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studentinpursuitofclouds · 18 days

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Hiii. It's been while, but here I am to annoy you with the occasional prompt once more :P

How would the SDV + SVE spouses react to the farmer (who is their partner, spouses or just dating) introducing them to the racoon family? (Because I love torturing Magnus, maybe the parents end up trusting him with their children and make him their babysitter)

❗🦝Spoilers for SDV 1.6.🦝❗

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Heya, good to see you again! :3

When I wrote the headcanon about this, I'm surprised that no one in the game reacted to the new raccoon house. Like, nobody? Not even least Marnie or Leah? Oh, well... 😅Anyway, thanks for the ask and enjoy! 💕

SDV/SVE spouses react to the Farmer introducing them to the raccoon family:

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SDV bachelors/ettes:

The little gray lumps decided to playfully attack Sam right away, poking their wet noses at him and pawing through his bag looking for anything interesting. The young guitarist laughed resoundingly, and decided to use his hand as a "claw" to show the raccoons that he was accepting the game. The babies are having fun squeaking and jumping, Sam is outright glowing with happiness, the parent raccoons are taking a break from the noisy kids, and Farmer is taking pictures on their phone to capture this touching moment.

Sebastian was probably most at ease with the raccoons, sitting on the grass while the little cubs sniffed curiously at the stranger. Farmer crouched nearby, showing their forest friends that Sebby could be trusted. So in five minutes the little raccoons were already playing and jumping around the two of them without restraint. Funny little animals. He won't mind continuing to frolic with his friendly neighbors. Hm, maybe bring them a tasty treat?

Well... Those are definitely real raccoons. It's just that after Farmer's words "neighbors-raccoons", Elliott thought at first that his dear husband did not characterize people so kindly, and then the writer remembered that he had never heard of any new residents of the Valley. The raccoons were surprisingly calm, they seemed to know Farmer for a long time, and the cubs were not afraid of Elliott at all. "Meeting with the forest neighbors..." Hmm, not a bad title for his little novella...

When the Farmer told Harvey that they had purchased so many broccoli seeds from raccoons, the local doctor thought it was a bit of an odd joke that he had no way of understanding. But now he saw with his own eyes as the raccoon came out of their little house and gave Harvey's spouse a baggie of seeds, taking pine cones in exchange. A mixture of confusion and shock, and then complete acceptance of the fact, because, as far back as Harvey could remember, the Farmer had done stranger things.

Shane stood motionless, with a "I don't get paid enough for this shit" look on his face while little baby raccoons sat on his head, shoulders, and scratched his new shoes. He definitely thinks he looks silly. But they seem like cool animals, not aggressive, plus Farmer is smiling so wide and sincere at this picture. So Shane is willing to put up with the squeaky sounds of the fidgety cubs once a week. The only no is introducing his with Farmer children or Jas. Better save that sorry.

Raccoons? Not the same ones Alex's grandfather has been complaining about for the past week? The athlete is used to seeing them as pests, since Alex used to be the one who was always picking up trash from the overturned trash bin. So he shows a bit of distrust when he finds out that their "new cool neighbors" are raccoons. Although Alex has no beef with these raccoons specifically, they seem to be peaceful, plus their cubs are super adorable.

Oh, Leah had known for a long time for that tree stump mini-cabin near the farm. Excellent carpentry, by the way. It was very skillful. And the raccoons who had settled there were apparently enjoying their cozy new place of residence, which would shelter them from any weather. Nevertheless, Leah does not dare to disturb the local fauna and advises Farmer not to get close to the raccoons, believing that animals should be respected.

When Penny saw Farmer with raccoons in their arms, the girl wanted to scream in horror, but ended up just squeaking. These are certainly not dangerous animals like a bear or wolves, but even just a couple of aggressive raccoons can pose a serious threat to humans. And the fact that the Farmer was near their cubes... But these raccoons don't seem to mind human company... probably domesticated. Penny is certainly glad that everything went well, but maybe they both shouldn't bother the wild fauna any further?

So the Farmer has been buying carrot seeds from real raccoons all this time? That's awesome! Abigail isn't exactly thrilled about the carrots, though. She didn't seem too surprised by the situation itself. Even wanted to see what else the forest fauna were selling. Seeds, seeds, more seeds... Oh, magic rock candy? Now that's interesting! Especially while she's looking at all the possible items, the baby raccoons are playing with her. So Abby is very happy to have such neighbors.

Haley squeaked twice, the first out of delight at the raccoon family in their cute little house, and the second out of surprise and fear because the raccoons had come too close to her. They don't carry rabies, do they? She looks at her spouse, waiting for their answer. At Farmer's approval, she decided to gently pet the raccoon, who seems didn't mind at all. It was fun, but Haley had had enough contact with nature for the day. Btw, where is her camera? Because she'll definitely take a dozen cute photos before leaving.

On the one hand, Maru's inner voice urges her to counsel herself and her dear spouse against contact with wild animals. On the other hand, Farmer playing with baby raccoons is probably the cutest thing Maru has ever seen, and her heart instantly melts with an overabundance of cuteness. The young inventor would spend days asking the Farmer about the raccoons themselves and how come they made a house for them.

Forest friends! Emily is unbridled delighted that her spouse has introduced her to a family of raccoons. Small and bright animals that playfully run around the blue-haired girl while she herself smiles at the most adorable picture. The interaction alone filled Emily with a huge amount of positive emotions. Oh, and the raccoons look happy in their cozy little house! She should definitely sew a couple of warm plaids for them, so that the baby raccoons will definitely not freeze in winter.

