on Save Myself | tagline: “I emptied out my love for you, waiting for you to give me yours in return. But you didn't."

| 0 3 | The Painted Hearts Duology

| 0 3 . 1 | Book One: Impressionism | Modern AU ; main pairing: USUK

tagline: “The simplest acts of love are captured in the most fleeting moments."

| 0 3 . 2 | Book Two: Surrealism | Modern AU ; main pairing: USUK

tagline: “They say it's better to be late than never. But it doesn't change the fact that it's already too late."

| 0 4 | Hellfire | HS AU, inspired by Kuroko No Basuke ; main pairing: USUK ; side pairing/s: PruCan

synopsis: There was a time when he thought he knew it all.

He thought he had it all. He thought he could make everyone of those he cared for stay by his side. He thought he was strong enough to protect. He thought he was a hero.

He was proven wrong.

He didn't have it all—he never did. He didn't make them stay by his side—he was the one who pushed them to their limits, made them snap, drove them away. He wasn't strong enough to protect—he was weak enough to hurt them beyond repair.

He was no hero—he was the one who ignited the flames which burned everything he knew to ashes.

| 0 5 | Pater Noster | Omegaverse, Canon-Divergent, includes Nyotalia ; main pairing: USUK ; side pairing: Franada

synopsis: There are three irrevocable things that Amelia and Alice know about themselves.

First: They're orphans. No one knows why, but the twins have always been sheltered in the care of the orphanage since they can remember. What Nonno Roma, their caretaker, could tell them was that they had been left on the doorstep of the building one stormy night, tucked safely within their blankets, which were each patiently embroidered with their names.

Second: Their parents must have been an Alpha-Omega couple. There was really no chance of one or both of their mysterious parents being a Beta, as Amelia is an Alpha, whilst Alice is an Omega.

And third: they should be dead, after living for more than a century. But they aren't—and the most puzzling of it all is that they look no older than eighteen.

| 0 6 | The Prince | Omegaverse, Cardverse AU, inspired by “The Selection” series by Kiera Cass ; co-written ; main pairing: USUK

tagline: Ten Suitors. A cynical Prince. A race for the crown... And to capture his heart.

| 0 7 | To Have And To Hold | Hitman Jones/Assassin Kirkland, Dystopian Cardverse AU ; main pairing: USUK ; side pairings: PruCan, GerIta

synopsis: “There are no sides when it comes to love—or so it was believed.”

Thirteen-year-old Peter had always known he was different, and there were three things which alluded to this fact.

First: He had grown up in the care of the 'Hellion Arrest and Recapture Squadron’ which was more commonly known as the 'HEARTS', specifically under their Commander, 'Joker's, supervision.

Second: He was the son of the most wanted criminals in all of Albion: the so-called 'King' and 'Queen' of the SPADEs.

And third: His parents would do everything to have and to hold their young 'Prince' once again—and if it meant declaring war, then so be it.

| 0 8 | I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings | Omegaverse, Dystopian AU ; main pairing: USUK ; side pairing: platonic! FrUK

synopsis: ‘They call him a monster, the devil raised from the flames of Hell itself.

‘I know differently.

‘He is only a man, flawed and imperfect, bathed in the blood of his enemies.

‘He is only the man I have always loved.’

| 0 9 | Lentamente | Bearerverse, Dystopian AU ; main pairing: USUK ; side pairings: MapleTea, DenNor, PruAus

synopsis: Associating with the Triumvirate only leads to trouble—he knows that better than anyone now.

When a one-night-stand goes wrong, straight-A Student Council President Arthur Kirkland finds himself being pursued by none other than the leader of New Haven Institute’s troubles: Alfred F. Jones. Notorious for being a reputed casanova with dashing good looks and witty pick-up lines, the American is a force to be reckoned with, and Arthur arms himself with his usual cynical attitude and volatile demeanour in order to rebuff the younger’s advances.

