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lilactwilights · 29 days ago

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a heathen clung to piety (a priest!gojo x reader fic)

series masterlist

summary: everything about satoru gojo is pristine. from his charming looks, to his unblemished family name and his exemplary priesthood. because of that, attraction is nothing more than fuel for what you assume is a one-sided fantasy, a carefully kept secret you are content to keep deep within. but when you end up in his bed, the vows he broke end up cracking the surface of his immaculate facade and bringing forward the painful memories and the cruel truth of a tragedy all too familiar.

or, you find out the angel named Satoru Gojo may have fallen a long time ago, and that you might end up falling with him too.

chapter summary: with satoru’s return, a new arrival at the city and winter prevailing, you are forced to confront all you have been trying to run away from.

word count: 10k

Hello there! ฅ≽(•⩊ •マ≼Thank you for your interest in reading! This was in my drafts for some time and in my mind for considerably longer. I have thought about Gojo a lot. And Priest Satoru Gojo spawned after playing with his canon counterpart like a Barbie, witnessing the talent of fandom creators and exploring a bit of my catholic memories. Let it be known that, funny enough, I have never experienced attraction towards a real-life priest and I don't think that day will come. Nonetheless, there's something about Gojo that has made his lil priest self my favorite plaything and that´s why I promised myself that, if I ever posted a fic again, I wanted him to do the honors. Excited to say that the day has finally come.I won't say much more here other than be mindful of the tags here, I will be updating them accordingly and letting you know if there is any specific thing you should keep an eye out for in the upcoming chapters.English is not my first language and I'm more than a bit rusty so it's a bit nerve-wrecking to put this out there /ᐠ ╥ ˕ ╥マ. Regardless, I hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it ♡ (Might edit this chapter a bit in the near future)I'm new to tumblr so I apologize if the formatting looks a bit wonky, I´m still working on it, this is a reupload so if you have seen this before, yeah it was me :p

You don’t like winter.

It brings cold and sickness and painful memories with it. For you, the best part of it are the droplets of melting ice announcing its imminent departure and the first sightings of green peeking through the remnants of snow. Trees are still skinny and mostly naked, branches trembling at the wind, bending under the weight of the last snowfall but, between the leisure movement of a heavy cloud and the other, the sun has started to reach out with its lukewarm rays.

As you stand on the platform, you claim the only spot touched by the sun, though it does little to alleviate the stubborn reminder of a winter you would chase away if you could. The wind remains almost freezing cold, it makes you shiver and shut your eyes tight every time it slaps you in the face, every hit of air chafing your skin.

You mourn the scarf you left hanging at the rack back home. You were already two streets away when you realized you had forgotten it and you were quick to dismiss it in favor of catching the train on time.

Now you are here, with no scarf, a freezing frame and a train running late, because, of course, only Satoru Gojo would manage to be late even by train.

In fact, if a person could be blamed for making a train run late, it would probably be Gojo, somehow. Last time you took a train together, a few months back, you almost missed it because of him. He doesn’t have anyone to nag at him this time, so you can only hope he boarded on time, like he always seems to barely do.

This town needs an actual train station, you think, as you nuzzle further into your winter coat. There’s a little lobby next to the platform that is “closed for remodeling” because the administration had to choose the worst time of the year to modernize the cozy little lounge. The platform you are currently shivering on was renewed by the Gojo Family almost two years ago, upon the arrival of their heir. The outline and build of the little ticket booth attached to the side of the station is reminiscent of the village props you saw at The Nutcracker the winter before. It’s too fancy for such a little spot outside of a small town like yours, too opulent for a place that’s not used as much anymore, but it’s a nice view you appreciate. However, all the cutesy and intricate carving does next to nothing to shield you from the cold. You heard the Mayor refused the Gojos’ offer to donate a proper train station and you can’t help but resent him too. After all, his pride is costing you your body temperature.

You nuzzle further into your clothes, pressing yourself against the column at another hit of wind. When you first arrived, the nice lady at the booth had offered you a place inside while you waited, but the space was already cramped enough with just one person in it, so you had to politely decline. It might have been a good decision considering she is currently nursing a cigar and likely emitting more fumes than the train you are waiting for. Right now, you can barely see her silhouette through the window with all the smoke condensed into the little booth. You have the itch to tap on the glass to see if she hasn’t passed out. Maybe if she is still conscious you can walk back your decision and ask for a little place in there with only your nice perfume and healthy lungs to pay the price.

As you take a hesitant step towards the impromptu smokehouse, your attention is caught by a distant whistle, the telltale sound of a locomotive approaching. You perk up, waddling further into the platform to take a look as the sound of the machine gets louder. Indeed, the outline of the wine red train greets you between smog and frosty wind and you sigh, retreating once more to your waiting place.

“About time,” you huff.

Satoru left two weeks ago for a series of meetings with some higher ups from the Church. He called you every other day, mostly to nag or entertain himself.

You don’t ask too much about what goes in there nor does he go into detail, he only ever talks about them to complain. Sometimes you think he has caught on to how much you truly dislike most of them and you are the only person he can sincerely unload his grievances with.

As expected, only Satoru is getting off in this station. Your eyes meet through the window as he stands in the door waiting for it to open. His eyes widen for a second but crinkle immediately after as he smiles, all perfect teeth, mouthing something you can’t quite understand. You wave at him with a smile, cheeks feeling suddenly warm despite the cold.

You point at your wrist while you lift a brow but it’s hard to keep the stern expression when the uncomfortable fluttering in your stomach makes you nauseous.

You step back as the doors open and stand there, changing your weight from one foot to the other as he gets off, sturdy suitcase in hand. He doesn’t even take two steps into the platform before he leaves his luggage on the floor, gaze fixed on you. Someone that appears to be a young train worker, judging by the uniform, is trailing behind him with a bunch of boxes that Satoru ends up maneuvering in one hand after he places the suitcase on the floor.

Before the young boy can say something else, Satoru shoves one of the little boxes in his hands with a loud thank you. The boy blinks and bows his head awkwardly, a low expression of confused gratefulness escaping his lips as he retreats. You lift a brow at the display, your own confusion tampering with your smile but Satoru, as always, just returns it wholeheartedly, balancing the boxes on top of his luggage.

“I asked if you missed me,” he says in lieu of a greeting as he straightens up, bright blue eyes regarding you from above.

The color in his gaze somewhat softens thanks to all the white and the gray around. That’s probably how the blue of the seas in the frozen lands far away look like. He is all pale colors, a striking contrast to his black jacket and dark blue scarf and his pink lips. He rarely flushes, but there’s a pleasant blush in his chiseled cheeks from the warmth that hasn’t died down under the harsh wind. He speaks again. And you see the way his lips curl. They look soft and plump as they dance and mold to the words that your cottoned ears can’t quite catch: “…missed”

“I asked if you missed me”

“Huh?” is your elaborate reply.

Satoru’s grin evolves into a chuckle. It’s a pleasant sound that you indeed have missed . Other days, when he directs that sound towards you, you find the sound irritating enough to pretend it doesn’t cave a pit in your stomach. Not today.

Today he extends his arms, his wide form taking up the space with his broad back and his long limbs. You don’t think twice before sinking into him. You have missed him too much for your own good, you resolve, as he squeezes you so tight it steals a breathless huff of a laugh from you.

“Get off…”

Satoru chuckles too, a rumbling sound vibrating against your smothered cheek. His hands don’t go lower than your back, but the feeling of his fingers pressed against you through your clothes projects all over your body.

“Not before you answer,” he adds, against your temple.

“What?”

“If you miss me”

You gulp. It’s only the two of you between the cold and the fog on the platform. “I didn’t hear you say that at all.”

“But I did,” he retorts, leaning back just enough so your eyes meet, “And you still haven’t answered.”

He smells like warmth and caramel. He probably ate sweets onboard and the smell of it swirls along his fresh cologne. Not unpleasant, but sure overwhelming when it’s paired with those intense eyes looking at you.

“So?”

“I didn’t,” you answer. Way too quickly, way before your heart and your brain realize you are lying and make you stutter as punishment.

Satoru smiles lazily, letting you go with a languid movement that has his fingertips sliding off your waist. He tugs at one of the strands of hair hanging at the side of your face instead.

“That’s a shame,” he laments, sighing, puncturing each word with a twirl of his fingers, the start of a shit-eating grin on his lips. “Because I did”

“It’s been two weeks,” you huff, gently pushing his hand away in a lighthearted gesture. You don’t mind his touch at all. Or, you didn't mind it. You are now bothered by the appalling urges born in your core and traveling to your every limp.

“And? That’s more than enough to me,” he switches the grip of his hand to grasp at yours and give it a squeeze. “Believe it or not, I prefer your pretty face over the nagging of our dear church authorities”

“I’m touched,” you deadpan, a little smile tugging at the corner of your lips despite yourself.

Satoru hums. “I am too, considering I wasn’t expecting a welcome back committee”

Your lips part, brows furrowing. “Didn’t you say you wanted me to come!?”

“That was before I realized our lovely weather could turn you into an icicle,” he says, eyes scanning you intently. He takes a few steps forward and places both his hands in your cheeks. You feel yourself stiff. “Although the flush of your face is rather pleasant to look at, there’s no reason for you to stand here and freeze for little ole’ me”

Your frozen hands try to peel away his wrists on instinct. Satoru is touchy, probably more touchy than a priest should be, but he is also more nonchalant than the average gentleman is so you can’t say you aren’t used to it.

It’s the mortifying somersault your stomach does and the warmth that bleeds from your chest to your lower belly like molten what you are not used to. He is not even touching you directly, the fabric of his gloves is less soft than his hands, but it’s warm and kind in comparison to the wind. Nonetheless, the sole implication of him touching you so casually is enough to make you short of breath.

For a few seconds that stretch incredibly long, Satoru rubs your cheeks intently, as if trying to coax the warmth of your blood to bleed into your skin. There’s something in his eyes as a slow, cheeky curve takes place on his lips. You forget the flustered feeling for a moment, but your body stays locked on it, a prickling sensation climbing up your neck as you frown up at him, tugging at his wrists.

“Father?”

Satoru’s well trained to react the exact opposite way to your flustered, hurried flurry. As you jump, he waltzes back in calculated steps, casually sliding his hands down to your shoulders, squeezing them only slightly before taking his hands off you for good. By the time his hands are by his sides, yours are still fidgeting about, tugging at your winter coat.

You turn your face towards the familiar voice and force down the lingering feeling of self-consciousness, sketching a smile that lacks the blinding brightness of the dishonest one Satoru offers to the clueless newcomer.

“Ah, Ijichi, you are finally here!” he announces, eyes crinkling. The cherry on top is, of course, the thunderous clap that accompanies his words. “I started to think you had forgotten about me”

You have known him for almost two years, so you can catch it. The way his smile curves and hardens before it stretches all the way. He seems slightly bothered about something you can only theorize about.

“N-not at all!” Kyotaka bows his head, face a bit flushed because of the cold or because his eyes are also trained in Satoru’s micro-expressions. “Welcome back, Father”

You think you have imagined it, though, because Satoru’s expression is back to his relaxed, jovial façade. Or maybe it never really changed. You try not to stare too long or think about his face too hard lately.

“C’mon Ijichi!” he protests, “I’m not wearing the habit right now! We can be a bit flexible”

Ijichi is not deterred, sharing a look with you as a resigned, little smile grazes his lips. He is one of the very few people that has fallen victim to Satoru’s overly familiarity and, just like most, he is not playing along. That always makes you consider if you should also be more mindful of the difference in your positions, but Satoru’s arm casually slinging around your shoulders chases any further reflection away.

Ijichi is abruptly intercepted by one of Satoru’s arms as well when he steps closer to retrieve some of the boxes laying over Gojo’s luggage and you can see the way his shoulders fall in a reluctant acceptance. His glasses are crooked now by the unexpected motion but he makes no effort in shrugging Gojo as the latter pats his back energetically. You share a look once more.

“I-ji-chi! Guess who was freezing on this platform, waiting for me?” Satoru asks, squeezing his hold on you as he rhythmically pats Ijichi’s frame. “Certainly not you!”

At that, Ijichi’s resigned face tenses back to his default expression, a mix of mortification and surprise in his widened eyes.

“I a-apologize, I wasn’t aware you were coming here as well! I would have offered you a lift!”

“Oh, see? You are so formal with me but you call her by her name!”

You both ignore Satoru as you shrug his arm off your shoulders, offering Ijichi an appeasing smile, lifting a hand in a dismissive gesture.

“Don’t worry about it, I didn’t know you were picking him up either,” you reply earnestly, brushing your hair out of your face as you start to walk, “I think it’s his fault”

As Kyotaka takes the boxes Satoru brought with him, he regards you with a look that seems suspiciously close to a silent agreement. Once again, both of you ignore Gojo’s whines, moving along the platform until he desists on his protests and easily falls into step with you, suitcase in tow.

“I’m glad Ijichi and you have found friendship, but I don’t appreciate you bonding over disregarding me” is what he says, with a suffering sigh that evolves into a little smile when you eye him up.

“I’m sure making everything about you is a sin” you comment lightheartedly and Satoru rolls his eyes. “For your information, Kyotaka and I have been friends for a while and agreeing on your obnoxiousness is not the reason our friendship begun”

“But your blatant animosity is what makes it thrive,” Satoru points out, with an accusing finger. “It’s the same thing with Sister Uta–”

“Is your nagging my reward for picking you up at the train station?” you inquire. “I should have stayed warm and cozy at home”

“You waited for me. If we want to get technical, my dear sister, Ijichi is the one picking me up.”

He watches the beginning of an indignant protest in your face, to which he walks back his teasing statement and raises a calming hand. “Both of which I deeply appreciate,” he adds, and there’s a softness in his honest smile that mellows you down enough, until he pokes at you once more. “A good Christian doesn’t expect anything in return for a good deed, anyway” he chirps. “God shall provide”

“Good thing I’m not a Christian then,” you retort and Satoru huffs a laugh, shutting it too quickly in favor of shaking his head in disapproval. “So you shall provide”

“I’m not but God’s humble messenger,” Satoru bows his head, eyes glinting as he regards you “So consider the souvenir I brought God’s way of acknowledging your selfless act”

He is serious, but there’s an amused tilt to his gentle smile that warms and softens you up enough to forget about the banter and grin earnestly.

After a silent look that lingers enough for the prickling feeling in your face to make a comeback, you simply turn your face to the front. By your peripheral vision, you notice Satoru’s gaze linger just a few seconds more before he follows your lead. You both keep walking side by side, arms brushing at every swing. Your throat closes up and you focus on ahead.

Ijichi is a fast-walker by nature, you have learned, and you saw him hurry his step as Satoru reached your side with long strides a few moments ago. If Satoru wanted, he could outpace you and Ijichi with ease, but he has decided to linger beside you and you soon realize there’s a reason beyond any friendly banter or the announcement of any souvenir.

You step over a branch peeking through the melting snow on the ground and that’s when he speaks.

“The snow is finally melting” he whispers, “I’m relieved”

There’s a sympathetic inflexion on his voice that’s not lost to you. The same off-handed tone present on his words these last two weeks through calls and letters. You lean against him almost on instinct, shoulder surprisingly at ease as it bumps against his arm. “Me too”

On a personal level, being friends with Satoru means a lot of things and has plenty of implications you don’t want to get at most of the time. You were both relieved and saddened by his absence during the last snow storms of this winter which tells you enough about the dichotomy that persists in your relationship. It’s easier to dwell on it during this season, which is why you occupy yourself like a maniac during it, which is why you cling to any semblance of sun or warmth amidst the cold.

The car ride is silent enough, the soft sound of the wheels scraping against the road lulling you as you lean against the window, eyes chasing any rays peeking through the clouds, even if you have to narrow your eyes at the unexpected force of a sun recovering its strength.

“Hey,” Satoru’s voice is soft, a callback to the time and space you are in right now, tugging you away from cruel memories.

He offers you his hand, without a glove. Long and pretty and pale. Warm as you press your hand over it. “The other one too”

That’s when you notice he took both his gloves off and, as he envelops your hands with his, your thoughts linger on how warm and soft and soothing his skin is.

When he rubs his palms over your cold, trembling fingers, he triggers a scorching heat in your hands and your arms and your whole being. “Your hands are freezing,” he says, none the wiser to your melting insides. “I noticed earlier, you weren’t wearing gloves, or a scarf”

There’s more than a hint of disapproval in his tone. For real this time. Not like the one he uses to half-heartedly scold your thinly-veiled anti-church sentiments.