SVE bachelors/ettes:

Considering that Magnus's partner had previously shown him their ability to talk to the forest fauna ("Deal with bear and maple syrup???"), the introduction to raccoons didn't surprise him too much. What did surprise him, however, was that the parents wanted to give him, a wizard they didn't know well, their raccoon children to look after. With all due respect, he was not a babysitter for forest animals! Magnus already had his own children and a pupil to look after.

*Chuckle* What a adorable forest family. Lance is rather pleased to hear that the Farmer and he have good neighbours. Although the gallant adventurer himself doesn't have a chance to talk to the raccoon parents (and to any wild animals), their behaviour towards Lance says that they are not aggressive and don't consider him a threat. He is more interested in the fact that Farmer is actively trading with the raccoons, exchanging coal for mahogany seeds...

Farmer, wait! Stay away from the raccoons, they can be dangerous! Why don't they listen to Victor? He knows what he's talking about. Moreover, the spaghetti lover has told them many times how he was attacked by a vicious raccoon in town a long time ago. He was terrified. So don't- Farmer? Where are you going? Please don't go near- Oh... Are these raccoons tame? Did they make them a house? To keep them warm in the winter? Oh, how nice of them- ???? Did- did they just buy carrot seeds from raccoons?...

Oh, a raccoon family? This is unusual. Well, Claire kind of realises that the forest is very close by, so it's no wonder there are wildlife running around. but she never noticed this little house with cute raccoon faces sticking out of it. The red-haired girl worries when Farmer gets too close to the animals, what if her parents think they're a threat to the little ones? But they seem to regard them as their own and allow them to be petted. Claire would rather watch from the sidelines if her spouse doesn't mind.

...Olivia was beginning to worry that these raccoons wouldn't hesitate to come to their farm and make a mess in the beds. Living in the city, she knew these animals as pests and disease-carriers that crawl through bins. So she honestly said she wasn't too comfortable around raccoons. Although these ones seem to behave differently, without aggression. And the house is pretty nice. But she will need time to get used to such "neighbours".

Oh, Yoba, the Farmer made this little house themselves?! And the raccoons have babies! Five, or even six! That's so cute! Sophia is even willing to forgive the raccoons for knocking over her trash can last week, because it's the cutest thing she's ever seen in her life. The pink-haired girl is still afraid to touch them since they are wild animals after all. But she'll definitely take 100+ photos of the forest family and be sure to show Scarlett, because it's super adorable!

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helplesslypurple77 · 7 months

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Day 14-Priest!Fyodor/Nun!Reader- with the prompt Masturbation

Notes: in an effort not to offend anyone, i'm using a made up fantasy religion that's not explicitly explained. I'm not religious and I don't want to accidentally offend anyone with this nasty little fic.

Also, if you’ve been reading my other Fyodor stuff and noticed that i mention his accent every chance i get, yes, i do love accent, probably a little too much(especially his it makes me h*rny)

The grand cathedral was a pristine place, sparkling white walls and large stained glass windows. You disliked it, the walls seemed to be always watching you. You preferred the smaller cathedral, the walls were a comforting wood paneling, and the arched ceiling was black, its stained glass windows showing pictures of orchards and dancing fairies, and not the angry eyes of the goddess. The goddess always seemed to be watching you in that cathedral, and lately you felt like avoiding her eyes.

Chores are comforting in a way. They let you escape from the busy world for a minute, dodge the gossip of the younger nuns. You loved gossip, but sometimes you were just too tired to keep up, and escaped to the smaller temple to wind down. The goddess in this temple somehow seemed different than the angry one in the cathedral, as if they were two separate entities, two sides of the same coin.

Carrying your mop and bucket, you open the large doors to the temple, taking a moment to soak up the atmosphere. It's a large room, long with a high arching ceiling. Blackwood beams arch into the sky, as if it's reaching for the goddesses mercy itself. You would appreciate some mercy, but you fear her too much to pray for forgiveness.

The walls are made of blackwood too, and rough with tree knots interspersed throughout. Large, arching windows let the sunset light in the light sprawling across the floor in large spires, collared different colors as it reflects the stained glass. These stained glass have always been your favorite. They depict the goddess, but in a softer light. She’s smiling, and not looking directly at you, judging you for your sins. She frolics in the grass in one, takes a bite out of some fruit in another, and yet another depicts the goddess with her lover, smiling so brightly you mistake her for real for just a split second.

A pedestal stands at the head of the room, a large statue of the goddess behind it. She’s pretty, your goddess. Tall, with curves and long, long wavy hair that trails the floor behind her. She stands with her hands outstretched, flowers flowing from her fingertips and trailing the ground. Her eyes are curved, her mouth carved into a pretty smile, a welcoming smile. Her eyes seem alive, and although the statue is made of marble, you get the vague sense that they are a startling vivid green.

You feel her eyes on you, berating you with her upset face. A face of disappointment, a face of sadness. And that hurts you much more than the stakes of anger ever could.

“I'm sorry, goddess.” The words echoed in the empty chamber, bouncing off the walls. The goddess looked on, unyielding, her face carved into a permanently happy expression. You hate the other statue of the goddess, the one whose face is carved into an unyieldingly blank smile, her eyes forcing guilt upon her worshipers.

You turn your eyes away from the statue, and carefully work the mop across the wood floor, avoiding the metals impeded in it. Sister Mila said never to scrub the metal, it offends the goddess. And you really don't need to be offending the goddess anymore than you surely already have. Your heart is heavy as you try to banish the thoughts from your mind, the nasty wrong thoughts. The goddess would be disappointed in you.