All's fair in love and war—or is it, really, when the ‘war’ is declared in order to capture a pessimistic Englishman’s heart?

| 1 0 | Thrice Promised | Bearerverse, Medieval AU, inspired by “The Thrice Promised Bride” by Cheng Chin Hsiung ; main pairing: USUK ; side pairings: past! FrUK, past! SpUK, platonic! EngMano, platonic! England x Belarus

synopsis: He was thrice promised to be wed, twice broken with lies, and once upon a time, he hoped to be redeemed.

| 1 1 | If I Die | Sweet Devil AU ; main pairing: USUK ; side pairings: PruCan, France x Seychelles

synopsis: There are many ways to die.

Arthur Kirkland knows this, for he has attempted them all.

| 1 2 | The ‘S’ Files Duology

| 1 2 . 1 | Part One: Still Here | HS AU, inspired by a song of the same title ; main pairing: SpaMano ; side pairings: USUK, GerIta, PruCan

synopsis: Lovino Vargas has a secret.

No, really—his family owns a flower shop, of all things, and he helps out at the store every time he's free. (Since his younger brother, Feliciano, is always with the Macho Potato he calls his lover.) It's not a bad thing, in theory—but that's where life screws with the hotheaded Italian.

When there's a spray-painted plethora of insults about his part-time job, it's about time things stir up—but not in the way he's expected.

| 1 2 . 2 | Part Two: Someone Like You | HS AU, inspired by a song of the same title ; main pairing: USUK ; side pairings: GerIta, SpaMano, PruCan

| 1 3 | I See You | Modern AU, inspired by the film Kita Kita ; main pairing: USUK ; side pairings: past! FrUK, France x Spain, past! America x OC! Philippines

| 1 4 | Let Love Bleed Black | Superhero AU ; main pairing: USUK ; side pairing: Franada

| 1 5 | Satisfied | Dystopian AU, inspired by the song, “Satisfied” from the musical, “Hamilton” ; main pairing: USUK ; side pairing: platonic! FrUK

| 1 6 | Inferno | Omegaverse, Magical Strike AU, inspired by the song, “Burn” from the musical, “Hamilton” ; main pairing: USUK ; side pairings: Ameripan, platonic! England x Belarus

| 1 7 | The Last Dance | tentative title ; Omegaverse, inspired by the song, “Dance With My Father,” cover by Michael Pangilinan ; main pairing: USUK

| 1 8 | Defenseless | tentative title ; Omegaverse, Secretly married Model! Alfred x Popular Singer! Arthur, inspired by the song, “Rockabye” by Clean Bandit ft. Sean Paul and Anne-Marie ; main pairing: USUK

| 1 9 | On My Own | tentative title ; HS AU, inspired by the song of the same title from the musical, “Les Misérables” ; main pairing: USUK ; side pairings: MapleTea, PruHun

| 2 0 | Submissive | Omegaverse, Canon-Divergent, a take on the popular “England as the 51st state” trope ; main pairing: USUK

| 2 1 | Hollow Fire | tentative title ; Canon-Divergent, inspired by the songs, “Paradichlorobenzene” and “Antichlorobenzene” ; main pairing: USUK ; side pairing: platonic! SpUK, SpaMano

| 2 2 | The Story of Us | HS AU, where the students of the all-boys academy are forced to present the musical “Hamilton” for their final project ; main pairing: USUK

| 2 3 | Fallen From Grace | Sweet Devil AU, Devil! Alfred x Suicidal Human! Arthur ; main pairing: USUK

| 2 4 | Scarlet | HS AU, inspired by the musical, “Heathers” ; main pairing: SpaMano ; side pairings: MapleTea, USUK, GerIta

#usuk #ukus #fruk #spuk #gerita #spamano #engmano #prucan #pruhun #pruaus #aushun #franada #ruscan #youtuber au #soulmate au #hs au #gakuen au #college au #modern au #masterlist #drafts #mapletea

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