“I-I forgot”

Does he know your mouth feels dry and cottoned? Can he notice the way your breath catches in his throat at his proximity, or the way your heart skips at every motion of his thumbs over the back of your hands?

“You shouldn’t have walked there with this weather” Satoru whispers, and there’s something in his eyes that goes beyond the earnest care you have grown acquainted with. “You are not even properly clothed for it,” he hums, there’s a bit of the teasing back that gets lost on the deep look in his eyes.

You don’t even know what to make of it.

It’s like that one time, over a year ago.

Just like his voice grabbed you away from the claws of the cruel, painful past, his eyes push you back into that void, except in a kinder, warmer part of it.

The train ride to the next city and the memory of the gorgeous display on stage.

It’s a nice memory.

Nevermind the mortifying discoveries about yourself that trip uncovered.

Absolutely not. Because it is the beautiful memory of your first ever trip to a professional ballet production, a long-time dream, the one guilty of the fluttering sensation in your stomach.

Not the memory of the seating booth in the train back home feeling strangely suffocating, or his hands over your skin, trying to cool away a fever you couldn’t get rid of. A fever and itch that has been chasing you ever since you sat way too close in the same room, the same bed.

That’s not it.

It’s the pretty parts, the softer parts you should focus on because it is a nice memory, one that is not tainted by the origins of the crude ruminations that keep you awake at night to this day. Not at all.

“I wanted to,” you say with a shrug. “To go there, I mean.”

To wait for you. To see you again.

Satoru hums, blowing hot air into your fingertips. Your whole being rattles.

“You should have waited for me at the church, then” he whispers. His lips are inches away from your hands, you almost want to stretch your fingers, just to try–

“I don’t like to go there when it’s empty,” you respond, voice steadier than your beating heart.

“It’s never empty,” he replies, thumbs massaging up to your fingertips, squeezing them for barely a second. “It’s the house of God, he is always there”

He isn’t. And you aren’t either. What’s the point? But you don’t say that, you don’t say anything more. You almost feel like you don’t need to, because Satoru smiles at you then, and it’s almost sad.

You feel you might be privy to what most people in town are not. Your friendship with Satoru didn’t blossom out of shared faith or thrived because of your trust in him as a recipient of God. Quite the contrary. It was born despite your reservations and your disagreements. As such, you are allowed to see beyond the charming, quick-witted, perfect priest image he projects for all believers to see. For you, he is equally if not more charming and wiser when he is “just Satoru” but you won’t ever tell him that out loud.

Instead, you let your shared secrets and time together speak for you. He knows a lot about you. You know a lot about him. Or so you think.

Satoru has always given you the impression of false openness. He makes people, you included, feel as if he is sharing a lot, but most of the time, it’s just superficial lore or inconsequential sentiments.

You don't usually pressure him to share anything beyond what he usually does, but there’s a trust that has been nurtured during your time together that has given you both a space to share what you both know is no common knowledge. He doesn’t need to tell you “I have never told this to anyone” but you have learned to recognize when it’s the case. You know when it’s something he wouldn’t share with the world.

It is often, though, that you get the impression that these secret things have been shared before with someone else out there. There’s something about his speech, the careful distant expression on his face that betrays a sense of dejavu or melancholy that disappears as soon as it appears, between a blink and another. He has travelled the world and he has confessed his sins often. It could be any person out there, a priest or God himself.

Who knows? You don’t push. You never do. After all, there is a whole story you haven’t shared with him. And you don’t think you will soon. He has the right to have his secrets too, and despite the big chunk of your life that remains hidden close to your chest, you bet he has way more secrets than you do.

You wear your heart in your sleeve, he doesn’t. You could be fooled by his easy smile and his running mouth, though, like everyone else.

And you are.

It seems rather meaningless, but in retrospect, this little thing that Satoru willingly withholds from you unravels the whole mess and tells you more about all the things he doesn’t tell you.

At some point, it becomes public knowledge that a newly ordained priest will come to your little town. The people are concerned their angel darling of a Father is being moved away. But it doesn’t seem to be the case, as one particular Sunday, Satoru addresses the whispers and concerns from the altar with good humor.

That’s how you find out, like everyone else.

Kento Nanami, a priest from the same college as Satoru, will become part of the little community.

When you question Satoru about it later, ignoring his who-know-what attempt at explaining checkers to you, he sighs, shoulders falling. It is so different from the usual flair he would answer you with, he seems almost defeated for a second, the flames of the chimney of his office flickering all over his face, raising his high cheekbones further.

“We used to be together in the seminary,” he finally says.

Satoru doesn’t talk much about the seminary. It’s one of the things he pretends he enjoys being open about except all he has ever told you has to do with the multiple headaches he induced on everyone around him.

“But,” you say, leaning forward in your seat. You try to ignore the way Satoru’s foot brushes against yours as he shifts and stretches his legs under the table. “The people say he is newly ordained”

“Ah, our lovely town is as adept in gossiping as it is in their daily praying,” Satoru comments, propping his chin over his hand with a lazy tilt of the head, a shaper one on his lips . “He is.”

You don’t need to do the math for that one. It doesn’t add up.

“But if he was with you–”

“He left,” Gojo cuts you off with a bit of a bored, resigned expression. “Then he came back.”

He is not even hiding his unwillingness to share any details. The tense smile is the same he uses when he wants to cut a conversation short. It’s the first time he has used it with you.

And it’s the first time you decide to press, as well.

“Why did he leave?”

Satoru takes a few seconds to respond, eyes focusing on the dancing flames in the chimney, gaze concerningly distant. For a moment, you think he might tell you it’s none of your business. Strictly speaking, he would be right.

“Some people aren’t made for it,” he whispers, in the most monotone voice you have ever heard from him. It brings a chill down your spine, suddenly feeling an infinite wall rise between you. You feel you might reach out to touch him and you won’t be able to snatch him away from whatever place he is sinking into now.

But, as it always happens, the wall crumbles as soon as it builds. And Satoru, seemingly sensing your unease, seems to snap out of whatever haze the flames have induced on him.

He smiles, again, eyes flickering towards you.

“But don’t worry,” he says, even if you are less worried about priest Nanami’s abilities than you are about the all-seeing eyes that look right through you. “Nanamin is. That’s why he came back.”

Kento Nanami sure seems like the kind of guy made to be a priest. He is sober, proper, humble. Kind and polite at the welcoming party your good-spirited town throws for him. He seems genuinely taken aback by the warm reception, but earnest in his shy appreciation. You study every interaction from afar, just like you did back when Satoru first came to town.

Satoru had been charming, talkative, and full of initiative in every interaction. He had had the hard task of living up to the expectation the priest before him, a beloved local, had risen in forty years of service. Satoru was young. Maybe a bit too young, people had first observed with wariness. But it was that, along with his good-natured humor, his refreshing speech and his impeccable looks, that ended up making him the darling of the town in no time.

Nanami’s regal presence is impeccable as well, in a different way. There’s nothing out of place, not a hair, not a button, not even a blink, as if everything is carefully crafted with little to no effort. And while he doesn’t seem to have the social energy Satoru has delighted everyone with these past years, he appeals to the community all the same with that mix of youth and firmness reminiscent of a soldier. He looks older than Satoru. There’s something in their interactions that suggests something you can’t quite put your finger on. Satoru is cheery, as always. Friendly and familiar with his arm thrown over the other priest’s shoulders, with his animated voice raising over the bustle of the party but something in Nanami’s shoulders remains tense in a way they weren’t in any other interaction.

It’s so weird once you see it.

It could be simple shyness at Satoru’s familiarity, but he doesn’t seem shy or flustered. You don’t even know if, judging by his stern expression, he is even capable of it.

It’s seems there’s a world they are part of you are not privy to. That’s probably the case. Priesthood and seminary life it’s not something you ever can or want to fully comprehend.

But, despite whatever weird energy surrounding them, they make for a nice picture, standing side by side, overlooking the party and the towners from the first landing of the stairs leading up to the church. The single photographer from the local paper thinks the exact same, snapping a shot with little warning. It captures Satoru leaning towards Nanami, a smile frozen midway as the flash explodes in their faces.

Nanami is tall, but looking at them like this, you can truly put into perspective how tall Satoru truly is, his shoulder some inches above the other man’s.

No matter, you have to lean your head back to look at the two of them properly.

Kento or “Nanamin” is polite enough to stay quiet through Satoru’s enthusiastic introduction but it’s soon clear to you that he is barely tolerating the other’s incessant, loud chatter right into his ear. He still smiles, bows his head at you, as he introduces himself as if Satoru hadn’t done it for him over three times already. There’s a distant echo in your head that bothers you and there’s a weird feeling in your chest as you catch Nanami’s eyes looking at you as if he is trying to decipher a puzzle himself.

“Sorry if I overstep but, have we met?” he finally asks.

Satoru finally pauses beside you, only then paying attention to the fact that Nanami is not listening to his vibrant spiel, but he doesn’t seem baffled, face dropping to a rather curious, questioning glance more for Nanami than for yourself. Your smile doesn’t waver, tensing just the slightest bit as the echo in your head raises its volume.

“I don’t think so, no” you say.

Just like you did almost two years ago, when Satoru first came to the church, you leave the party early and find yourself pulled towards the limit of the woods at the outskirts. Once you step onto the only proper road leading to the next town, your eyes focus on the giant oak tree that stands at the top of the one little hill overseeing your step. The path is painful yet soothing in its familiarity, your heels digging in the dirt and light layer of snow enveloping the steep as you balance your weight and propel forward.

As you make your way to the top, the big, old oak greets you with a rustle of leaves. The leaves persevere during winter, for a reason you would like to think you know.

You feel your face warm with the effort and you can see your breath escape in little puffs of hot air that evaporate into the frosted wind as you walk towards the wide, rough trunk, and press your cheek against it.

You lean on the trunk and focus on the sounds coming from within, the endless shifting of it akin to breathing. Even if you wanted to hug it, you wouldn’t be able to. The immensity of it makes it impossible. It’s ironically cruel. You can’t hug him again and you can’t hug the one breathing thing that reminds you of him either.

“I’m sorry I haven’t visited,” you say, closing your eyes. You can almost pulsing with life against your face. One of your hands curls over the trunk. “I missed you today.”

At this time of the year, you are forced to confront plenty of things. You thought you had survived this winter without having to think, but there’s a sweet and painful song of melancholy in the air that follows you through these events.

It makes you think again about how you would have forgiven him, if he came to town like Satoru did. Like Nanami did. You would have forgiven him. Even if he was clad in priest robes and stood over the altar with the pride of a soldier of God. You would have forgiven him even with the sting of all the broken childish promises.

“It would have been okay, at the end,” it's the only other thing you say out loud.

It’s a sad and embarrassing thought, that you don’t have to say much. Wherever he is now, he knows what he didn’t know before. And everyone knows too. Everyone that loves you and loves him knows. That the pain has subsided and dulled but lingers like a chronic nightmare that sharpens every so often.

That you spent years mad at him and now you can only be mad at yourself. You have matured and you see things in a different light now, left to wonder if you , rather than him, could have done anything in another way.

It’s sad and embarrassing when Satoru meets you at the entrance road to the main street, concern or pity barely veiled as he heaves, cheeks rosy, his rebellious white hair slightly dancing at the tune of the frosty wind, all that betraying the hurried steps he took upon realizing your absence.

You offer him a little smile, finally having cried what you had to cry these past days, your head doesn’t feel as heavy with dark thoughts anymore. You can leave your penances with the oak tree.

“Did my mother ask you to come look for me?” you ask, not thinking twice before hooking your arm with the one he is offering you.

Satoru stares at you intently, head tilted as you both turn back towards the main square in a dance you don’t have to rehearse anymore. It feels natural, walking with him like this.

“More like I offered,” he replies, eyes finally focusing ahead. “Watching her pace around pale with worry, I had to ask what was her cause of concern”

You feel a pinch of guilt.

“She—”

Satoru spares you from having to offer an excuse or apology.

“She knew where you were, but she was worried you would stay there until dark so I told her it would be better for me to bring you back.”

You sigh, head leaning against his arm, gaze focused on the thin mantle of snowflakes in the ground.

“I didn’t need to stay for long.”

“That’s a good thing.” You don’t know if you imagine it, but you can feel Satoru speak against the crown of your head. “It’s still pretty cold out here.”

You answer with a hum, hiding your face into his arm, even his jacket is impregnated with his cologne. Moments like this are met with such intense yearning everything else you feel along with it melts into a pool of sweet resignation.

“You know you can talk to me,” he says, stopping on his tracks. You inhale a bit more of his perfume and the winter air before looking up at him.

You know he can probably see the red trails and rims that expose your silent, lonely tears from earlier but you don’t mind. He looks into your eyes, brows furrowing just a bit, before he shifts his body to face you as well. The snow crunches slightly under his boots.

“What?” you ask.

He raises his hand and reaches for your face. Your eyes flutter in anticipation of his touch and that’s when you feel the phantom pressure of his fingertips against your heavy eyelashes. There’s a sole huff of air that resembles a laugh escaping from his lips, in tandem with the sigh that escapes yours and his soft smile and sad gaze is all you see as you open your eyes.

“There’s frost in your eyelashes,” he whispers, his thumb barely grazing the apple of your cheek, probably following the abandoned path a tear left behind.

Your breath hitches and a surge of adrenaline makes you turn your face to the side, just in time for Satoru to caress your cupid bow and the curve of your upper lip. Your eyes flutter close. It’s only for half a millisecond and his hand retreats as if you were burning him, curling on itself in the air, hovering over your face. Not a sound comes from him.

“I know,” you breathe out.

“Hm?”

“I know I can talk to you,” you clarify, blinking up at him with a soft tilt of your head and in your lips.

He doesn’t escape your gaze, and you can see yourself reflected on his darkened, tempestuous blue eyes.

“But you won’t,” he says.

“Not about this,” you reply honestly.

“But we are–”

You cut him off, before you can hope, protest or rejoice on whatever epithet escapes his lips.

“I know,” you unhook your arm from his, pressing a hand over his forearm. “But you don’t tell me every single thing about you either,” you squeeze slightly and you can feel his muscles clench under the pressure. “Do you?”

After seconds that feel like minutes stretching, he presses his hand over yours and squeezes in a thousand unspoken words.

“No.”

“And that’s okay.”

After all, there are things you don’t want him to know about, even if a part of you thinks he does already.

A part of you wants to believe he understands.

But how could he?

Someone like him can’t never lose, not anything nor anyone.

Your mother forgives your brief disappearance and requires you to run a few errands to pay back any concern you may have caused, mostly to soothe any lingering guilt from your part. It’s always like this between you both, the silent agreements and the subtle conversations.

You can talk about pain freely but you are candid enough about it for her not to worry about you letting it eat away at you in silence.

“Did the visit help?” she asks, hands busy and eyes fixed on you, as you wait patiently, leaning against the kitchen counter.

“Hm,” you nod, a faint smile. “It had been a while, I think that’s what I needed”

“I know you usually like to go up there alone,” she starts, “but please try not to linger too close to sunset, the air gets colder and the path is too dark for my peace of mind”

“You know I don’t like to walk in the snow at night.”

Your mother’s eyes trail away from you. “Right.”

“I’m okay,” you say, voice not wavering.

“I know you are,” she replies, looking back at you with love and concern mingling in her pupils. Your throat would close up at the sight on worse days.

Today, though, you smile at her with veiled gratitude and a hint of apology as she hands you a knitted bag, heavy with homemade goods.

“You know,” you point out, weighing it in your hands with a pensive pout in your lips. “I think you spoil that man way too much.”

“Those are for Father Nanami as well,” your mother protests, lifting her brow at you, affronted. “And ‘that man’ is our priest”

“It’s just Satoru,” you said. A slip up that you paid mind to a little too late.

“Precisely because it’s Father Satoru,” your mother replies, casual, as swift as her hands rearranging the last few envelopes. Her brief yet disapproving sideways glance is the only other indication that she has taken note of your disrespectful nonchalance. “He is a friend.”

“It doesn’t matter,” was the answer that made its way to your tongue. It didn’t come out of your lips though, it was too much of a lie.

“He should be thankful we prepared him anything at all.”

The piercing glare your mother throws your way is enough to seal your lips shut and make you swallow your complaint. You smile innocently, fluttering your eyelashes.

“Last time that look worked on me was when you were nine years old”

You don’t receive yet another earful regarding your lack of respect towards the so-called angel of the town, though, so you are thankful. Your mother is aware of the particular familiarity between Satoru and you and while you both have talked about the level of casualness you are okay with, she insists you follow the proper etiquette with a man of God.