Finished with the moping, you move to dust the small confessional booth in the corner. It's tucked away from the main room, used by nuns who want to confess a sin of sorts, although the sins are usually trivial things like eating an extra serving of breakfast, or losing a friend's prize possession. Father Fyodor, the priest who usually takes care of the confessions is out right now, enabling you to clean the room in peace. It's good too, because seeing the Father right now might truly break you. You don't dare visit the confessional yourself, and confess your dirty thoughts to the star of your fantasies.

The dangerous thoughts are coming back, terrible, dirty thoughts and you wash the wood paneling harder, as if it will scrub your brain of the dirty fantasies.

It had started a few months ago, when Alina, one of the younger Nuns, had snuck into the village bookstore and purchased a certain kind of book.

⭒ ༺ ♰ ༻ ⭒

“Guess what I got.” Alina says, flipping her hair over her shoulder excitedly. She’s holding a book in her freckled hands, the cover a rich deep red with the title ‘Divine Desires: A Tale of Forbidden Love’. You wince at the dubious title. The room is lit by a single candle, you and Alina huddled around it. Alina’s fiery red hair bounces dangerously close to the candle, and you subtly pull the flame away.

“What? You were in town, right?” you say, pearing curiously at her. Alina nods. “Yep, Sister Mila took me and Hikari downtown to get the usual grocery run. And I snuck off.” She giggles, waving her book excitedly in your direction. You eye her curiously, a little apprehensive. Alina is the troublemaker of your little group, always sneaking off to do this or that or something. Although usually the kind of mischief she would get up to was wholly different. A book is a little, um, normal for her. You are almost more scared of the unknown it presents.

You hush her with a finger, leaning close. “Remember, be quiet. We don't want Sister Mila to discover us.” She whispers. The three of you are huddled together in the middle of your shared room. The large lamps that usually light the room have been extinguished, and Alina leans closer to the candle, reading by the small ring of light it gives. You lean closer, becoming her to speak. Despite your apprehension at the dubious title, you love books.

“It was a dark and stormy night…” Alina begins. Her soft voice is perfect for storytelling, and the story is interesting, about a nun like yourselves. It's not until Alina’s halfway through the second chapter, and the warning signs start to pop up, that you begin to have doubts.

A character named Mikhail is the first red flag. A priest who the main character, Sofiya, speaks of a little too highly to be normal. “...Father Mikhail stole my attention once more, his piercing eyes undressing me from across the table…”

And then, it turns out the book is a romance novel. Which is fine, actually. Great, considering you love romance novels. But then, the first explicit scene starts.

“...He caressed my body with his thick hands, smoothing the goosebumps that lingered from his kiss, driving my body wild with his touch...” Alina is barely holding back her grin as she reads, looking up every so often to see how you respond. You can feel your face heating up, and you glare at her balefully, but make no move to protest. She continues on.

“...‘oh Father Mikhail.’ I said, clutching desperately at his shoulders. ‘We mustn't do this. It is forbidden.’ he kissed the protests from my lips, his thick hands sliding beneath my skirt and caressing the meat of my thighs. ‘Do you really care what they think?’ He said, his voice rough with emotion. ‘Or do you care about us, about this heat we create—” Alina dissolves to the ground in giggles as you yank the book from her hands, face flaming. “Alina! How could you buy a…a…” You lower your voice, your face burning. “A dirty book.” You say, face on fire. Alina giggles at your response, yanking the book back.

“It's an Erotica, and it's perfectly healthy to be curious about these things.” She says, a bit too loud. You shush her and she continues in a whisper. “Besides, I saw you enjoying it.” You blush, but don't deny her. It will do no good to lie after all. “But Sister Mila will be furious.” You say. Alina frowns with a sigh. “We’re already in our nineteenth year, old enough to make our own rules.” She says, opening the book back up. “So where did we leave off…‘Or do you care about us, and this heat we create’. I nod desperately against him, the heat of his…”

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And ever since that day, when Alina had read her ‘erotica’ book to you, it was all you could think about. And everytime you laid eyes on Father Fyodor, all you could think about was the dream that had preceded it. You were ashamed when you woke up in the morning, a sticky wetness between your legs and the Father’s name on your lips. It was such a strange and uncomfortable feeling, the guilt thereafter. You had been driven nearly crazy by the heat between your legs that had abated only with a cold bath, but had left you feeling strangely unsatisfied and pent up. You hated it, and you hated how you didn't know what to do to make it go away.

It wasn't strange how you were fantasizing about Father Fyodor. It's quite embarrassing to admit but you’ve always found him handsome. The two of you entered the church around the same time, but he had risen through the ranks much faster than you, already a priest at the young age of twenty two. You were ranked high as well, but had yet to reach the rank you desired, that of a goddess nun.

You remembered well the day you had arrived at the temple. The children who were sent to the temple every year were few, but still notable. You remember very clearly being plopped onto the carriage with a kiss by your mother, the only other occupant a pretty boy with long hair, who teased you and played with your hair. He was so cool to your ten year old mind, a boy who at fourteen, was practically the coolest thing in the world to you. The veneer had faded slightly, as the distance between you two had widened, until you barely spoke anymore. It hurt you more than you would let on.