“Smile when you deliver this,” she reminds you, planting an obnoxious kiss on your cheek. “We made such an effort putting this together,” your mother comments, eyes much softer than her admonishing voice. The ghost of a smile in her lips suggests a tease that you decide to ignore pointedly, your cheeks flaring. “Presentation is everything.”

You roll your eyes, making your way to the door, “Right...” you drawl.

“Don’t forget your scarf”

You hum in response, stopping at the foyer and grabbing it from the rack next to the door. As you tie it around your neck, a thought makes you pause.

“Mom?”

She peeks into the foyer. “Yes?”

You grab the door handle, eyeing her just briefly before twisting the knob.

“Did you tell Satoru?”

As you open the door, the cold wind blows into the warmth of the house. Your hair waves with it.

“About the tree?”

It’s always like this between you both, the silent connection and the subtle communication.

“About why I go there,” you say.

Your mother is quick to answer both with words and with a firm shake of her head.

You almost regret asking when you see the sorrowful lines that map her face.

“Of course not, it’s not my place to tell.”

You nod, smiling a bit. “Okay.”

As you step out, her voice reaches your ears. “But–“

You look over your shoulder. She looks sheepish, hands dancing on her lap. “Don’t you think it would help? Talking about it with him ? He is your friend and he is closer to God.”

You let out a soft laugh, not unkind. “I think it would be the most awkward conversation to have.”

Whenever you walk towards the parish, you think of Satoru. At the beginning, it was out of curiosity and wariness, as you imagined and played around with the endless possibilities of the mystery of his personality. Now, it is unbearable. The sense of anticipation that used to precede your meetings has mixed in with a yearning, an itch that you can barely scratch and which nature makes your stomach twist.

You are aware there’s an inherent wickedness permeating your feelings now, that most of your thoughts linger close to the line of impropriety and don’t reciprocate Satoru’s unconditional respect for you.

Because, even if he is unconventional in more ways than one, especially in comparison to the strict mold a catholic priest is expected to fit in, there’s nothing about him that suggests a questionable morality. Even with the way he is always getting close, shimming in your head and personal space, talking your ear off about everything and nothing and making jokes that walk and tether the line of strict propriety. And even with your proximity and the familiarity that allows him to touch you freely, there’s a delicate balance and respectful boundaries in your relationship.

His hands never wander or linger beyond the socially acceptable, invisible limits society has mapped a woman’s body with. The looks he gives you, while filled with open interest and regard, are void of a dark, twisted intention you have seen other men possess.

You are the one that avoids looking at him too much or staring at his eyes for too long, fearing the kind of expression you will see reflected on his all-seeing eyes. You are the one terrified about the possibility of him reading the hidden thoughts swirling in the depths of your brain.

The innocence of your friendship has mixed in with a dark pull that makes you crave Satoru’s proximity in a way you shouldn’t dare to entertain. It’s a cruel irony. Even beyond all the key reasons why your fascination should remain concealed behind platonic affections.

It’s wrong.

For the first time in the entire winter, you feel grateful when a whip of harsh, cold air hits your body. It’s heaven’s warning. A way to tell you to focus on the goosebumps instead of whatever black holes your mind is spiraling into.

You walk up the last steps leading to the entrance of the parish feeling nauseous, fighting and locking away the last thoughts. You inhale deeply before walking through the open doors, your nose filled instantly with the sweet smell of incense as the muscle memory takes over and you sign the cross over your upper body. It’s true when they say the church is truly never empty, and not because of the hypothetical presence of a higher being, but because it’s always open. During the day hours, there are always a few believers praying or waiting for a confession, head down, silently holding a conversation with either God or themselves.

Your eyes scan the few people scattered in the pews and you are not surprised to realize you are familiar with the back of the heads of half your neighbors. You walk to one side, moving along the rows of pews and nodding politely to those that are alerted by the movement in their peripheral. Nonetheless, as you get closer to the partly hidden hallway that leads to Satoru’s office and the sacristy, a smaller frame catches your attention. He is sitting right at the edge of the pew closest to the hallway leading to the offices. You walk closer and look over the scrawny shoulder, making sure he is not praying.

“Yuuji?” you whisper.

The boy raises his head, turning his gaze away from the missal on his lap. You smile down at the way his slightly bewildered expression morphs into a wide grin.

“Miss—!” he whispers back.

“What are you doing here?” you ask, ruffling his hair.

He gestures for you to get closer. When you do, he leans forward.

“I’m here to tell Father Gojo something”

You raise a brow, leaning back just enough to admire the anticipation in his expression.

“Father Gojo said I could be an altar boy next Sunday if Grandpa agreed,” he chirps.

You resist the urge to raise both eyebrows. You would think Yuuji is too young to be an altar boy, and you know Satoru does too, having denied his multiple, enthusiastic and incessant requests. Nonetheless, you also know Wasuke is spending more time at the hospital lately and that might be enough reason for him and Satoru to reconsider. Yuuji seems excited enough though. He thinks Satoru is the coolest guy around and has been trailing after him like a baby duck for a while.

“Let me guess,” you lean down with a conspiratorial whisper. “He said yes”

“Yes!”

Yuuji’s outburst bounces off the old rock walls but he doesn’t seem to mind it. You notice some people looking in your direction, raising their heads from their silent prayer with varying degrees of bewilderment. You shrug at them, an apologetic grimace, before turning back to Yuuji.

“Oh my” you huff out a laugh, keeping your voice at whisper-level. “Congrats on the promotion!”

Yuuji almost bounces off the pew but his voice is lower this time. “Thank you.”

“What’s your salary?”

“I-I don’t think I have one,” he perks up, intrigued.

“You should ask for one”

“Oh,” the boy doesn’t even question you, but furrows his brows a bit after a moment. “It shouldn’t be money, though”

You nod, mimicking his serious expression. “Of course.”

Yuuji’s legs swing over the edge of the pew as he looks at the bright colored windows.

“Movies” he suggests, doe eyes looking for your approval.

You bite back a smile but click your tongue and reign in your expression for the sake of the serious aura around him.

“He already lends them to you,” you tap your chin before your expression brightens. “I will help you negotiate weekly cinema tickets and all-you-can-eat ice cream”

Yuuji’s eyes are bright and wide as a gasp escapes his lips. “You would?”

“Uh-huh,” you wink, straightening back to your height. “I’m sure Father Satoru will honor this deal”

Yuuji beams up at you, body almost bouncing off the pew. You giggle, ruffling his hair before fishing some baked goods from your knitted bag.

“For you and Gramps”

“Thank you!” He promptly opens the envelope with enthusiasm and eyes at them. He sniffs unapologetically, “They smell so good! Did you make them?”

“My mom and I did,” you confirm, gently pressing your hand over his so he closes the paper. “They are better hot, so don’t open until you eat them”

“I will go eat them now!” he declares, clutching into them as if you would change your mind and snatch them away. “Outside,” he adds.

You laugh, propping a hand over your hip. “Wait, don’t you want to come to see Father Satoru?"

Yuuji is already sliding off the bench. “He told me to wait a few minutes, he is busy having a grown up talk with Father Nanamin!”

“Nana—“ you trail off. “Isn’t it Nanami?”

The young boy shrugs, already munching on a cookie despite his earlier promise. “Father Gojo calls him Nanamin and Father Nanamin says it was okay if I called him that. He doesn’t seem to like when Father Gojo does, though”

“I see.”

“You are a grown-up, so you can talk to them now,” Yuuji instructs sagely, pointing towards the hallway.

You salute, “Understood, boss”

Yuuji waves at you before skipping out the church. You observe his bouncing frame until it disappears beyond the entrance and you shake your head fondly, before turning around. As you pass the side of the altar, your gaze lingers in the Virgin Mary figure, the flickering flames of the candles at her feet dancing along her body. The candle you lit up many years ago should be right there.

With that last thought, you look forward and slide into the hallway.

At this point, you are familiar with every single corner of this place. Satoru gave you a personalized tour last year, almost scandalized at the thought of you not being familiar with the parish you had grown up in. So, w ith time, you found yourself feeling comfortable enough to explore around on your own, mostly to pass the time while Satoru is attending his priestly duties.

You have grown familiar with every nook and cranny of Satoru’s office as well and you know you can waltz right into it when the door is left ajar. Which is always.

Well, almost.

Strangely enough, you are greeted with the side of a closed door. You frown a bit, eyes fixed on the engraved name at the door. Satoru Gojo. You raise your hand to knock, fearing to walk into a serious conversation you shouldn’t overheard. Something makes you hesitate, though. Probably the hushed whispers traveling through the door.

You stand there, even if you know you shouldn’t.

“…it’s been almost seven years.”

“Didn’t know there’s a rule that says I should stop caring after–”

It takes you a few seconds to realize but what you assumed was a casual conversation sounds way more heated than that. You can’t always quite tell what’s being said, but there are moments the whispers evolve into louder

“….I’m just saying, a long time has passed, maybe you should let it go.”

“You want me to forget it!?”

“I’m not saying you should forget it, but God knows moving on is the best thing we can do. I did–”

“Jesus Christ,” Satoru huffs, “don’t you dare lecture me about moving on, you are here .”

You are so baffled by the fact that Satoru’s voice has the capacity to reach that level of defensive hostility that you don’t quite register how long the silence stretches after his last retort.

“I thought you had matured,” Nanami finally says and the casual coldness in his voice sends a shiver down your spine. “But you are the same impulsive, hot-headed, imprudent kid from all those years ago. Be mindful of your role.”

“Yeah, well, what the hell do you think I have been doing?” Satoru’s voice raises further, a sardonic tone permeating every word. “I’m so close to–”

“You have plenty of people depending on you,” Nanami cuts you off. “If you care about them, you will move cautiously.”

There’s an uncomfortable silence after that. You shift the weight from one foot to another, raising your hand to knock.

“And [Name]–“ Nanami starts.

And you startle.

Nonetheless, Satoru clicks his tongue. You can hear him pacing around in the room. Or it might be Nanami.

“Don’t even bring her up,” the former hisses, in a fiery protest. “Don’t even start. We are friends”

“It’s not that, Satoru, she’s—”

“I’m done with—”

You can barely register the sudden movement, a surge of warmth and a woody, earthy aroma hitting you right in the face. Your eyes focus on the wall of Satoru’s office. Opposite of you, there’s an ample bookshelf of the same expensive yet old wood of the desk. There are no windows and the lights are out which makes the flames cast shadows and dancing figures all over the room and on Nanami’s surprised face as he leans against the desk. “—this.”

You take a stumbling step back when your eyes meet as if the force of it was enough to make you lose balance. Only then, when your eyes run away from his, you find yourself face to face with Satoru Gojo, still with his hand on the knob, the most baffled expression you have ever seen on him. “You—”

“I–” your mouth feels dry, your heartbeats ringing in your ears. “I was just…”

“Not now.”

Whatever fluster, shame or guilt you might have begun to feel instantly evaporates into a cloud of pure befuddlement. Satoru’s face is not a display of perplexity anymore but rather an inexpressive, almost dismissive mask. It’s so foreign it makes you take a step back.

“H–huh?” you let out. “I was just—”

“[Name], I apologize,” he mutters in a tone that doesn’t suggest a hint of regret, “but the confessional opens at ten, so not now.”

“I just wanted—”

“[Name]…” there’s a hint of a plea this time, as he tilts his head to the side and avoids your gaze, as if he is trying to repel you.

Nanami frowns, stepping closer. “Gojo—”

The cloud of bafflement dissipates to expose a mix of indignation and humiliation. It’s the fact that he has never spoken to you like this. Ever. Not until today. You feel yourself ruffle and warm up under his gaze, a glare settling on your eyes.

He opens his mouth again and you clutch the strap of your knitted bag, feeling defensive.

“Gojo,” Nanami speaks, pressing a hand over his shoulder.

Satoru bites his inner cheek but doesn’t say anything else. He shrugs Nanami off after a few seconds, though. You can only observe, trying to wrap your head around what you are seeing and hearing and what you thought you would see and hear and how you imagined your day would go.

You retrace every step in your head as you physically walk back, affronted. Before you can even say anything, though. Before you can defend yourself or protest, something catches your eye.

You wish you had never seen it.

Nanami is wearing a black cassock, just like Satoru is. The clerical collar is pristine and there’s a cross hanging off his neck. It catches the light of the flames in the chimney.

At the left, an ornate badge is proudly fixed against his chest. It’s a beautiful one, the fanciest kind of needlework. And a very familiar one. You have spent hours staring at the embroidery, the design, at the way the crimson and the plum and the gold thread harmonize in an intricate embrace.

All of a sudden, you feel bile rise up your throat.

“[Name]–”

You don’t care if Satoru's tone is kinder this time. The sight surely isn’t.

We recovered a locket, a badge and a cross. The ring is missing.

The words ring in your ears, the voice all too clear after all these years, hands without a body handing you a box too light.

We recovered a locket, a badge and a cross. The ring is missing.

Your hand tugs at the fine chain around your neck, your hand molding around the little case in an anxious grip. Your hand is sweaty and your thumb traces over the curves and lines of the initials engraved on the locket in a silent callback.

“H–hey…”

You turn around without looking back. Your steps are swift, desperate. The hallway seems to stretch on and on and the rest of the church closes in on you as you focus on the light of the outside world ahead. Your hurried steps echo off the walls, the beginning of a sob held back by your tight-sealed lips. You might have heard your name but you don’t mind, you want to keep running until you can finally breathe. Until the light outside erases every memory of the cold winter.

In reality, you run until you physically tire out. Until you are heaving, leaning on your knees, droplets falling from your face and into the snow. They could be tears or sweat, you don’t know.

We recovered a locket, a badge and a cross. The ring is missing.

You might want to retch out of the sickening voice replaying in your head over and over again or because you have moved forward like a mad-woman. Either way, you inhale and exhale as frantically as you have run until the need for oxygen subsides and you don’t have a choice but to kneel down. Your hands and knees are partly buried in the snow.

You hate winter.

It brings cold and sickness and painful memories with it. For you, the worst part of it is the phantom hold that clings and suffocates you like a constricting vine. Trees are still skinny and mostly naked, branches trembling at the wind, bending under the weight of the last snowfall.

All but one.

Your head rises. It’s easy to see it from the bottom of the hill.

Between the leisure movement of a heavy cloud and the other, the sun has started to reach out with its lukewarm rays and, right at the top, the giant oak tree stands proud and imposing. Its monstrous shadow seems to stretch impossibly long, all the way down the hill where it reaches you and envelopes you like a mantle.

“You have finally come back to haunt me”

hi again ฅ^>⩊<^ ฅ i want to thank you for reading all the way to here. You absolutely rock and I'm profoundly flattered. this post is crazy to me because despite my long time in fandom trenches, this is the first time I post a self insert / OC fic aaaaand a fic on tumblr. Kudos to Satoru Gojo and my catholic upbringing for mingling in my brain! Anyway, you probably have more questions than answers and for that I apologize. I feel this introduction is a bit more confusing than anything but that's exactly what I wanted to go after. Hopefully it gives you an idea of the messy state of things. There’s a whole menu of mildly fucked up stuff here and I'm so excited for you to browse it in the upcoming chapters.Anyways! Any doubts you have feel free to drop in the comments or in an ask, I will be more than happy to answer if it's nothing to spoilery :v If you don’t have any questions yet, don’t worry i'm looking forward to read your thoughts and comments or constructive criticism about the chapter as well! Thank you so much for taking the time to give this lil work a chance! Til next time my beloveds ♡ Have a good day/night!

©️ lilactwilights | no repost allowed | likes, comments and reblogs are deeply appreciated!

©️ divider by strangergraphics

#a heathen clung to piety #ahctp #jujutsu kaisen #satoru gojo #jjk gojo #gojo satoru #gojo x reader #gojo x yn #gojo x you #satoru gojo x reader #priestgojo #fanfiction #fem reader #reader insert #jjk x reader #jjk #gojo smut #lilactwilights #writing

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awfulalignmentcharts · 9 months ago

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what the f%#$ does ____ mean on that stupid ass ship chart

saw a few questions, so ask (the air) and ye shall receive.

top section

"describe their vibe" — you can interpret this at will. it's just a space to put whatever you think encapsulates the vibes of their dynamic/them as a relationship. it can be like a list of tropes, a dumb tweet screenshot, some other type of image, anything really.

everything else should be straightforward lmao.

rest of the shit below the cut so i don't take up your dash space.

continuums section

"repressed vs (sexually) open" — as it sounds. repressed as in like they're a prude or open as in they're down to bang on the regular.

"no libido vs terminally horny" — not horny to very horny lmao

"aggressively romantic vs allergic to PDA" — kinda like how private the character is/how embarrassed are they by the notion of displays of romance. do they prefer lowkey displays of romance or are they dramatic about it?

"(severely) mentally ill vs mentally stable" — fairly self-explanatory. are they full of mental problems or are they actually mentally sound?

"kms'ing over being in love vs blushing giggling twirling hair" — pretty much their reaction to being in love, specifically with the other person. do they hate the fact they love the other person, or are they super giddy that they're in love?

"doomed by the narrative vs blessed by the narrative" — it's a little open to interpretation but my usage of it for individual use is like how fucked over by the canon events are they individually? (if the relationship's doomed, they're probably both on the doomed end; if the relationship ISN'T doomed but one was severely fucked over by the story's events, then they could be in the doomed section while the other one could be hovering elsewhere)

"big spoon vs little spoon" — self-explanatory. it's cuddle time. who's the big spoon, who's the little spoon.

"the weapon vs the wielder" — ngl, this continuum may not actually work too well for some healthier ships, but the general vibe of it is like the weapon is the one who tends to do things at the wielder's behest. the weapon is commonly more of a warrior type, more of the "protector" (and may also have self-worth issues), while the wielder is the one that typically gets protected, may have a great deal of importance for some reason, and is sort of the "user" of the weapon. you're more than welcome to make your own interpretations of it lmao

the pyjamas — based on this image: (who's the sleepy old man with the candle that goes snork mimimimi vs the beautiful wife who's likely also a damsel in distress)

"jealous vs chill" — should be fairly self-explanatory, but like is the person chill with their partner, or do they easily get jealous when the attention isn't on them?

"has zero game vs insane game" — are they bitchless or can they pull bitches? regardless of charisma (or lack thereof), can they actually get laid or not

"functional vs soggy loser" — are they a functional member of society with their shit together or are they born-in-a-wet-cardboard-box, perpetually soggy, capital P Pathetic?

the other shit

"what brings them together?" — what are some reasons that this ship actually has grounds? what do they have going for their relationship?

"what is keeping them/kept them apart?" — were/are there any reasons why they haven't just kissed yet? what are those reasons?

"poorly describe their meetcute" — describe how they met but be funny about it.

"list their reductive fandom tropes/fandom appeal" — reasons why people might ship them or like the ship. (e.g. enemies to lovers, angel and demon dichotomy, etc.)

"who's the armrest?" — two guys. one likes to turn the other into an armrest by sticking their arm on the other's shoulder (or something; done possibly with the intent to annoy). who's the one that's being used as the armrest more often?

"who's the headrest?" — two guys. one puts their head on the other more frequently. who's the one that's more often turned into a head rest?

"who fell first?" — who fell in love first?

"who fell harder?" — who fell in love harder?

"who cooks" — should be obvious lmao

"who cleans up more messes?" — can be literal messes, or who more often deals with the fallout of the bullshit one of them gets up to.

"who's the bigger yearner?" — who yearns more?

"who confessed first?" — should be literal.

touch

should be fairly self-explanatory, but it's kinda like what is or isn't off limits to contact of any form from the other person. say character A is entirely red while character B is entirely purple. A is allergic to any form of contact anywhere from B, while B fucking loves anything from A.

#not a chart

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lycanm00n · 23 days ago

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Behind the Veil: How I Keep Being a Werewolf Hidden (Until the Snacks Show Up)

There was an... incident, shall we call it, a few days ago where I almost literally growled at my coworker because I was so entirely ready to just go on lunch and wolf out by myself for an hour (read: devour my chicken sandwich like I'd never get to eat again). I felt that deep rumble in my chest, the way my fur seemed to stand on end - albeit playfully - when he stood in my way.

Retrospectively, he probably deserved a good growling at. We're decent friends (although I'm not sure if it's genuine or if we've just bonded over the stress of working in retail) but regardless, it turns out it's entirely unacceptable to be barking and growling at your colleagues on the shop floor.

But, on a slightly more serious note (and incredibly slightly, because I'm incapable of being serious for more than two sentences) this is part of the reality of living as a werewolf in this society. This post explores the veil, instincts, and what it means, truly, to be a dog amongst humans.

This post is written entirely about personal experiences, and I do not speak for anyone but myself

Bounding around as a wolf sounds like my idea of true peace and content. I think even in the heart of the city, I'd be happy. Digging in the bushes for a scrap of pepperoni pizza probably wouldn't be my proudest moment, but living as my true self in form would be my ideal life regardless.

Most people see a body and assume it tells the whole story. What they don't (and often can't see) is the wolf that stays hiding behind the veil. That truth runs under my skin like the blood in my veins. I'm not just "human with some animal feelings" - I am entirely animal, entirely canine, down to my biology. That Human appearance is the costume, the compromise, the Veil.

The Veil is the face I show the world because I have to. It's the only way I stand in line without baring my teeth, or snarling. The only way I can tell people my name in a voice that doesn't come out as a bark or growl. But underneath?

Fur. Instinct. A muzzle. A tail. Everything that is wild and untamed sits below a thin Veil I never asked for, yet learned to drape over my form like armour. Like some kind of weird dog knight. Wereknight. Whatever works!

Sometimes it seems to tear, or stretch over the form underneath - a lingering gaze on a passing deer, a slight sway following the wag of my tail, a silent step mirroring the pad of my paws, taking in the scent of a bakery a little too hard and looking like I'm being possessed by the spirit of a pistachio croissant (Can wolves eat pistachio? Either way, I don't care because it's delicious and you can't tell me what to do, dad!).

The moments it slips, though, are probably why most of my friends and family (lightheartedly) think I'm an absolute freak. It's not unusual for me to be near constantly exhibiting some kind of canine behaviors - I may have been brought up by humans, but my instinct is far stronger than what I learnt from the Teletubbies as a pup. As revealed in the intro, I've near growled at colleagues. I've barked in surprise. I've chin rested, headbutted, and nuzzled my partner more times than I can count (it's a miracle she puts up with me, actually) because acting as something I'm not every day can be.. tiring.

Overall, it's a protective measure. Navigating a world that wasn't made for my kind is hard, but day by day I learn a little more about the world around me. A little more about what puts the 'were' in the wolf (yes, I'm using that joke again. Shush. It's my blog I can do what I want :p). Despite the Veil, I love my authentic self underneath as best I can, and out in the open when it's safe to do so. It can feel lonely, but thanks to the internet, I know there are others out there like me taking on many forms, all with their own unique stories.

Please feel free to tag me in any essays of your own - I'd love to read about everyones experiences! 🐾 Thank you for reading, and next time you want to howl at the snack table? Just do it! Credit me tho xx (Joking joking joking)

Stay Wild! 🏕️

#nonhuman #holothere #therianthropy #therian #caninekin #dogkin #wolfkin #turned a #pantheonhowls #pantheon wants SNACKS #essay

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project-sekai-facts · 11 months ago

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Wait An/Kohane have outright stated romantic interest?

poor wording on my end bc they never actually say "an and kohane like each other romantically" but the evidence it very much there and it is clearly depicted and phrased in other ways. for example: the shoujo sparkle effect that is used for An from Kohane's POV.

This effect is often used on Haruka in Minori's imagination, which, well, let's just say it doesn't disprove that Kohane is attracted to An. While the effect is also used to show a character being cute or having a strong "idol" aura without any attraction attached, it's prettly clear the intent was to show Kohane's attraction. Also she was blushing.

Bonus points to the fact the wedding event has a underlying message (they say it on screen) about how marriage should be equal regardless of the genders of the couple [because gay marriage currently isn't legal in Japan].

There's also literally everything in Buddy Funny Spend Time. While almost all of the interactions in that event can be read as platonic if you really want to, they're written so you can interpret it as romantic if you choose to. And considering the featured pairs in this event were Minori/Haruka, An/Kohane, and (briefly) Shizuku/Airi, it's not like that reading isn't supported by the writers lol. There's one part where Minori and Kohane get jealous of how close Haruka and An are as childhood friends and aren't sure if they can amount to that, but they want to try. Doesn't necessarily have to be romantic but can be if you choose to read it as such.

When Kohane is visibly attracted to Haruka, An gets slightly jealous and says that her singing should be the only thing that makes Kohane react that way.

Haruka also points out that although An has always been super friendly she's never been like this with anyone until Kohane came into her life, and still keeps this behaviour Kohane-exclusive. An says it's because they're partners, which, kinda friendzones them, but kinda doesn't.

The word for partner used in the story - "aibou" - means, to put it in incredibly basic terms, coworkers. It's like the cowboy or detective word for partner, though I believe it comes up in shounen every so often (the genre vbs story is based on). In itself, aibou has no romantic connotation. But 3 of the partnerships we see in VBS' story have lots of interactions that easily read as having romantic undertones, so basically in the context of VBS story the nature of said partnerships becomes a little more ambiguous. The word is still platonic and that doesn't change, but you get the idea. Oh and VBS has recurring romantic soulmate imagery more on that later.

continuing on BFST, yeah they went on a date. which is strongly suggested to be a romantic date unlike how it's sometimes used platonically. like the other characters say An is "seeing someone", at least in the English translation, which is very much associated with romantic interest. Also the original Japanese for the "do you know who she's going out with" line uses the phrase デートの相手 which is the Japanese equivalent for the word "date" (as in a person/your date), so it's not really any different. they go on another one in Kick it up a notch and An's card story for the event. their relationship is never labelled or anything (probably bc this genre avoids that sorta thing for fan-related reasons) but this very much was a thing that happened.

(also when ken says partner he says aibou. so not partner /r but anyway it does clarify that this date is to do with their relationship on a different level to partners /p. ie: an's going on a date with kohane because she's cute not because she's her partner. language is fun)

Lastly back on that thing I said I'd come back to. The Walk on and on costumes have romantic soulmate symbolism included on them. The wings on the backs of the outfits are based on the mythical hiyoku bird, a one-winged bird that could only fly after meeting its other half. Kohane's costume has pink accents, one of the variants has accents in An's image color and the wings on the backs of those variants match up to each other. The card illstrations themselves also feature crows, which mate for life. While the symbolism is mostly associated with Toya, the Whip the Wimp Girl! cards take place in the same location as the woao cards which is pretty neat, and makes sense given the themes of both events. I've put both their gacha logos above as well. Oh and An's card for wtwg was. Something.

And Kohane got the valentine event this year and it was about her entering a contest to win limited edition chocolates for An I forgot about that until just now.

Have fun with that.

#asks #there's a lot more romantic tropes and other subtext-y moments this is just like. the main ones #someone wrote a really long list of it all on tvtropes. if you go on prsk's page there's a subpage called homoerotic subtext n it's there #idk some of it might be a bit reach-y i didn't read the entire thing lol but it's there for anyone that's interested

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gilverrwrites · 1 year ago

Text

Section 48: Unlawful Kisses

Pairing: Sam Winchester/AFAB! Reader

GN pronouns used, but reader does have a vagina, breasts, and wears 'feminine' clothing.

Plot: While studying at for a law exam, the reader just cannot keep their eyes, or mind, off of Sam.

Rating: M/18+

This is actually an updated/re-written fic I wrote and posted on a now deleted blog roughly 10 years ago. (Damn I'm old.) If well received I might try re-doing some other fics/writing new ones, who knows!

Don't forget: You are amazing, and worthy of love.

Content: Swearing, vaginal oral/cunnilingus, body worship, nipple play, vaginal fingering, teasing, dirty talk, semi-public, naked female, clothed male, size difference, light hair pulling, light biting, fluids, consensual, dominate Sam (if you squint). Reader is kind of a perv, Sam is a tease. Reader calls the shots, but Sam is Definity in charge.

Section 47; took away privilege against self-incrimination from any person ordered to testify or produce books, p-

Your eyes darted over to Sam for probably the millionth time since he had joined you half an hour ago. You had an exam tomorrow, and you’d hauled up in the library for some last-minute cramming, but since Sam had joined you, you’d lost any and all ability to concentrate. It was hard enough trying to focus on possibly the drollest piece of text you’d ever had to read, without him being here. Without the musky cedar smell of his aftershave, without his deft fingers skimming each page, without his pursed lips filling your head with thoughts of what he might be able to do with them. Those lips…

“You okay?” His hushed voice pierced the silence as he peeked over at you. You’d been staring, again.

“Who me? Yeah, totally.” You lied, pulling your book up to cover your gradually reddening face. The space between your legs was hot, but your face was hotter. “Peachy.”

“Okay.” He shrugged, unconvinced, but returning to his own book regardless.

Section 47; took away privilege against self-incrimination from any person ordered to testify or produce books, papers, etc., and provided that any person so ordered to testify or produce would be immune from any prosecution based on evidence provided….

Movement in your peripheral distracted you. You looked over to see Sam, leaning all the way back in his chair, his toned arms stretched behind him, neck exposed, chest puffed out. The hem of his shirt had ridden up slightly, giving you the tiniest peak at his abdomen, and the trail of hair that adorned it.

Reluctantly you turned back to your studies, not wanting to be caught eyeing him up yet again, but as soon as your eyes returned to the text in front of you, he let out a sigh.

You glanced over just in time to watch his tongue dart out, wetting his finger so he could turn a page. Amazing how such a small action could make your knees weak. Shit… it’s like he was trying to distract you.

Probably feeling your eye burning into him, Sam turned to look back at you, and yet again you dived back into your textbook, hiding behind its paper walls as you tried to rid your mind of Sam and his mouth.

“Section 48; set forth venue in any prosecution for unlawful… unlawful… unlawful things I want you to do to me with those lips.”

“What?” You jumped at the sound of Sam’s voice.

“What?” You repeated back, spinning to look up at his quizzical expression.

“You said something…” His lips squeezed into a smile, his eyes raked up and down your body, and suddenly you knew how Sam must have felt under your gaze just minutes earlier. “Something about, lips doing unlawful things to you?”

“Shit.” You thought your eyes might bulge out of your head, your heart was in the pit of your stomach, and if you’d been blushing before, you must look like a traffic light now. “Did- did I say that out loud?”

“Yeah.” He confirmed, with a nod. His brows furrowed and his jaw tightened as he leaned in closer. You couldn’t resist taking a deep breath in through your nose, indulging in his scent. His hot breath against the ear sent a chill down your spine. “Were you talking about my lips?”

Your brain went into overdrive, was this it? The moment you’d been waiting for? You and Sam had always had a playful, flirty relationship, but was this the turning point? If you confessed, would he give you what you want? Could you both finally stop beating around the bush and get down and dirty together? What exactly would he do? Or would you humiliate yourself? Would he send you packing with your tail between your legs? Could you live with that rejection? Totally, it would suck but you’d get over it, right? Right.

You chanced a look at Sam's face. His eyes bore into you so intensely it made your stomach roll. You’d never seen him look so fierce before, and much like every other expression he wore, it was hot.

Trying to mimic his confidence you straightened your back, locked eyes with him, and nodded.

He smiled, and immediately you felt assured, but that didn’t stop your hair from standing on edge as he pressed into you. This time you felt the softness of his lips on the shell of your ear, and it made you squirm. “Say it.”

“I want you to do unlawful things to me with your mouth, Sam.” You responded, trying your best to sound sultry.

“Oh yeah.” He murmured, lowering his mouth to the back of your jaw, caressing your skin with each word. You wished he could read the dictionary to you in this exact position. “Like what?”

You scanned through your surroundings, checking each aisle of books to confirm your solitude. Nobody else really came this far back in the library, especially at this time of night. You were pretty certain the only other person in the building was the night librarian, who only ever ventured from her desk to make a coffee in the communal kitchen. You had little to worry about as long as you stayed vigilant. Brazen smile on your lips, you turned your attention back to Sam who seemingly had also been examining your surroundings.

Reaching up, you ran your fingers up the warm skin of his neck and threaded them into his hair. You’d always wondered if his hair was as soft as it looked, and now you finally had confirmation; yes. Yes, it was that soft.

“Like,” You hummed, gently guiding him from your neck until you were face-to-face. “I want you to kiss me, slow and gentle to start. Then har-“

He interrupted you, tenderly pressing his lips to yours, just as gently as you’d imagined. Strong hands came up to cup your face and pull you into him, deepening the kiss. Your own hands knotted into his hair as his mouth pressed harder against your own.

“Like that?” He asked, breaking away just enough so that his words were intelligible.

“Exactly like that.” You replied, surprised by the breathiness of your own voice.

“What next?” He pried, a hint of mischief in his eyes.