But, until now, you had thought your feelings were simply admiration, and nothing more. But as even the memories of the dreams made that frustrating heat pool in your lower regions, you are forced to accept that maybe your feelings are a little different. You clearly want him to do those things, the things Mikahil in the book had done to Sofiya, the things that would make this heat go away for good. But for now you would have to ignore the heat and avoid him for the life of you. It wouldn’t be hard, the two of you barely interacted anyway.

The guilt that always accompanies the heat is slowly eating away at you, the worries that you are a bad person, that this heat is bad. The dreams are bad, desiring a holy father you're sure is against the rules. Although you would never ask Sister Mila, you’re sure that it's wrong.

Pushing away the spikes of sadness and guilt that those words bring on, you sigh to yourself and finish your chores in record time.

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“So, what did you need?” Alina is sitting across from you in the cafeteria, knitting something teal that vaguely looks like a hat. She’s already finished her blueberry pancakes, and the empty plate rests in front of her. You clear your throat. “Well, um…” You say. You don't know if you should even ask this question, let alone at breakfast in the cafeteria, in earshot of the older Nuns. You play with your own pancakes, spearing a blueberry on your fork. Alina, worried at your silence, puts down her hat thing, and fixes her brilliant green eyes on you.

“Name, is something wrong?” She says. She looks so genuinely worried and you start to feel a little bad. The issue isn't that bad, and you don't want to make her feel guilty by telling her the problem. Alina is a kind soul, who has been your best friend in this place for many, many years. You love her, but you don't want her to worry over your stupid problems.

You do your best to paste on a smile, taking a bite of your fluffy pancakes. “Who’s supervising grocery duty today?” You say, hoping your voice sounds optimistic. Alina picks up her hat again, worries assuaged. “Um, I think it's Sister Katya? Not sure.” She says, leaning closer with a whisper. “You wanna sneak off and get more books?” She wiggles her eyebrows, the last word dripping with insinuations. You flush, and slowly shake your head. You're tempted though, because the books are not sinful themselves. It's your brain that has come up with the sinful scenarios involving a holy father. You feel that horrible guilt, accompanied obviously by that heat. You rub your thighs together.

“You sure?” Aline says, still whispering. She leans forward with a wink. “They have Divine Desires: A Tale of Forbidden Love volume two…” She leaves the question open ended, her voice going up temptingly at the end. You hate how tempted you are.

“Alright, fine.” You whisper back. Alina grins in triumph, and pulls back as a senior nun walks behind the two of you, eyes full of suspicion. You quail under them, while Alina stares back defiantly. You’ve never been good with authority, and now it's even worse. All you can feel is guilt and hatred, hatred of your poisoned mind. For how could you think such thoughts of a pious man like Father Fyodor. You tense under the nuns searching eyes, and breathe a sigh of relief as she walks away. You hate yourself for it.

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Alina’s waiting for you by the large wrought iron gate that blocks the temple from the outside world. She waves you over, handing you a large canvas bag. “For the groceries.” She says with a wink. You look around, noting the suspicious absence of supervision. “Where’s Sister Katya?” You ask. Alina gestures towards the path back to the monastery, and sure enough here comes sister Katya, talking to a familiar dreaded head of pretty black hair. You immediately look away, making desperate eye contact with Alina. She shrugs, looking just as confused as you are.

Sister Katya is young, for a senior Nun, and blond. She’s very pretty too, and you feel a nasty emotion you know as jealousy as she smiles at Father Fyodor, their conversation too far away for you to hear. Alina, smirking by your side, asks the question as the two of them join your small posse by the gate. “Hi Sister Katya.” She starts out, as you avoid all eyes, staring instead at the red roses growing by the fence. “Why is Father Fyodor joining us?” Sister Katya frowns in disapproval. “Alina, don't speak so rudely. And Name?” She says. “Raise your eyes and greet your superiors.” You raise your eyes, focusing them on Sister Katya and not looking in the other ones direction.

“Hello Sister Katya, Father Fyodor.” You're proud of how your voice doesn't waver, even though that guilt is eating you from the inside out. “It is nice to see your Name.” Fyodor’s familiar voice sounds from next to sister Katya, and involuntarily your eyes are on him again. He looks as handsome as ever with his dark, dark hair and piercing eyes. He somehow even manages to make a priest's outfit look attractive, and you feel that familiar heat built in the pit of your stomach. You quickly look away, flushed, embarrassed and oh, so guilty.

Sister Katya spares you a small smile, and then unlocks the chains blocking the gate. The carriage is waiting, and you hop in across from Alina, hoping and praying to the goddess that Fyodor will take the other seat, the one far away from you. The goddess must be exacting her revenge for your nasty thoughts however because instead of sitting on the other side, Fyodor chooses to sit right next to you. You try your best to curb your nasty thoughts, but they creep back, almost involuntarily. The heat, that pulsing heat in your groin overtakes your thoughts and you rub your thighs together, seeking the nasty bit of friction it gains you.

“It's been a while since I've seen you, Name.” Fyodor says. The carriage goes over a bump and you bounce a little. The seam of your underwear pulls against your crotch and you bite back a sound. “I suppose so, yes.” You reply, once the bumpiness has passed. You sound cold, you know, but you hope to discourage him from talking to you. You don't deserve his attention, with your nasty thoughts.

“It seems you are doing well?” He says, that accent catching prettily on your ears. He’s had it forever, and for some reason it hasn't seemed to fade, even after years at the monastery. “I guess so, yes. You?” You say. You can't help continuing the conversation, even as you mentally yell at yourself. Fyodor smells like an idea, like an old abandoned church covered in moss, surrounded by lilies and ivy, alone and unforsaken but not lonely. He smells like heaven. You cough, embarrassed.

“I've been busy, many come to confess lately.” He says. The idea of confessing your sins drives you crazy at night, tormenting your soul. You sigh as he continues. “Remember dear, if you ever need to confess a carnal sin the booth is open.” The phrasing catches you, stopping you dead in your tracks. An idea, a seedling planted in your brain, ready to sprout at the first drop of water. Your curiosity peaks, you dare to ask a question.

“Carnal sin? Have many people been confessing sins of that sort lately?” You try to devise the anxiety in your voice, doing your best to sound casually curious. Sister Katya is sitting across from you still, lecturing Alina about proper worship positions. Fyodor leans down slightly, his breath tickling your ear as he speaks. “An erotic book cart had been stationed downtown for a couple weeks now.” He starts. Your heart pounds in your chest even as heat pulses in your groin. He’s much too close. He continues, seeming not to notice your distress. “I must reassure them over and over again, that such physical desires are natural. They insist on apologies to the goddess it seems.”

A spike of home roars to life in your chest, but then you remember the kinds of dirty thoughts you're having. The goddess would never forgive a woman who desired a holy man. Maybe she would be happier if you did indeed confess your sins. Your mind made up, the tree in your brain sprouts, growing into a pretty little sapling, white lilies falling from the branches. Trying to probe subtly for information, you lean a little closer.

“Are you working in the confession booth tonight Father?” You don't think you could confess your sins to the man you fantasized about. You don't have the guts.

“I'm not sure, Dear, Father Nikolai and I switch off.” He says, laying a hand on your thigh as the carriage bumps again. The heat in your gut pulses, and you bite your lips to muffle your cry. Resolved to confess your sins tonight and beg the goddess for her mercy, you settle back into the torturous ride, with a small sigh of relief.

You miss the smirk that carves its way across Fyodor’s face, the pieces of his little puzzle falling perfectly into place.

You’ve always been such a good girl, and he knows you’ll be good for him too. He’s always loved you that about you.

⭒ ༺ ♰ ༻ ⭒

The shopping trip had been uneventful. Alina had disappeared for a while, and returned with a bag packed full of books, both erotic and regular. Father Fyodor had been glued to your side for some reason, and Sister Katya had spent the trip flirting with him. You had done your best to ignore her, and control your perverted urges around the Father.

It was night now, just after the curfew for the younger Nuns and you were sitting on your bed, still clothed, carefully lighting a lantern. You were technically breaking curfew, but there were certain rules that allowed you to go out after curfew, and confessing your sins was one of them. The temple had such strange rules, that if you wanted to, could be easily exploited. You yourself had never used this particular rule, simply because you didn't have a reason to.

The halls are quiet, the shadows arching gracefully along the high ceilinged hallways. The lamps flicker, and the shadows come to life, joyfully dancing with each other along the walls. The candlelight lamps through large circles of golden light along the floor, but they never touch. Forever alone, always watching, never touching. You hurry along the hallways, kitten heels making faint clicks on the hardwood floors.

It's more well lit near the grand cathedral, and the sound of choral practice fills the hallway. You hurry past, taking care not to disturb the older nuns. While technically you were not doing anything wrong, you didn't want to poke the sleeping bear so to speak. The strains of music fade behind you as you move deeper into the church. The goddess's room, and subsequently the confessional booth, is in a much older part of the church, past the white marble of the newer sections and back to the black hardwood and titanium that the church had begun with. The lights turn purple, their shades a muted lavender and you hurry faster, wanting to escape the aerie hallway.

The door opens with a creak, and you notice the light that signals a priest is in fact inside. You can't tell who, but you pray to the goddess that she may grant you small mercy’s and that it's Father Nikolai.

Father Nikolai is a strange man, with silver hair and a dramatic eye patch. He refuses to wear the uniform and instead wanders around wearing a strange jester uniform. He’s honestly not as weird as some of the other priests(Priestess Yosano who occasionally does strange experiments in the basement, and Father Dazai who owns a giant white tiger.) but Nikolai and Fyodor are the only priests who listen to confessions, you're not sure why. Father Nikolai tells way too many jokes and occasionally forces people to partake in his weird quizzes, but he’s harmless. You think. You're not totally sure, but you are sure you would rather take the weirdo with the stupid outfit than the object of your dirty fantasies.

You step forward, knocking lightly on the door to signify that you are here. The confessional is one of the oldest antiques in the Temple, made of ancient black wood with real silver accents that have to be polished. It's two-sided, with two doors that can be locked just in case. You take a deep breath, extinguish your lantern and enter the chamber, closing the door with a resolute slam. Your side of the confessional is larger than you would have guessed, with enough room for three people to lay comfortably side by side. It’s wooden as well, and while a bench lines the far end, you choose to kneel in a worshiping position, begging the goddess for mercy in your mind.

“Forgive me Father, for I have sinned. It has been many years since my last confession.” You say, your voice low to match the atmosphere. The words feel foreign and heavy on your tongue. The man on the other side of the one way partition, Father Nikolai you hope, hums gently, signifying you to continue. You know he can see you, but you cannot see him. The glass is full length, and a special one imported from a foreign land you were told. You bow your head, and begin your sordid tale.

“I pray the goddess will forgive my sorry self, for I have sinned of the utmost. The sin of carnal flesh.” You're already trembling, but in horror you realize the dirty thoughts are pouring back into your head, and that dreaded heat is pooling in your stomach.