You could think of a thousand things you wanted him to do next, but… “Aren’t you worried someone might see us? We could get in a lot of trouble.”

“We’ll cross that bridge when, and if, we get to it.” He shrugged, amusement clear as day on his face, completely unable to refrain from grinning. “If you don’t want that to happen, you’ll have to keep really quiet. Or tell me to stop.”

You knew he was into this, both of you at the mercy of each other. The exhilaration of possibly being caught. Besides, you’d already grabbed the bull by the horns, may as well enjoy the ride.

“Well… Next, I want you to keep kissing me, on my jaw, my neck, my ches-”

Clearly, too excited to wait until you’d finished your instructions, Sam leaned in to kiss you once more. His lips never left yours as his arms looped around your waist, lifting you from your seat like you were nothing and placing you on the desk, blinding you from anyone who might stumble to your section of the library. The simultaneous actions made you lose any composure and you moaned into Sam's mouth.

He pulled back, pressing a finger to his lips and shushing you. You barely had a chance to take in his dishevelled form before he reattached himself to your jawline, rapidly tracing his lips against your smooth skin, occasionally swirling his tongue in any crevice he could find. You had to stifle a whimper when you felt his teeth nipping at your throat.

Sam’s calloused hands massaged your shoulders briefly before he hooks his fingers under the straps of your vest top, working them down your arms, along with the neckline, revealing your bra to him.

“These too?” He asks, leaning back to admire you. Still unable to rein back the smile on his face.

“Those too.” You established as he reached out both hands to cup each breast. Not wanting to be completely exposed, you elected against entirely removing your bra. You did, however, guide his hands to grip the top of its cups, folding them down to your underbust, thus exposing them completely, but allowing you a quick and easy way to pull it back up.

“Lucky me.” Sam mused, eyes glazed, his tongue darted over his lips before he dipped down to fix his mouth around your left nipple.

You sucked in a harsh breath and reached out for him. Your hands gripping into the fabric of his shirt. Unable to ignore the growing heat between your legs you started squirming, rubbing your thighs together to produce any sort of friction. Sam clearly noticed and let out a small laugh, the gust of air on your wet nipple only serving to turn you on all the more. Obviously enjoying your reaction Sam moved over to the other side. Using his fingers to play with your left nipple as he sucks on the right. Playfully he nibbles at the hardened skin before blowing on it. Both times you resist the urge to let out a groan.

“Does that feel good?” He asks, kissing his way back up your chest.

“Yes.” You reply, steering him up until he’s close enough for you to plant another kiss on his lips. With a gentle hand, he pushes you back, cutting your kiss short. You pout and he laughs, but you let him lay you down. Your back presses against your long-forgotten textbooks. You should probably check them out when you leave, just so you can wipe them down before anyone else uses them you think. The feel of Sam's fingers squeezing your tits pulls you from your train of thought.

“Should I keep kissing you here?” He asks, before dipping his hand lower, running it across your belly before hitching up your skirt. Gingerly he runs his thumb over your panties, once twice, three times before looking back up at you. “Or do you want my unlawful mouth down here?” He teased.

“Down there.” You respond without hesitation. “Down there is good!”

“I can tell.” He says as he grasps your underwear, quickly pulling them down your legs, over your feet before dandling them above you. “You’re already soaked.”

And he was right, you could see the dark stain your wetness had left against the fabric. You’d blush, but you were already half naked, and sprawled out for him in the middle of a public space. You couldn’t be any more exposed if you’d tried.

Without another word, Sam tucked your panties into his pocket and got to work. He ghosted the tips of his fingers against your folds and your toes curled. Slowly he added more and more pressure until you could feel him firmly rubbing against your clit.

“Fuck.” You whined, Sam immediately removed his hands from you entirely.

“Wh-“ You darted into a seated position only for Sam to clamp his hand over your mouth.

“Shhh.” He hissed, before grabbing you by the wrists and replacing his hand with your own. “Keep your voice down. Not a peep, okay?”

His voice was deadly serious but the look on his face betrayed him. He was loving this. You bow your head in acknowledgement and allow him to lean you back against the table. You watch impatiently as he re-surveys the area. Clearly content that you’re still alone together, he crouches down, levelling himself with you, then slowly leans in and places a kiss on your core.

Content with keeping you on edge he starts slow. His mouth barely making contact with your skin. Blood rushing, and heart thundering you can barely contain yourself. You rest your legs on his shoulders, thighs around his head, and attempt to urge him on, to pull him closer.

Sam chuckles, his breath taunting your slit.

Then without warning, he delves into you. He starts on your clit again, and you fight every urge to clench your legs around him, to cry out. You bite your knuckles instead as he works downward.

He begins darting his tongue in and out, fucking your entrance until you're dripping down his face. You glance down at him, and have to hold back another groan at what you see. Eye closed, brows knitted, Sam is totally lost, blissed out in between your legs.

One of his hands grips your thigh for purchase as he pulls his face up, returning to your clit. The other hand sneaks between your legs, and he plunges two fingers inside. Allowing you no time to adjust, he sets a fast, steady pace. His fingers keep pumping into you, as his mouth continues working over your clit.

You fight back every moan, every cry that attempts to climb out of you, biting onto your hand so hard that you're afraid you might take a chunk out of yourself.

It isn’t long before your toes begin curling again, you kick your legs around, rutting yourself against Sam's face to try and relieve the energy building up in you. Sam remains unbothered, completely serene buried in your heat. He’s like a machine, a pussy-eating God, never faltering from his pace.

Your orgasm was fast approaching, you arched your back, craning your head back. Your hips stilled, locking in place when it finally hit you. You felt like there was fire in your veins and it was all pulsing into your pussy. Your nails dug into your cheek as you silence your own screams.

Panting and shaky from your orgasm, you sag against the table, letting your legs dangle either side of Sam, signalling to him that you’d climaxed, if he was even in doubt.

“How was that? Everything you had in mind?” He asked, standing up, towering over you. The lower half of his face glistened with your slick.

“Fuck Sam.” You breathed, reaching for him, needing assistance to get it back up.

The sound of footsteps startled you both, interrupting you before you could even start to compliment him. You launched off the table, stretching up to wipe Sam's mouth. Sam in turn roughly gabbed at your top and bra, yanking it back over your chest before you both bombed back into your chairs, and just in time.

The concerned face of the night shift librarian pokes out from behind a shelf. “You kids alright? I thought I heard some commotion?”

“No. We’re good.” You both said in union, suppressing laughter.

The librarian eyed you both wearily before nodding at you both. “Okay then, I’ll let you get back to your books.”

You both waited in complete silence and stillness until you deemed her footsteps far away enough.

“Sam! That was amazing.” You half whispered; half sang.

Sam in turn looked embarrassed, scratching the back of his head, averting his eyes, unable to hide the growing blush on his own cheeks. You couldn’t believe his sheepishness, as if he wasn’t tongue deep inside you just moments before.

“Thanks.” He grinned. “Do you want to come back to my place? I’d like to do that again, but actually get to hear you this time, you know?”

You glanced down at the open books strewn across the desks, and then up at the clock. It was late...

Screw it, if you didn’t have all the reading memorised by now, you weren’t gonna know it by the morning.

“Absolutely!” You exclaimed, not missing the look of triumph in Sam's eyes before you stood and started packing your notes into your bag. “But can I get my underwear back?”

“Oh, yeah, sure.” Sam patted his pocket as he stood to pack his own bag. You reached your hand over to him, but instead of returning your underwear, he took your hand in his, and began leading you through the shelves. “You can have them back in the morning.”

#sam winchester #sam winchester smut #supernatural fanfiction #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester imagine #sam winchester x you #sam winchester fanfiction #Sam Winchester x reader smut #gilverrwrites

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s0phslibrary · 2 months ago

Text

'we'll be alright'; bakugou x OCD/hypochondriac reader

A/N: this is quite self-insert because ocd has been kicking my ass the last 4 months 😭 especially when what i'd usually be irrational/obsessive over is actually happening, but i don’t have specifics. but yeah, hope you enjoy :p <33 might make a part 2 of this somehow, or other characters

content tidbits: hypochondriac and OCD reader, GN!reader, talk of obsessions and compulsions, fear of illness (cancer mentioned bc that's one of my fears brought on by my own OCD, as well as random body happenings that could be health related), swearing, anxiety/panic attacks, UA bakugou and reader (what year is up to u), therapy/doctors appointments, platonic relationship, intrusive thoughts, reader isn't initially medicated or getting treatment but does through the fic, essentially hurt/comfort and fluff :) also maybe OOC katsuki. also brief mention of possible OCD katsuki

word count: 1.5k

Briefly proofread

Linked this song because it reminds me of how OCD feels :p

it was known to the people you felt close to that you suffered with anxiety- but to what extent?

yourself and bakugou were at a point of closeness and security within your friendship, to where telling him felt alright.

when bakugou found out you had OCD initially, his first thought was just 'oh, they don’t like mess and are a clean freak', because yknow, stereotypes.

but then you told him what it entailed, he took it in. you talked about your persistent health anxieties and scares, the way they plagued you and tormented you.

"That's fucking dumb, though. Like- you'd know if you were actually sick." He'd say.

"But that's the thing, I don't." You explained. "I don't, regardless of symptoms or not, and that freaks me out. And when I can feel something, the only way I can deal with it is to prod or feel at it."

You explained to him some moments this type of thing happened; in one case, you had odd, painless bumps in random places, and the trigger of its unknown cause sent you spiraling. Petrified it was cancer, you went on an internet deep dive, kept seeking external reassurance, feeling at it 24/7- and rather than this helping, all you felt was fear.

The next was a random pain near your rib. Was it a punctured lung? But then a pain on your head- a tumour?? Then your knees felt different sizes- are your bones shrinking???

He listened, trying to recall times you may have been out of it or panicked for what to him, seemed like for no reason. And it started to click. Realising it extended even further than the health anxieties too. Past traumas, or fears, or habits. It made sense. And it made him feel an ache of sadness for you in his chest. But also pride, for the fact you go through this daily.

In saying that, after you left, he went into full research mode on the types of OCD you had talked about, on how they worked, triggers, compulsions, and how to support you.

He wouldn’t admit it directly, but after hearing how it gets to you, then seeing it in real time, made him feel helpless. Until you got support professionally, he was slightly frantic.

He made a promise to be there for you, any time, if you were having a mini episode, or major. Which he didn’t expect to be..... a lot. But he kept the promise.

1:34am the clock on your phone read. You were tired, sore, stressed. Your hand went to the odd shaping on your back yet again, a nervous shiver going through you. You tried to rationalise. 'It's probably just some muscle. Or some kinda benign growth. Or just my body being weird again.

Or maybe it's a tumour-'

The intrusive thoughts kept scratching inside your brain, urging you to keep poking, shifting, looking for an answer you knew wouldn’t come.

You remembered his words: "If you need me when it happens, fucking come to me. I don’t care when, do it. You shouldn’t be alone with this. And don’t you dare feel bad."

Slipping out of bed, you quietly made your way from your dorm to his, careful to not be disturbing to your classmates.

You go to his dorm, and knocked loud enough.

"Fuck off." You heard from behind the door, the angry voice of Katsuki.

"Katsuki? It’s just me. You don’t have to, but I'm having a hard time with my OCD, and wanted to kno-"

Before you could finish the sentence, the door opened. "Get in." He said softly, looking at you half asleep, yet with concern.

Once in, he closed the door, opened the balcony door to let in a soft breeze, and sat on the bed with you. After a moment, he spoke.

"What's it doing now?"

"My brain won’t stop." You respond, voice tight and exhausted. "I keep finding new bumps, or growths, or whatever the fuck, and even though they don’t hurt or do damage, my brain is still saying cancer. Which is dumb, because I'd know if it was by now-"

"It's not dumb." He interupts. "Ok, yeah, worrying about a worst possibility that you don’t even know whether it's true or not is kinda stupid. But don’t beat yourself up over it. It is scary. Not knowing fucking sucks. But none of this is your fault. Yeah, you'd probably know by now. But you're allowed to just observe it, without making it some kind of evil situation. Give yourself some grace, dimwit. You have every right to be scared. Especially since this matters to you so much. But don’t- don’t let it consume you. You know you're fucking strong. So... know regardless, you can beat whatever is going on. Serious or not."

You looked at him, tears of appreciation, but also overwhelm, pooling in your eyes. He scoffed softly, but not in anger, more so in understanding, and pulled you close, both under the covers, and your face to his chest.

"Just cry it out, idiot. You need to at this point."

So you did. Allowing yourself to feel everything, let everything crash out of you, with him anchoring you. He gently eased and shushed you if you started hyperventilating, the crying turning into a spiral of panic. He whispered soft, encouraging words into the top of your head.

"Its okay. You're gonna be okay, regardless of what happens. This isn’t something you'll do alone. We'll get you the help you need, and I'll be here when you need me to. Things will work out how they're meant to. Just because it's scary doesn’t mean it's impossible."

"I know. I know, i'm just so scared. I hate not knowing. I hate feeling like my mind is working against me, and my body is fucking acting on what I'm scared of-"

"Hey, hey, relax. You’re rambling." He says softly, shifting to wipe your tears. "I know. I hear you. As I said, it's no wonder you're scared. Being afraid of something with mixed signal signs of it sounds like hell. But again, one day at a time. You're asking for help- be proud of that. It's fucking hard to even acknowledge it sometimes. You already took the first step."

"That’s kinda rich from you, considering you bottle everything up." You respond, cracking a slight smile.

He laughed a bit, nodding. "Yeah, I know, I'm emotionally constipated, fuck off with what's obvious. But I mean it. Just because I have trouble doing it, and I ain't the best at comforting, doesn’t mean I won't try and help you. I care about you, fuckwad, even if I don’t say it. I really do."

Once settling down, he got you some water, and turned on his TV for some background noise, of something you both enjoy. You sat, talking, about your compulsions, triggers, fears, trauma, all of it. He listened, gave his input, and got what he needed from you in terms of what you wanted in support from him.

That night, with you against his warm frame, he slept well knowing you were there- regardless of what you had going on, he could be there.

And you slept well knowing he was there- knowing that despite any unknown health factors, legit or not, you'd have him.

From there, you decided to start looking into getting professional help. You went to Aizawa, with Katsuki nearby, to let him know of your situation. You came to an agreement that if you ever weren’t in a fit mental state for training or class, he would give you time to catch up, on the condition you would keep consistent with effort. He then informed the other staff of it, so it would be an all around agreement.

Once that was set, you found a place to go to get the help you needed, or at least a start. You started to gain coping strategies, ways to challenge compulsions or triggers, and more to generally work with until you would get advanced help. As for the physical side of things, appointments were booked, so hopefully that would be a steady process also. He vowed to be there throughout the process of getting any required diagnoses as well.

In the meantime, Katsuki was still there. Through any panic attacks, anxiety episodes, reminding you to do something else when he noticed your compulsions, and occasionally yelling at the rest of Class A if a trigger was mentioned when you were near. Which yes, is extreme, but he meant well.

He helped you identify other compulsions and obsessions outside of the hypochondria, and helped take notes on your physical and mental health for future appointments. He even went to your therapist briefly to ask how to support you, and how to work with you in times you couldn’t carry everything yourself.

No matter how hard it was for either of you to battle against the monsters in your mind, and unknown of your body, he kept his promise. You knew you'd be fine as long as you had him, and everyone else who cared for you, at your side.

If you ever feel alone or unsafe, reaching out to someone who will listen, is the first step. You are more powerful and stronger than you know 🩶

#bnha #bakugou x reader #bnha x reader #mha #mha x reader #bakugou headcanons #mha x you #bakugou katsuki x reader #katsuki bakugo #my hero academia #katsuki bakugou headcanons #Spotify

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who-is-page · 2 months ago

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I don't know if it's wise to be platforming a p-shifter even if they haven't done anything (yet). Do we want to risk introducing them and their community to vulnerable or at-risk alterhumans? Do we want to encourage the spread of their belief systems when you yourself have seen how much harm they can do? It isn't wise to offer them any type of validation.

Reblogging an ad for a zine to my blog is not "platforming" anyone, and it's also wildly inappropriate to insinuate that just because this person is a shifter that it's inevitably going to harm someone. That's not a reasonable nor fair stance to have towards someone who literally hasn't done anything to anyone.

And like. Look. We can't keep talking about these folks like they're not alterhuman. It's an entirely opt-in label; we don't get to choose who is or isn't allowed to use it. There are no arbiters over alterhumanity, even if we all like to squabble over it as though we were.