“I have desired a holy man, and I have felt temptation and I simply do not know what to do.” You're close to tears, but that heat in your gut is pulsing, and you rub your thighs together, your vision growing warm and fuzzy. You continue in earnest. “Even now, as I think of the dreams my body heats up, and I don't know what to do, Father, but beg for the goddess’s forgiveness.”

The silence scares you, but you bow your head and beg the goddess’s forgiveness like you've been taught. And after a while, the voice you were least wanting to hear comes through from the other side.

“My Dear, what a pleasant surprise.” Fyodor’s accent is unmistakable, and while your brain feels fear the heat in your guy pulses. The hardwood floors scrape your bare knees, and the thought of him makes that heat, that fire grow into a raging curtain, hell bent on ruining you. You bow your head lower, as the priest continues.

“You wish to know how to stop the desire? That heat in your gut?” He sounds kind, his voice softened to almost a pur in the golden lamplight. You nod, expressing your enthusiasm but not trusting your voice. He chuckles.

“I see.” he says, and you hear some shifting through the glass. “Well, then follow my instructions closely. Can you do that dear?”

You nod, thanking the goddess gratefully for such an opportunity. The heat is still present, and has increased as the Fyodor has spoken. His accent does things to you, things you’d rather not think too hard of. When he speaks you want him to do things to you, forbidden things. Feeling rather guilty at the turn this has taken, you thank the Father as well, most profusely. “Thank you Father Fyodor, I am much indebted to you.” He chuckles behind the glass.

“Well then dear, sit down on the bench behind you.” He says. You scramble to do as he instructs, sitting down on the hardwood. The priest continues. “Now, do you feel a pulsing heat in your stomach?” At your nod, he continues on. “Now bring two fingers between your legs.”

Your face is aflame, but you follow his instructions, slipping your hand beneath your skirt and hesitantly touching the gusset of your undergarments. To your surprise, the fabric feels damp. Your confusion must show on your face, because you can hear Fyodor chuckle.

“It's wet, isn't it Dear.” His voice is all husky, and the tone shoots a bolt of white hot pleasure between your legs. You feel your insides clench around nothing, and suddenly feel so dreadfully empty. You nod, and the priest continues. “Spread your legs for me, and pull up your skirt.”

Your face is flushed with embarrassment, your heart pounding double time in your chest, but you do as he instructs, bunchin your skirt around your legs and spreading your thighs apart, baring your plain undergarments to the world. Fyodor makes a pleased sound through the barrier.

“You're such a good girl.” He says. You whine at the praise, biting down on your lips to keep the embarrassing sounds in. A faint rustling can be heard through the partition, and Fyodor continues, almost slightly out of breath. “Now take off your panties Dear.”

“I'm embarrassed Father.” You whine out. Your voice is unfamiliar to your ears, all breathy and full of something hot and needy. The man across the partition chuckles. “Call me Fyodor Darling.” He says. “And there is no need to be embarrassed, desire is a natural part of life my Dear. The goddess was a married woman, who partook in these types of things all the time.” His reassurance greatly helps, and the guilt slowly drains away with the rest of your common sense. Still slightly embarrassed, you slide your panties off, setting them gently beside you on the bench.

A slight breeze hits your cunt, and you shiver, another embarrassing sound working its way dangerously up your throat. “What’s next Fyodor.” You say.

A faint sound can be heard through the partition, almost as if someone is oiling a slick surface, and Fyodor’s voice comes out a little rough when he speaks. “Touch your cunt again dear, what do you feel?” You do as he instructs.

You can feel the lips, and you push past them to where you pee. To your surprise you jolt as a bolt of pure pleasure shoots up your spine. An embarrassing noise bullies its way past your bitten lips, echoing in the wooden chamber. Fyodor chuckles. “Feels good right Dear? Now slide your fingers down slowly, until you feel the wetness.” His accent is a little thicker now, and his words slur ever so slightly. The effect is much too sexy, you feel another bolt of pleasure, this is softer than the one before.

You do as he instructs, sliding your fingers away from the spot and down. You startle as you feel the large amounts of sticky wetness pooling down there. You pull your fingers away from your cunt, and up to your eyesight. They shine, and a thin string of the strange liquid stretches between your fingers as you pull them apart. Fyodor makes a choked up sound behind the partition. “So good darlin, so pretty. Now do you feel an opening down there?” He says.

You ring your fingers back down, and feel around until your fingers sink into something. You nod your assent, and Fyodor speaks again from behind the glass. “Sink one finger in until the knuckle to start.” He grunts out. For the first time you feel a slight bit of discomfort as your finger sinks in. You're being stretched open, and you feel the urge to pull them out again but you trust Fyodor, with your whole heart and soul. You let it sit in the heat for a moment, adjusting to the strange intrusion.

“Now, sink in a little further Dear.” He says. The pet names are driving you crazy, giving you hope as another shot of pleasure rockets through your nerve endings. You whimper a moan, embarrassed, and do as he instructs. It takes a minute to sink the whole finger in, but you manage it, panting into the steamy air. The intrusion feels new, but not bad, not at all. It feels good to be full, but you also feel hollow, like you're missing something. You communicate this in a breathless voice.

“Want more Fyodor.” Your voice doesn't sound your own, torn with pleasure and bliss. “Pull your finger out, then put it back in.” Fyodor says, voice gruff. “Keep doing it.” The advice is strange, but you do as instructed and pull your finger out, then put it slowly back in. The sensation is like nothing you’ve ever felt before. Every time your fingers drag against your walls, pleasure rockets though your body, leaving you mentling on the bench, legs wide open. You're making weird noises, too busy with the pleasure to stop the noises from leaking out of your bitten lips, legs twitching against the floor as the pleasure rockets through you.