Shifters are, for all intents and purposes, already established and here to stay. They've got their own websites, forums, and conventions-- I can't emphasize enough that their community subculture is already out there and built, and that no amount of yelling at them is going to change that. (Same with yelling at them to change the language they're using to describe their experiences because we feel like it's a misnomer or dishonest; regardless of what we feel about it, it's never gonna happen!) This isn't some new, emergent spiritual/religious group that we need to protect people from and it's not the old idea of a conglomerate of a half-dozen different abusers trying to scoop up minors on the Internet, either. This, from what I understand, is its own separate community: not otherkin, not therian, but its own thing that's defining itself by and large through the experience of shifts--and not even necessarily strictly physical ones, despite the name.

Treating all of them like they're predators is going to make it easier for any actual predatory people who appear to slip through the cracks. Ostracizing them collectively also weakens their community's ability to effectively spread resources to help prevent any of that from occurring in the first place. If our intent is to 'protect people,' then ignoring them wholesale and otherwise trying to shove them out of the alterhuman spaces more generally is going to do the exact opposite. If our intent is to 'protect our people,' then I need to circle back to my second paragraph. They are us. They're just as alterhuman as anyone else who claims the word. They're not our enemies or potential landmines, they're our peers in this shared digital landscape, and I don't want to keep treating them like the former rather than the latter.

And like, is it my place to deny new alterhumans the option to understand what that community entails and choose to join it if they feel it's accurate to their experiences? I'd strongly say no, probably not. That's not a choice I want to make for people.

It's our knee-jerk reaction to see the word "p-shifter" and bite. That's not a response that developed for no reason. I'm not claiming otherwise. But if they're making a sincere effort to create safe community spaces and are just trying to live their lives in their own preferred frameworks, understandings, and terms, then is it really worth it to keep biting and biting and biting them? Because looking more closely, it feels less justified and much more cyclic or habitual. And regardless of how other people feel, because fuck if I don't know this is an incredibly divisive topic, I just don't want to do it anymore.

#p-shifter #my new attitude is: look it's not my community ergo it's not my problem #Also like why are my two options either BITE BITE BITE or... whatever is being insinuated here.#It is and I cannot emphasize this enough an advertisement for a general alterhuman ZINE. It's not even like a shifter-only one.#Like. Come on. My reblog shouldn't be controversial.#Or at least not THIS controversial.

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crushedsweets · 2 months ago

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saw an ask where you said “what if the proxies helped a hitchhiker who was really creepy” so like what if the proxies actually did help a hitchhiker who turned out to be really unsettling and unnerving?

maybe the hitchhiker has an unsettling look to them? shes younger, late teens maybe? her eyes are wide, almost manic looking, pupils dilated. deep eye bags weigh down her eyes. she has a face mask on (like one of those blue medical ones) so the proxie can’t see her mouth but they know shes smiling almost constantly from her eyes. she’s much too jittery, too talkative, but shes also very awkward, as if shes never really talked to anyone in her life. she’ll say something about how many dead bodies have been found in the woods, seeming too excited and interested about it. maybe even slightly threatening the proxie with the idea that since they’re so deep in the woods no one would hear them if they screamed or something weird like that??

this is way longer then i meant for it to be oops :p

gooodmorning anon! this is interesting lemme think..

since she's younger/late teens, i think they wouldn't be particularly scared - HOWEVER, if this girl is anything like clocky or kate when under the operator's influence, she could be a threat. and that'd be the first thing on their mind!

is she infected by the operator? zalgo? some brand new monster they haven't met yet? or is she just troubled?

im imagining it's all the proxies. so driver is tim, shotgun is brian, kate and toby are in the back, and either Kate or the Hitchhiker are in the middle. they're driving along the highway edging the forest.

kate and tim would be relatively silent the entire ride, coming to their own conclusions. tim would keep glancing at the hitchhiker from the rearview mirror, to the point where it's probably dangerous. kate just thinks shes a freak and is plenty ready to defend herself anytime.

brian and toby would be chatting a bit. brian would immediately be concerned, inquiring on "so where're you coming from? why're you going to xyz?" but he's got a nice smile and tone, trying not to alert her that he might want tim to take an exit towards the cabin

toby would either think shes interesting and be hella nosy, or be really annoyed and think shes just being a freak for fun - he isn't scared of her. if he's interested, he's asking questions, laughing when she says something off-beat, nudging her. if he's annoyed, he's snapping at her to "stop saying weird shit" and giving her an irritated expression. depends on his mood!

toby would be the one to call her out when she threatens them. "who the hell do you think you are? you get a free ride and start acting like a fuckin freak?" brian or tim would tell him to settle down. if she keeps pushing, toby would get aggressive, till tim has to pull over. thus kicking the girl out, regardless of their location

HOWEVER, if she says anything about slendy, the operator, a faceless monster, or the monster with hundreds of eyes - they all tense, the truck gets quiet, and everyone watches tim wordlessly take an exit towards the cabin. gotta handle it accordingly, boss would be mad if they let her wander about!

#asks #creeped scenarios

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kastalani123 · 4 months ago

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ToA, but the A stands for Ares

(Mortal Ares in TTC/BotL)

Bc I think many have questioned why Ares wasn't (noticeably) punished for helping steal the Master Bolt and Helm of Darkness. He's already the Olympian pariah of sorts, a major punishment shouldn't be out of the question.

So he spends about a year in limbo before being dumped in Manhattan as a ball of immortal rage confined in a tiny mortal body. Haven't decided whether he's in his early or late teens, but regardless, he is smol with like. Toothpicks for arms.

He does not initially intend to head to Camp. He intends to squat at some fighting ring or something until Zeus gets bored. Anything to keep others, especially his siblings, from seeing the state he's in.

However, he has no weapon and nobody is particularly intimidated by a roughed-up, dirty kid, regardless of the inferno raging in his eyes. So, off to Camp he goes, just in time for The Sea of Monsters.

He. Does not know that a mortal immortal's services have to be claimed. He would've made one of his kids do it, if he had. Instead, he gets caught off-guard and Annabeth gets him. He hates it. Not only has he lost all control over himself, but he lost it to a child of Athena, to a friend of Percy's. He has a rough time with it.

Iiiiiiii don't know how Clarisse gets her ship without Ares as a god. Maybe he can summon it without his powers because the soldiers owe a debt to him regardless of his mortality? Sure, let's go with that.

(Also! Disregarding the "abusive father" characterization of PJO Ares. If there is one thing that man loves, one thing he will never be violent against, it's his kids, fuck off, Rick. He may not be a great dad (as all gods), being too rough and overestimating his kids' capabilities and being bad at emotions/empathy, but he is never raising a single finger against his kids. Unfortunately, that doesn't mean they don't have some degree of fear about not living up to his expectations)

He goes with the trio on their secret quest because he's. Kind of tied to Annabeth, at the moment, and also because it's a chance to fight and hopefully regain the shred of his Father's favour he still had before TLT. Percy hates it and they fight constantly; Ares spends a good chunk of the quest muzzled with Annabeth's "Shut up!" commands. He's not having a good time.

Clarisse is pissed that he came because she thinks it means he doesn't trust her abilities and thinks she's weak. This is Not True but Ares really fucking sucks at communication, emotions, and relationships in general, so she stays pissed at him.

His temper gets even shorter than it already was when he, Annabeth, and Percy get separated from Clarisse because he's worried and wants to hurry up and find her. Percabeth don't realize that's why, so it ends up as a huge mess. Ares is trying to rush through everything by immediately attacking while Annabeth and Percy are actually trying to plan some things out, so he ends up being kept on a really short leash. Like, "Don't do anything but follow us" short. It's almost enough to get him to spill his worries; alas, he cannot speak.

(Honestly, that probably ends up as a huge part of the story; his arc would probably essentially be to get him to open up and help him understand and deal with his emotions, but he keeps pissing people off which makes Annabeth make him shut up so he can't talk shit out like he's supposed to. The first proper steps of his character development have to happen away from Annabeth, which means it's really convenient that she gets kidnapped in the next book!)

Anyways.

Annabeth lets up on the commands when they get to Polyphemus's Island, with the caveat that he doesn't rush into anything. He wants to absolutely decimate the Cyclops for daring to capture and think of marrying his daughter, but unfortunately, he does not have the ability to do so, even with a godly power up born of his protective rage. He absolutely vows to take care of it when he regains godhood, though, regardless of Poseidon's potential wrath. This also further cements his hatred for Poseidon's children, which is honestly very impressive because they're probably already one of the things he hates the most.

His reunion with Clarisse is. Well. It certainly is. Unfortunately, they are both allergic to admitting how worried they were. Instead, Clarisse just gruffly thanks him for his help and Ares says that no one is allowed to touch his kids (which Clarisse takes in a possessive/neg way, of him sort of taking ownership, as gods are wont to do. This doesn't get rectified for. A while). They both want a hug, inexperienced as they are with them. Neither will get it.

That's about it for SoM. It'd be more about him learning about his limits and getting a better idea of his kids' limits than proper Emotional Character Development. That'd start in TTC, kind of like how Apollo really started growing after TBM.

Ares absolutely has his own flavour of trauma; more "typical" soldier PTSD and stuff about being the hated Olympian than past lovers, tho. A good bit of his arc would probably be something about learning what healthy relationships look like, how to manage his feelings in a non-destructive way, and that he doesn't always need to be "the strong one" and should be protected sometimes too. He doesn't get the same speedrun as Apollo, since he'd be mortal for a few years (until TLO), but considering his thing is more about learning how people and relationships work while Apollo's was a bit more about his ego and actions getting checked, I think that can be justified. This man has been ignoring emotions other than rage for millennia, it'll take a bit more than six months to get him to open up.

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nanawritesit · 1 year ago

Text

Trent Lane Boyfriend Headcanons! (SFW + NSFW under the cut)

(i just finished daria and have major Trent brain rot… but there’s like no content for him so i guess i have to write it myself :p)

SFW:

He writes songs about you all the time (they don’t always make sense but you still appreciate them)

Probably shows his love through physical touch or acts of service because he’s too broke to buy you gifts or take you anywhere nice 💀

He always has an arm around your shoulder, a hand on your waist, or is at least linking pinkies with you. If you’re next to him, he’s touching you in some way

And if you ever need help with chores or a project, he offers to do it for you or help you finish it (which is saying a lot because he’s usually lazy af)

Always gives you his jacket when it’s cold without you even having to ask him :)

Loves to lay his head on your chest and fall asleep after late night gigs… you struggle to roll him off of you in the morning because he sleeps like a log 😭

Calls you his “muse” occasionally

But he mostly calls you a cuter version of your name (like how he calls Jane “Janey,”) or just a simple “Babe” or “Hon”

Most of your dates are at the bars Mystik Spiral is playing at

You’ll hang out there for a while and get pizza afterwards, then probably smoke 🍃 in the tank

He asks your opinion on song lyrics, and you’ll help him brainstorm rhymes

The man is nocturnal so you have a ton of late night phone calls

You’re basically his sugar mama because again, he’s broke and unemployed

You have to reassure him that it doesn’t bother you all the time, in fact he’s *almost* considered getting a job just for you because he loves you that much 💞

(you can call him a deadbeat all you want. i would have no problem supporting my sweet baby girl 😤)

He also gets insecure sometimes that you’ll leave him for someone more educated or successful… you’ll have to explain to him that you don’t care about that stuff and that you love him regardless of it

His idea of a perfect day is just laying in bed with you all day long… he’s big on cuddles, either laying his head on your chest or nuzzling up into your neck :)

Although he also enjoys spooning you, or having you lay on his chest while he runs his fingers through your hair (He’s the best cuddler ever, try to change my mind)

Also loves going to the music store with you, and any other shops you enjoy going to

If you like piercings, you’ll go on piercing dates together :)

If you’re nervous, he’ll hold your hand and talk you through it 💞

Keeping him company while he gets his tattoos

He likes to see what you buy for yourself so he can save up his money to buy you something nice for your birthday or anniversary 🥺

LOVES when you sleep in his t shirts ❤️ He thinks you look so hot

He doesn’t strike me as someone who has a specific type, he just likes whoever he gives with. You could be alternative like him or have the total opposite aesthetic, he just likes you for who you are 🥰

Desperately trying to get him to take care of himself by getting a better sleep schedule and maybe eating a piece of fruit every now and again 💀

Watching Sick Sad World with Jane and Daria

The two of them look up to you because you’re one of the few people they think are cool, they mostly ask you for advice on relationships, school, and resolving their disputes

Jane asking you to help her dye her hair after Daria ruined it 😀

You always encourage her and compliment her paintings, she sees you as a really cool older sister (except not actually because all of her relatives besides Trent are insane)

You try to help them out around the house with cooking and cleaning and buying groceries since their parents are never home

The other guys in the band tease him so hard because he talks about you constantly and always gets so happy when you call :)

Jesse was actually the one who set you guys up, and it makes him so happy to see you together

He keeps a picture of you on the dashboard of the tank just to make him smile whenever he sees it 💞

NSFW: (18+/ MDNI)

Lazy morning sex (even though it’s at like 4 pm) because it’s the best way to wake him up ;)

Having sex in the tank right before a show because he’s convinced he plays better after he fucks you

He’s a switch for sure, mostly because he doesn’t always have the energy to be on top

Really likes long make out sessions where you’re straddling his lap and he can run his hands all along your body

Looooves watching you ride him

But he also enjoys pinning you down and dominating you 👀

The cold metal of his rings against your skin drives you wild, especially when he’s fingering you

Will give you hickeys in the most obvious places because he thinks they look hot

Conversely, he loves it when you leave scratches down his back like you’re marking him as your territory

Listen, this man knows how to EAT 😤 (you’re probably the most nutritious thing he eats tbh)

He loves overstimulating you by making you cum on his tongue and then fucking you immediately after

But he also loves it when you return the favor… he can’t think of any better sight than you on your knees going down on him 😭

He knows that his voice turns you on and uses it against you to turn you on in public (which leads to the two of you running out to the tank for a quickie)

He’s really good at talking you through it 😫

Not super loud during sex, but he does grunt and swear a lot

And when he gets close to finishing he starts letting out some airy moans, mostly saying your name over and over

He’s not *super* freaky but he certainly knows how to show you a good time ;)

#trent lane #trent lane imagines #trent lane x reader #trent lane fanfic #trent lane scenarios #trent lane headcanons #daria mtv #daria imagines #daria fanfics #daria x reader #daria character imagines #daria scenarios #daria headcanons

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saphiccarma · 12 days ago

Text

Pride Month Fic #1 - Out of the closet

Pairing: Closeted Agatha x Out Rio

Warnings: Mentions of Homophobia, evenora harkness mention, short :(

A/N: HIII I"M BACK. These are either gonna be short or medium or long, so bear with me y'all. Today, this is short. BUT I think imma write a really long one for the end of the month. no promises. we'll see how that goes.

Rio had pins and key chains that clattered along her backpack, most of them colorful with pink and orange and white. Small rainbow flags dangling and bouncing with each step she took. There was a look of unashamed pride on her face as she sauntered through the school, not afraid to flaunt herself.

Usually she kept pins on her backpack, at the risk of being bullied, but now she was using the excuse of pride month to flaunt even more trinkets. While her backpack was decked out with pride pins and random keychains, she kept her usual attire of mostly black. Made the backpack pop more.

The crop top showed off her stomach - she saw Agatha staring that morning on her way into school - and the ripped jeans were perfect. She could feel people staring, their eyes trained on her colorful backpack, but Rio did not give a shit as she waltzed to her next class.

One with Agatha.

As she kicked the door open with her foot, earning herself a glare from her teacher, Rio whistled casually and gave a slight nod in hello. The teacher, an older woman named Lillia with grey hair and glasses that sat atop her nose, rolled her eyes. But she still gave Rio a small smile and her eyes lingered on the pride trinkets.

Lillia was the only one who knew about Agatha and Rio's relationship. Well Jen and Alice probably suspected based on their smirks and teasing comments. Agatha had asked to keep it quiet (Rio was secretly going insane and ready to kill Agatha's mother), so she did.

That didn't stop her from sliding into the seat next to Agatha, knees bumping together and soft smiles being exchanged. The pen between Agatha's finger didn't stop tapping on the desk though. Rio frowned, her eyes narrowing in on the anxious movement. Resisting the urge to reach out and grab Agatha's hand, to twine their fingers together, she instead leaned close.

"You okay?" she whispered softly, meant for only Agatha's ears as Lillia started drowning on about history or some shit. Rio didn't care right now. Her main priority was her girlfriend.