“Oh goddess, feels so good Fyodor!” You moan, speaking the goddess's name in vain and not even caring. You're much too far gone to feel guilt or remorse anyway. “Want you more, want bigger.” You're begging for something you don't even understand, you're not sure what you want, you just want more, more, more.

Fyodor speaks from behind the glass. “You want more, pretty girl? You want me to come over and make you feel good?” He says. The prospect is so arousing your insides clench around your fingers, gone stupid with arousal. “Oh yes, oh yes please!” You say, thrusting your fingers in and out, in and out. You faintly hear a door slamming and then the door to your chamber is opening and Fyodor is in front of you.

He’s wearing a night outfit, just normal pants and a t-shirt, and his cheeks are flushed the palest pink. Your eyes catch on the tent in his white pants, and you feel spit gather in your mouth. He looks slightly disheveled, and devastatingly handsome. You pull your fingers from your cunt with a moan.

“Oh Fyodor, I want you so bad. Is that wrong?” You whine, legs still spread for his viewing pleasure. He smiles, pulling off his gloves and laying them on the bench beside your panties. “No, it's perfectly all right.” HIs voice is slightly rough, his accent thick and gravelly. One hand draws teasing patterns on your thighs, driving you nearly insane with want. He continues, his other hand unbuckling his belt. “I want you too darling, you can see my desire for you clearly.” Your eyes catch on that hand, that tent in his pants. You remembered the description from the book, the long hard thing called a ‘cock’. You remembered how the main character had described the pleasure, and your cunt feels dreadfully empty. You whine.

“Want you to fill me up, Fyodor.” You say, reaching out a hand and pulling him closer. He grins at you, all feral teeth and clouded eyes. “You want me darling? Want my cock in your pretty pussy?” He says. You nod, trying to say with expression alone how much you want him. He seems to understand, because he pulls the thing out of his pants and in one move, lines the tip up with your drooling cunt. The stretch is painful, at first.

It burns a little, and as Fyodor grips your thigh, ever so slowly easing himself inside you, your head falls back against the wall of the confessional, a moan slipping past your lips. Is a moan of half pain, and half pleasure, and as he finally bottoms out, you wrap your legs around his back to keep him still. You feel too full. You can feel his length pulsing inside of you, you can feel the heat radiating through your entire body. He pants against you, his eyes never leaving yours for a moment as he speaks. “Feel good darling?” His voice is low, pressed almost into your lips as he speaks. You nod. “Oh yes please, move, please. I oh—” You cut off as he obliges your wish, pulling out slowly and then slamming back in repeatedly.

Loud squelches fill the confessional and your moans spill out unbidden, joined by his occasional grunts and groans and the naughty slapping of skin on skin. You don't remember why you were so guilty, all you feel is pleasure, white hot pleasure coursing through your veins and driving you nearly crazy.

You feel a tight knot of something in your stomach, something hot and strange and you arch up, as it breaks. “Ohh Fyodor.” You moan out, your voice so full of pelasure it emberasses you. He grinds against you. “Did you cum Pretty girl?” He says, voice occasionally interrupted by grunts. You nod furiously, as you feel another strange knot building. “Warn be next time.” He continues, his breath hitting your ear. A hand works its way down your chest, and then Fyodor’s finger is playing with that bundle of nerves above your hole, and the knot brakes with a crash.

“Oh god ‘m cumming!” You scream out, gripping Fyodor’s shoulder furiously. The second orgasm is more intense, the pleasure lasting for longer as Fyodor’s cock continues to fuck you through it. You come down again, and Fyodor’s hand on your clit drives you right back up again. He smiles, his hips stuttering slightly.

“Gonna cum again, sweet heart?” He bites out. You nod hurriedly as his hips piston in and out. “Hold on for a moment Name.” He continues. “I'm almost done.” You do your best to hold back, concentrating instead on his face. He’s biting his lip, his pearly white teeth leaving red marks in them. All the while, his eyes have never left you.

“Fyodor, ‘m cuming, ‘m cuming.” You say, and he grips your head, pulling your close with a whisper. “Me to Name.” He says, and then crashes his lips onto yours.

You cum for the third time with a muffled cry, and his hips stutter, driving deep into you one more time as hot liquid splashes inside you.

Endnotes: so uh, this ended up resembling christianity a little two much, but also not because the only church i've ever been to was a black baptist church, and this...is not that

#bungou stray dogs #mariannacrxss #kinktober 2023 #helplesslypurple77kinktober #bsd smut #kinktober #bsd x reader #bungou stray dogs x reader #fyodor x reader

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dovithedarklord · 1 month

Text

Stucked - Part 6

You're trapped in a game and a new threat is lurking.

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Pairing: John "Soap" MacTavish x reader, Simon "Ghost" Riley x reader, König x reader

Tags: Mentions of death, Mentions of blood and gore, Blood and Violence, Sexual Scenes, Alternate Universe, No use of Y/N, Not Beta Read, AFAB Reader

Trigger Warning: Contains blood and gore, violence, injury, some body horror, description of grotesque creatures, some monster smut (light), and some dubcon (lightly). Please, keep that in mind!

⚠️MDNI⚠️

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Author's Note

This part unveils a new evil!