Agatha nodded, distracted and shifted in her seat. Eyes drifting down to the purple skirt that stopped mid-thigh, Rio bite down on her lip and forced herself to look up so she didn't stare. Instead she trailed her eyes up the white blouse, pausing on the small necklace before staring at Agatha's side profile.

Her sharp jaw, which looked so pretty covered in lipstick and hickeys, clenched tight with stress. The slope of her nose, a little big but she wouldn't have it any other way. Pale pink lips, tongue darting out to wet them and drawing Rio's attention there.

She didn't get to admire the view for much longer before Agatha turned and she was faced with icy blue eyes and a raised eyebrow. The look said everything. The way Agatha leaned back in her chair said everything.

Crossing her arms, she pursed her lips, "Do you need something?" The tone was sharp and snappy, not filled with usual teasing and that only concerned Rio more.

Regardless, Rio felt her cheeks heat and her mouth go dry from just a few simple words. It was pathetic and quite frankly, a little embarrassing, but she had gotten over it. She was used to being embarrassed by her girlfriend.

"Nope," she popped the 'p' loudly, not caring for the look Lillia gave her. The older woman wouldn't actually do anything, she was too used to Rio's antics to actually care. Although Agatha's glare did bother her and only made the worry in her chest grow.

Instead of pushing the problem right here right now, Rio slid her hand beneath the table and found the hem of Agatha's skirt, thumb rubbing the skin there. Normally that was okay, allowed because they sat in the back and it was under the table, but today Agatha jerked away.

She didn't even spare Rio a look, keeping her eyes trained on the whiteboard or the book in front of her. Rio tried not to let it sting, but she was rejected by her girlfriend and that hurt. Locking the problem away for after class, Rio returned her focus to the class.

Agatha continued her anxious habits throughout the hour, leg bouncing softly and pen tapping against her lip before she sucks it between her lips. The sight drove Rio insane and absolutely feral. Her cheeks were practically a bright red all class.

Rio kept brushing her foot against Agatha's ankle, despite the several warning looks sent her way, and at one point she tried to snatch away her girlfriend’s pen. Safe to say it did not go well. She was smacked upside the head and Agatha nudged her chair away.

After class Rio managed to grab Agatha by the arm, uncaring for the fact that her girlfriend wasn't a fan of PDA, and dragged her into a storage closet. No one was looking anyways, and while she would normally respect her girlfriend's boundaries, Rio was too worried to give a shit.

Shutting the door, Rio spun Agatha around and grabbed her by her wrists. She traced gentle circles on the inside of her arm, her thumb rubbing in smooth and slow movements.

"Talk to me," Rio said softly, keeping her voice low so other people outside couldn't hear her, "What happened?"

Agatha tried to pull away, jerking her hands towards her chest in a defensive motion. Rio didn't let her, keeping her hands clamped down around Agatha's, and tugged her even closer. They were almost nose to nose, not quite, but enough that Rio could feel the warm exhale of breath.

Once up close, she could see tears pricking the corners of Agatha's eyes and her heart broke. It wasn't often that she tried, often just when she was angry, but the features of her face were too soft and light to be angry. Instead, there was a small crinkle of her nose and furrow of her eyebrow. Her teeth sunk into her lower lip as it wobbled in a way that wasn't frustrated.

"Tell me."

She wasn't pressing, not really, just gently coaxing. Pushing never worked with Agatha; she got enough of that from her mother. So, she waited patiently, rubbing circles onto Agatha's skin and feeling her pulse jump and stutter.

Silence filled the small, cluttered, closet. It was dusty in here, a few old books shoved in the corner and a printer that looked older than both of them stacked on top. Leaning in closer, Rio rested their foreheads together and closed her eyes, waiting.

"Mom's being..." Agatha trailed off, shrugging, "A bitch." It was a statement she had heard many times before, but there was a thickness to her voice that made it different. A crack at the end of her voice that made Rio crack her eyes open. She saw a tear leak out of the corner of Agatha's eye, slipping down her cheek. "She found the pride pin you got me."

A wave of guilt crashed over her, even though she knew it wasn't technically her fault. She'd gotten Agatha a lesbian pin last year at a pride parade. Something small to connect them together even if they couldn't be out.

"Baby..." Rio trailed off, swallowing a thick lump in her throat, "What did she do?"

There was a brief moment of silence that filled the room before, "Freaked out. It's fine." Agatha pulled back slightly, swiping at her nose and blinking rapidly to hold back tears. The vulnerable look was gone, replaced by the hard set of her jaw.

Rio grabbed her chin gently, forcing her to meet her eyes.

"Babe, it's not fine." A soft meeting of lips against each other, small and sweet, something to coax, "What did she do?" Agatha looked away, didn't make eye contact and pulled her lower lip between her teeth. She exhaled shakily, letting her eyes slip shut for a moment.

"Nothing too drastic yet," Agatha murmured after a minute, "Just, screamed at me and threw some shit. Normal."

While it pained Rio that Agatha considered that normal, she knew it was the truth. So instead of saying, 'I'm sorry' or 'that sucks', Rio brought Agatha's hands up to her face and made her cup her cheeks. Purple nails dug into her skin as Agatha cupped her face softly.

Rio leaned into the touch, tilting her head to press a kiss to Agatha's palm. She let her lips linger for a moment, eyes slipping shut again, and inhaling everything that was Agatha. The other teen sighed and exhaled shakily once more.

Still holding her wrists, Rio alternated between kissing her palms and her wrists and trailing kisses up her arm before going back down. The rapid beating of Agatha's heart slowed with every press of her lips and with every press of lips against skin. It wasn't long before lips met lips in a slow, delicate dance.

Agatha's fingers moved from her cheeks to thread into her hair, pulling her closer in and tilting her head for a better angle. Nothing about it was rushed or forced or even remotely sexual. Sure it was a kiss, but it was something meant to comfort, not an action that spawned from lust.

They broke apart only to breathe a bit, foreheads resting together and breath mingling. Rio smiled softly, licking her lips and a small laugh left her lips. Small and sweet, not her usual loud cackle, but something meant for Agatha alone. A lightbulb went off in Rio's mind and she grinned even wider.

"So does this mean we can be PDA now?" A dim hope blossomed in her chest, but she didn't let it grow, not yet.

Agatha blinked at her owlishly before laughing a little bit, head tilted back, "Sure."

They walked out of that closet, hand in hand for everyone to see.

#agathario #vidarkness #agatha harkness x rio vidal #agatha harkness #rio vidal #agatha all along #agatha all along fanfic

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2plottwist · 10 months ago

Text

Aeterna Amantes

Summary: Astarion's ascent changes him, making him possessive and cruel, yet your love for each other remains intense and intertwined, bordering on obsession. On the night of your wedding, he shows you just how powerless he is without you.

Pairing: Ascended!Astarion x Female!reader

Warnings: Blood, death, and sex. The holy trinity. Possessive Ascended Astarion being himself. A very twisted definition of love. Oral sex. Cunnilingus. P in V penetration. Probably more, I am not being very thorough, and I apologize, but if there is anything else it is close to these themes.

Word Count: 5.8k

Author: Emma:)

A/N: this started as one thing, then changed to something else, then I lost sight? Idk what happened, and I hope it is decent enough to follow:)

Powerful people need only focus on what they can do, and what they are going to do. It was a mantra Astarion hardly needed to tell himself after he had taken Cazador’s place in the Black Mass. He knew what he was capable of; after your enemies were slain, he figured he may just be the most powerful person in all of the realms. But there was one thing keeping him from fully embracing it- you.

You had run into his arms willingly, foolishly, naively. You were an idiot to trust him, but he found comfort in the fact that you did. He didn’t even have to ask if you wanted to become like him- all you did was grab his hands, lean your head against his chest, and say that you wished to be with him forever, regardless of whether your heart beat.

And now he watched you sleep blissfully, mumbling something under your breath as you dreamt. You were just as beautiful as the day he met you, despite the fact that your skin had paled and your chest no longer moved. Filled with his lifeblood, you were an extension of him- you were him. The lines had become muddled; it was hard to tell where he ended and you began. You were everything to him, and he was nothing without you. And he would stop at nothing to bring the world to your feet.

He often sat contemplating all the ways he could do just that, but a memory would stir in him just as he thought he had a perfect idea. It was the night he had turned you into his consort, the night you became his forevermore- a night he would never reveal in full to you. You had spent hours pleasuring him, pleasuring yourself, letting him ruin you before he finally commanded you to sink to your knees. Your silver eyes locked onto his, the most beautiful of smiles playing with your features. With the power he held now, the sight could actually make him breathless. And it did for a moment, before he climbed on top of you and drained every single drop of blood from your body.

Your body had begun to spasm, thrashing about as your eyes rolled back in your head. Spittle began to leak from your mouth as it hung, gaping. In that moment, as you were dying in his arms, he was utterly terrified. What if he lost you? His everything? The one he wished to protect? As your heartbeat began to slow, he pierced tongue with his fang, swiping his mouth with his thumb before letting his lifeblood drip into your mouth.

He would never tell you about how he lifted you from the floor and placed you under the covers of your bed gently. He would never tell you that he laid with you curled into his arms, patting your head softly. He would never tell you how he wept, whispering apologies over and over again into your ear. He could never admit how many times he had pledged his undying love to you.

So that’s why, when your eyes finally opened, their silver replaced with blazing crimson, he was only laying opposite of you, smirking at you expectantly, as if he had never doubted for a second that you would awaken. He trailed your body with his hands for hours, telling you repeatedly how beautiful you were, how, despite you already being perfect, you were to become even better. That day, he wouldn’t even allow you to journey through the city, opting to send Wyll and Karlach in your place. He pleasured you over and over again, letting you drink from his neck and him from yours until you were both covered in it.

His love was so deep, so all-encompassing, that it bordered on obsession. He could not bear the thought of anyone else laying eyes on you, let alone touching you. The mere idea of another person even thinking of you was enough to drive him to rage. You were his, and his alone, and he would stop at nothing to ensure that the entire world knew it.

His thoughts drifted to one evening when a nobleman arrived at the castle on business. When he saw you, standing there in a gown Astarion had made just for your body, he could not hide his admiration. The man’s eyes lingered on you for just a moment too long, his gaze betraying a desire that he dared not speak.

Astarion noticed. He noticed everything.

The merchant’s life was forfeit before he even realized his mistake. Astarion moved with a swiftness that defied nature, his hand closing around the man’s throat. There was no mercy, no hesitation. With a sickening snap, the man was killed, his body crumpling to the floor at Astarion’s feet. The thralls quickly drained the body and disposed of the remains, leaving no trace of the unfortunate soul who had dared to look at you.

You had watched it all unfold with a mixture of fear and fascination, your heart pounding in your chest. The man you loved, the man who had once been so uncertain, was now terrifying, relentless, and utterly devoted to you. Astarion could feel the thrill that coursed through you at the sight of his possessiveness.

He had turned to you, his eyes burning with fiery intensity. “No one is to ever look upon you that way again,” he vowed, his voice low and dangerous. “That right is reserved for me, and me alone.”

The love you shared was a dark, all-consuming flame that burned brighter with each passing day. You loved him with a ferocity that matched his own. You reveled in the way he claimed you so completely; you were his dark consort, his queen.

There had been times when you wondered if the man you had fallen in love with was still there, buried beneath what he had become. But those thoughts were often fleeting, quickly swallowed by the overwhelming desire you felt for him. In his arms, you found comfort, a sense of belonging that you had never known before.

When Astarion held you, his hands roaming possessively over your dips and curves, the rest of the world ceased to exist. You had become so entwined that it was impossible to imagine a life without him. You could feel his presence in every corner of your mind, his thoughts bleeding into yours, his desires becoming your own. It was intoxicating, addictive, and you craved it- almost as much as he did.

Astarion would often whisper to you in the dead of night, as you laid pretending to sleep. “I can never let you go,” he would say, his tone tender. “You are a part of me now, as much as I am a part of you. We are one, my love. Aeterna Amantes.”

The decision to make you his bride came quickly, waiting only for the castle’s immense renovations to take place. Two thrones, made of the finest elven silver and forged into swirling patterns, had been delivered to the palace. That night, he led you onto his throne, ripping your nightgown into shreds before taking you where you sat. It was an illusion of treating you as an equal, you thought at first, before realizing it was more of a declaration.

Soon, he had moved you to the floor, laying you atop the velvet doublet he had hastily discarded. After ravaging each other again, and again, he slipped a heavy ring onto your finger. The piece was encrusted with crimson and emerald- your favorite color. In the middle of the assortment was a giant, crystal clear diamond, carved into a pointy, triangular shape. Inside the band, he had the phrase he often whispered to you in the night, aeterna amantes, carefully inscribed into the silver metal.

It wasn’t a proposal, or an offer. He had already decided you were to be his wife, despite the fact that the fierce love you felt for him was too strong to only amount to that title. You took the ring graciously, and he allowed you to pull him into a kiss, nibbling on his lip as you did so.

Astarion had spared no expense in ensuring that your wedding day would be exquisite. He personally selected the finest dressmaker in all of Faerun, a master of the craft known for creating garments that were as much art as they were attire. The gown designed for you was nothing short of breathtaking- an elaborate creation made from the finest silks and lace, sheer in places to reveal glimpses of skin, yet artfully designed to maintain an air of tantalizing mystery. It clung to your form, accentuating every curve, with delicate, intricate embroidery that shimmered like moonlight on water.

Of course, it was not enough for Astarion to simply dress you in finery. He wanted a lasting reminder of your union, something that would immortalize the depth of his obsession, the intertwining of your fates. He commissioned a portrait, though it was far from a traditional painting. The artist was instructed to capture the two of you in a moment of unguarded intimacy. The result was a masterpiece, he thought: you, draped in a flimsy, crimson robe, leaning against him, who had dressed in regal black. He had a hand rested possessively on your waist, the other was between your legs, causing the artist to immortalize your joined ecstasy, as immortal as the two of you were.

The guest list was carefully curated, with invitations sent only to those Astarion deemed worthy of witnessing the union. Powerful allies, influential figures, and a select few of your companions who would prove loyal to him when he needed them to.

On the day of the wedding, the palace would be filled with the scent of blood roses, their deep crimson petals scattered along the aisle leading to your thrones. The orchestra would be beautiful, and its music would echo through the lavish halls as you made your way to him. He knew he would long to take you right then, away from the prying eyes of the city’s inner circles and to the most secluded chamber of the crimson palace. But he would settle for not acting on the tempting warmth that would spread through his blood as he laid ruby eyes on yours.

He soon was drawn back to reality as you stirred, your sleepy eyes slowly opening. He reached out, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear before pulling you to his chest.

“My love,” he murmured, his voice a silken caress. “Tomorrow, you will be mine in every sense of the word.”

You lifted your head, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “As if I am not already,” you replied softly. “There’s nothing of me that you do not already possess.”

Astarion’s lips curled into a small smile. He intertwined your fingers, closing his eyes for a brief moment to savor the connection.

“True,” he confessed, breathing in the scent of you. His scent. “I want nothing more than to stay with you,” he said, his voice hoarse with the effort of restraint. “But I need to leave now, or else I won’t be able to tear myself away.”

He had told you there was some tradition he wanted to follow, one where the two of you would be separated before the day of the wedding. Since he had followed you to bed, you expected he had forgotten- but of course, his mind was as sharp as his daggers.

You felt a pang of longing at his words, your body instinctively leaning further against his. “Astarion-”

His smile was almost bittersweet as he leaned in closer, his lips hovering just above yours. “Now, darling,” he started with a sigh. “I want tomorrow to be perfect. I want to savor every moment when I make you mine in front of the city.”

You could feel the weight of his resolve in your mind, the tension in his body as he fought against the urge to stay as if it were your own. It was clear he was trying to make your day special, to heighten the anticipation so that when you finally stood before him, it would be all the more intense.

But even knowing this, it was hard to let him go. The two of you hadn’t spent a night alone since he had ascended. “Astarion, you don’t have to-” you began, but he silenced you with a kiss.

It was slow and deep, filled with all the longing and passion he was trying to hold back. His hands tangled in your hair, pulling you closer, attempting to imprint the feel of you into his soul. You could taste the depth of his love in that kiss, the way it consumed him.

When he finally pulled away, he was breathless. His forehead rested against yours for a moment, his eyes closed as he gathered the strength to do what he had to do. “I love you more than words can express,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “And tomorrow, I will show you just how much.”

With that, he forced himself to climb out of bed, the space he occupied beginning to grow cold. He paused at the door, looking back at you one last time.

“Sleep well, little death,” he said softly. “Tomorrow, we begin the rest of our eternity together.”

The next morning, you were awoken particularly early, hissing at your lady-in-waiting as she shook you from your slumber.

“Apologies, my lady,” she replied quietly, bowing her head. “But the day is upon us, and we must prepare.”

Her words cut through the remnants of sleep clouding your mind, and you sighed, the irritation melting away as the weight of the day settled on your shoulders. You knew she was right. This day was too important to delay.

With a resigned nod, you sat up in bed, the silken sheets slipping off your body as you did so. Your lady-in-waiting stepped forward to assist you, her movements inhumanly practiced. She helped you out of bed, leading you to the adjoining bathroom where steaming water awaited you in the claw-footed tub.

The air was filled with the delicate scent of rare and expensive oils, the water shimmering with the faint glimmer of crushed pearls and other precious ingredients. The woman guided you into the bath, the warm water enveloping you like a comforting embrace.

She worked in silence, her hands gentle as she bathed you, using the finest soaps to cleanse and soften your skin. The fragrance of jasmine, rose, and myrrh filled the room, the combination soothing your nerves and helping you relax as the ritual of preparation began.

“My lady,” your lady-in-waiting started, “I could not help but notice… the Master was up all night. He was writing something, and I heard him speaking aloud. He kept starting over, as if the words weren’t quite right.”

You felt a pang of irritation at her words. “You should know better than to spy on our master,” you chided softly, though there was no real venom in your voice.

She dipped the cloth in the water again, hesitating before ringing it out and continuing to wash you. Lowering your voice, you asked, “What was he saying?

She paused, her hands stilling for a moment as she seemed to consider her response. “They were vows, my lady,” she said finally, her voice barely above a whisper. The master of the house heard everything, after all. “He spoke them aloud, but each time he would stop, crumple the paper, and begin again. It seemed he wanted them to be perfect.”

Your heart tightened at the thought. The Astarion you had fallen in love with, the one who had been timid and unsure beneath his veneer of confidence, was still there. You would always love him, regardless of who or what he was, but he was still the man who had promised to love you for you- not because he had sired you.

Once you were bathed, she carefully brushed out your hair. She began to braid intricate patterns into your locks, weaving in delicate white flowers that matched the color of your gown. With your hair perfectly arranged, she led you back to the bedroom where the gown awaited.

The lady-in-waiting helped you into it, the fabric swishing against your pale skin as she laced it up with careful precision. Once you were dressed, she retrieved a small, ornate box from a nearby table. She opened it to reveal an intricate necklace, the centerpiece a dazzling gem that sparkled like starlight itself.

“This is from the Master, my lady,” she said, her voice reverent as she fastened the necklace around your neck. “A final gift before you become his wife.”

The necklace rested just above your collarbone, the cool weight of it comforting, like a touch from your lover. Astarion had torn down every mirror in the palace- not that they would do much for you, anyway. You hoped you looked as exquisite as you felt. Magnificent enough for him. And if you didn’t.. You hoped he worshiped you enough to not care.

And as you took in the sight of yourself, adorned in the finest garments and jewels, a sense of inevitability settled over you. Today, you would become Astarion's wife, bound to him in a way that would transcend time itself. The thought sent a thrill of anticipation through you, mingling with the lingering unease that had settled in the pit of your stomach.

The wedding ceremony began under a canopy of dark velvet, the candelabras above dripping steadily. The haunting strains of the orchestra filled the air, a melody that seemed to echo through the grand halls of your palace, reverberating off the cold stone walls. It was a song that was both beautiful and ominous, probably befitting the occasion.

You stepped forward, your gown trailing behind you like mist, the intricate lace and jewels catching the dim light. Each step you took was deliberate, your gaze fixed on the figure waiting in front of the throne. Astarion stood there, tall and regal, his eyes never leaving you as you approached. His gaze was intense, hungry. Like this was the first time he had ever laid eyes upon you.

The crowd on either side of the aisle was a mix of noble families and politicians, but it was the familiar faces of Shadowheart and Gale that stood out. They sat together, their expressions somber, their eyes filled with unease. Shadowheart's gaze flickered with something close to sadness, while Gale's brow was furrowed in concern. Their presence was a reminder of the life you once led, a life that seemed distant and almost forgotten now.

But as you walked toward Astarion, their concerns melted away, drowned out by the pull of the man who awaited you. The world around you seemed to blur, fading into the background until there was nothing but him. Astarion, your lover, your master, and soon, your husband. Your eyes could not be pulled from him, the same burning desire written on his features pooling in your stomach.

When you finally reached him, standing before the thrones that now represented your union, he wasted no time in pulling you close. His touch was possessive, a hand on your waist as he pressed his body against yours. The warmth of his breath ghosted over your neck, and before you could fully react, he leaned in, placing a lingering kiss just below your ear. The sensation of his lips on your skin was electric, sending a jolt of desire through you.

As he pulled back slightly, you could feel the hardness of his arousal pressing against your leg through the layers of fabric. It was a reminder of the hunger that never seemed to leave him, a hunger that extended beyond blood to something far more intimate. The sheer force of his need was overwhelming, and yet, it was impossible to deny that you felt the same pull, the same twisted desire that bound you to him. Instinctively, your hips bucked slightly towards him, a motion only he was privy to.

“Soon, my love,” he murmured breathlessly, his voice a low, dangerous purr.

The room seemed to hold its breath as the two of you stood there, locked in a moment of shared intensity. You could feel the eyes of everyone in attendance on you, but it didn't matter. All that existed was Astarion, his hand still gripping your waist, his eyes dark with an unspoken promise. The vows had yet to be spoken, but in that moment, it was clear that your union was already sealed, not by words, but by the primal, consuming bond between you.

He took your hand in his, his touch cold but firm, a shiver running down your spine as his fingers intertwined with yours. There was a moment of stillness, as if the world itself was waiting for his words, and then he began to speak.

"My beloved," Astarion began, his tone… softer than you expected. "From the moment I first tasted freedom, it was you who breathed life into me. You who gave me purpose beyond mere survival. You saw the wretched creature I was, and yet, you loved me. And for that, I am yours, eternally."

His grip on your hand tightened slightly, his gaze never leaving yours. "I once believed that love was a weakness, a foolish indulgence that would only lead to ruin. But you, my darling, showed me that love is the most powerful force of all. It is a weapon, sharp and unyielding, that has the power to conquer even the darkest of hearts. With you, I am more than I ever could have been alone. And without you, I am nothing."

Astarion paused, his expression softening as he took in the sight of you standing before him, resplendent in your wedding gown, the very embodiment of his deepest desires. "Today, I vow to be yours in every way that matters. I will protect you, cherish you, make and undo you, because you are mine, and I am yours. Two souls intertwined, inseparable and eternal. Aeterna Amantes."

There was a flicker of something dark and possessive in his eyes as he continued, his voice dropping to a whisper that only you could hear. "I vow to never let you forget who you belong to, even if it means tearing apart the heavens themselves. You are my heart, my soul, my very reason for existing. And I will love you with a ferocity that even the gods themselves would envy."

Astarion leaned in closer, his lips brushing against your ear as he finished his vows. "And in return, I ask only for your undying loyalty, your body, your mind, your very soul. You are mine, my love, now and forever. And there will never be another."

As he pulled back, the look in his eyes was one of both deep love and possessive hunger. It was as if he was trying to convey with that gaze what words could not fully express—the intensity of his feelings, the depth of his commitment, and the fierce, all-consuming passion that now bound you together.

He pulled you into a rough kiss then, more fangs than lips, slipping his tongue into your mouth. You let him explore the inside of it, like he had many times before, his mouth devouring the cries that left your own.

The reception was an equally as lavish affair, befitting the union of two powerful beings. The air was thick with the scent of wine, rich food, and the low hum of conversation intermingled with the haunting melody played by a piano.

You and Astarion sat at your own table, elevated above the rest, overlooking the grand scene. Your throne was draped in deep crimson, matching the roses that adorned the table. Astarion cut a striking figure beside you. He was the very embodiment of royalty, every inch of him exuding the allure of a predator who had finally claimed his prize.

As you sat beside him, you could feel the tension in the room. It was an undercurrent that ran through the smiles and polite laughter, a reminder that this was no ordinary wedding reception. The eyes of your guests darted nervously between you and your husband, as if unsure of how to behave in the presence of such power.

Shadowheart and Gale approached your table, their expressions tinged with concern. Shadowheart was the first to speak, her voice low and careful. "This union... It feels more like a binding than a celebration," she said, her gaze flickering between you and Astarion. "I just hope you know what you're doing. This path... it’s not one you can easily return from."

Gale nodded in agreement, his brow furrowed in worry. "You're bound to each other now, in ways that go beyond even the deepest magic. I’ve seen what love can do, the way it can twist and consume. Just… be careful. I don’t want to lose you to this darkness."

As they spoke, Astarion remained silent, his expression unreadable. But beneath the table, his left hand began to inch up your thigh, his touch cold. His fingers traced slow, deliberate circles on your skin, inching upwards towards your core as the conversation continued.

Shadowheart’s eyes narrowed slightly as she noticed the change in your expression, her lips pressing into a thin line. “Astarion… we’re only here to ensure she is happy, truly happy. Can you promise that?”

Astarion’s response was a soft, dangerous chuckle, his eyes gleaming with a mix of amusement and something darker. “Oh, I assure you, Shadowheart, she is exactly where she wants to be. Isn’t that right, my love?” His voice was smooth, seductive, and as he spoke, his hand slid further up your leg, his grip tightening slightly.

“Of course, Shadowheart,” you said through gritted teeth, a poor attempt to steel yourself. His index finger now hovered above the raw bundle of nerves protected only by a thin layer of undergarment. You attempted to scoot closer to the table, closer to his touch, but he pulled his hand back abruptly, raising from his seat. The sudden movement startled your guests, and the room fell silent, all eyes on him.

“That’s enough,” Astarion announced, his voice commanding and brooking no argument. “This celebration is over. All of you, leave at once.”

There was a moment of stunned silence, the guests exchanging uncertain glances. But no one dared to disobey him. One by one, they began to rise from their seats, bowing slightly before quickly making their way out of the hall. Shadowheart and Gale lingered a moment longer, their eyes filled with concern as they looked at you, but they too eventually turned and left, leaving you alone with Astarion.

As the grand doors closed behind the last guest, Astarion turned to you, his gaze smoldering with an intensity that made your breath catch in your throat. “Come, my love,” he purred, his voice low and possessive. “I’ve waited long enough. It’s time for us to consummate our union.”

He didn’t wait for your response. In one fluid motion, he scooped you up into his arms, carrying you toward the bedroom with a predatory grace. The hunger in his eyes was unmistakable, and you knew that tonight, there would be no boundaries between you, no holding back. You were his, entirely and irrevocably, and he intended to claim you fully, with a passion that would leave no room for doubt.

When you reached your bedroom, he didn’t bother with closing the door before ripping the beautiful gown off of your body.

“Darling,” you whined, stepping out of the ruined remains. “I rather liked that one.”

His mouth was on you in an instant, trailing sloppy kisses down your neck. “Then I’ll make you a thousand more,” he groaned, unable to stop his ministrations on your skin as he pushed you to the bed. He stood at the foot of it, half-lidded eyes staring down at your naked body. Carefully, he took off his couplets, then his doublet, and then his pants. His cock was deliciously hard already- it probably had been all day. The head leaked with precum that spilled onto you as he climbed, languidly, atop you.

Without another breath, he sank his fangs into your neck, driving his cock into you with a force so rough it made you yell. You gripped at the sheets as he pounded into you, finally pulling back from your neck. Your blood was running down his chin, dripping onto your chest. “Gods, you are so beautiful,” he growled, swiping at the blood on his face with his fingers before smearing them across your bottom lip. You hissed at the possessiveness, and, unable to control your own body, you pulled his forehead to yours, piercing the flesh above his collarbone and drinking deeply.

Your blood mingled with his, the liquid flowing between your two bodies. As you drank, he moaned praises down at you before sliding his hand down your stomach, finding your clit and pinching it with his fingers. You yelped at the sensation, unhooking from your lover's neck.

“My wife, my everything,” he muttered in between increasingly frantic strokes. Your own orgasm was within reach now- you could feel the walls of your cunt starting to tighten around his length.

“Come for me,” he growled, grabbing a fistful of your hair. “Do as I command you.”

You came undone beneath him, clenching around his cock, causing him to groan, his own orgasm hitting him. Before you had a second to catch your breath, his fangs were in your neck again, your-his- blood rushing into his mouth.

He drank his fill and then pulled out of you, laying beside you on the bed. Giving you a brief respite before you start again. You rolled to your side to face him, and he ran his hands over your skin.

“Perfection,” he whispered.

“Well, of course,” you responded matter-of-factly. “You created me.”

Your words spurred him on and he groaned again, his hands sliding between your legs, sliding through your slick, coating his fingers with it. You watched as he brought them up to your mouth, rubbing your wetness over your lips.

“Suck,” he growled, pushing two of his fingers into your mouth.

You obeyed, sucking and licking them clean. He moaned and pulled them out, eager to push them back into your folds. You gasped as he fucked you with them, his other hand taking a firm grip around your throat.

“You are mine,” he hissed. “My wife. Mine to do with as I please. And you’ll let me, won’t you, little death?”

You steeled yourself just enough to nod your head before you came again.

“There’s my girl,” he uttered, voice low and breathy. He leaned in to kiss you, but you turned your head, rejecting it.

“You’d do well not to deny me, lover,” Astarion drawled, pulling his fingers out of you and lapping at them.

“Fuck my mouth first, my love, and then you may take all the kisses you want.”

Without another word, he rose to his knees, yanking you by the hair to be face level with his cock, which had been called to attention again.

“Mind your fangs, darling,” he growled before pushing your mouth open with his free hand.

You took him into your mouth, your cheeks caving in as you began to suck. Your fingers teased the sensitive skin behind his balls, causing him to let out a guttural moan.

You looked up at him through damp lashes, your tongue swirling around his tip.

“Gods, my love,” he mumbled between heavy breaths. His free hand met the other at the back of your head and he began to thrust into you. You relaxed your throat, allowing him to reach farther down you. Soon, you were lapping up the remains of his seed that he had spilled down your throat.

The two of you were relentless- there was no gentleness in your sex that night. The world around you ceased to exist as the night stretched on. As the first light of dawn began to filter through the heavy curtains, the pace finally began to slow. He didn’t want to stop, but he recalled a story about another vampire lord who’s bride had become so drunk off of his blood the night of their marriage that she drank him dry.

Astarion, panting and spent, finally withdrew from inside you, his breath ragged as he collapsed on the bed. Your bodies were slick with sweat, your breaths coming in labored pants as you lay entwined. For a moment, the two of you lay in silence. The room was filled with the scent of your blood, the evidence of your love scattered across the bed in the form of rumpled and torn sheets.

Without a word, Astarion slid off the bed and sank to his knees before you, his head bowed, his hands resting lightly on your thighs.

“My love,” he murmured, his voice low. “You are the only thing in this world I will ever bow to. The only one I will ever serve. My life, my power, everything that I am- it all belongs to you.”

His gesture took your breath away. Reaching out, you gently cupped his face, your fingers brushing against the smooth skin of his cheeks. “And I am yours, Astarion,” you whispered.

He leaned into your touch, his eyes closing briefly. When he opened them again, the hunger had returned, and a devilish smirk toyed with his features.

“Come,” he said, rising gracefully to his feet and pushing you back against the mattress. “Let’s seal our vows once more.”

The sun would continue to rise, as it always had, casting its light on a world that would move forward. But there would come a day when all of that would fade into insignificance, when kingdoms and empires would be forgotten, and the sun itself would flicker out like a dying ember.

And when that day came, when the world was reduced to ashes and all that remained was the void, you knew that there would still be the two of you. Alone in the darkness, unbound by the constraints of time, your love would endure. In the end, there would be nothing but you and Astarion, together as you had always been, two souls entwined in an eternal dance, forever and always. Aeterna Amantes.

Yes, the world would continue to move on, indifferent to the night when two eternal lovers were intertwined in a passion that defied the very essence of existence. But soon, the day would come when you and Astarion would bring the world to its sweet surrender, bending it to your will, shaping it in the image of whatever you wanted. When the time came, the two of you would take everything and everyone to their knees, as your lover had done himself in front of you. And if it was to be even half as alluring as that moment was- you could not wait to do so.

#ascended astarion #ascended astarion x reader #astarion x reader #astarion #bg3 #baldur's gate 3

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