There's a new threat, but your old friends are close by. Who knows what happens after...

Have fun! :D

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5

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Like a faded picture that has been imprisoned in the depths of a drawer for decades, the vision is projected as faintly on the canvases of your eyelids. As if it were just a vision born on the plastic soil of a dream, nothing else, the memory that takes shape in your head seems so unbelievable. This horrible place has been holding you in its embrace hot with the stench of death for so long, that the images left from the real world seem to your brain like the remnants of a life that never existed. However, you're sure that the melodious children's laughter ringing in your ears is real, and you know that it belongs to someone who was once important to you. In this friendly fantasy world, there is no decay and no blood, only the inviting rays of the sun, which guide you to the surface with warm fingers, as you frolic under the cool foams, mimicking a mermaid. You paddle nimbly with your little hands as the princess of the secret underwater realm, and each tiny shell and grain of sand greets you as a subject of your kingdom as you swim above them. And when someone pulls you out of your adventure and lifts you back into the air, warm from the summer heat, you sulk and argue, trying to get free, but whoever the stranger is, they only respond with amused laughter. And your heart almost sinks at the fact that only blurred spots dance in front of your eyes when you look up at the figure who kisses the top of your little head and hugs you so tenderly. Because you know you should know her, but nothing breaks through the darkness in your skull apart from the feeling of loss that gnaws at your insides.

Although for a moment you don't understand why your own mind is turning against you, but even your frozen shock is penetrated by a faint recognition, that there is a reason why this is exactly the memory that arose in you after the many horrors you experienced. And it seems a very cruel trick from your subconscious that now, when an unknown force drags you deeper and deeper toward the bottomless pits of the icy water, it calls up this exact one out of the many mementos slowly fading to nothingness. Because you know that now the sun-tanned hand won't rush to your aid to save you from the frosty, otherworldly empire that is drawing you closer and closer to its gate made of torn bodies with each passing second.

And as if you just woke up from an unwanted slumber, you realize that no matter how much you want to linger on the soft lap of soothing reminders of the past, and no matter how much all your instincts protest against letting the false security of the images dancing on your eyelids slip away, you have other things to do. Oh, how easy it would be to let it end like this, rocking in the heavy arms of the cool water, finally die without rough hands trying to bask in the warmth of your still living organs. But you have work to do. And this ultimately breaks your body out of the shock injected into you by the unknown attacker, which pulled you under the surface, heavy with rot and death.

As soon as your resolve finally pushes you back from the temptation of the soft, shapeless drifting of unconsciousness, the shortness of breath tightening your chest reaches your senses, and your mouth opens in a desperate gasp before you can stop the reflexive movement. And as the cold water breaks through your lips and you feel the musty taste of mud on your tongue, your jaw snaps shut with such alarmed speed that you swear that you feel your teeth cracking. However, a stray sip of water that has gone astray still finds its way into your trachea, and as it pushes along the soft tissues like a thousand tiny blades, you would instinctively start to cough, but you're only able to ease the pressure of a force squeezing your ribs for a few pathetic seconds.

Your eyes open in fear, and you can see the taunting invitation of the moon's pale light even through the sting of the water blurring your vision, and you can almost feel how mockingly the silvery beams laugh at your torment. And as you become aware of with what frightening certainty the last faintly twinkling trace of the starry sky starts to disappear, your brain catches up with the facts, and even through the lack of oxygen, you understand painfully fast that the fragile thread of your life will soon come to a pitiful end and break under the cruel weight of the waves gathering above you. And because of this, your body, for the umpteenth time during the night, surges you towards action, and as the cocktail of stress hormones in your veins revives, you try to propel yourself upwards with almost instinctive movements. But no matter how you paddle with your hands, just as your legs would also join in the frantic work, the alien creature wrapped around your ankle tightens its grip even more, and the suppressed scream that is born in your lungs only echoes in your skull, when you feel how cruelly its spikes drill into your bruised flesh. You can sense, quite horrified, how the poison, similar to liquid fire, creeps through the boundary of the skin and muscles pulsing with agony. And you know that whatever this formless beast tries to inject into your body, soon it will help tip you back into oblivion so that you allow yourself to be driven into the predator's waiting claws with a willing daze.

Your hands rush towards the wretched monster holding your feet captive, and even you're surprised when you grab hold of the sleek extensions of a seaweed-like plant. And even though the army of thorns rising from the slippery tissue cut into your palm, you don't care about how the suffering radiates through your arm like a lightning strike, instead, gritting your teeth, you try to loosen your shackles, because it's only a matter of time before your luck runs out and you're back in that goddamn car again. Crimson drops of blood emerge like snakes from under the wounded skin, and the more fiercely you fight with the cursed seaweed, the cerise fluid surrounds you like a vague mist, casting your figure, wild from the fury of the struggle, into the midst of blood-red clouds.

All your nerves are occupied by the heat of your battle, because you feel it all too well how the merciless iron fist around your chest is closing, as if someone had thrown you into a press, and the metal plates weighing on you were trying to slowly drive your ribs into the living flesh. And you would swear that even through the gurgle of liquid against your eardrums, you can hear the horrible, almost insidious snapping of the hair-thin cracks running down your bones, as if a heavy boot were treading on freshly fallen branches.

But even through your despair, it occurs to you how strange it is that the crackles travel into your ears through the roar of the water so clearly, even though you know that nothing but the sound of bubbles could penetrate the chaos created by your panic. And when you catch a pale spot moving from the corner of your eye, like an uncertain vision dancing on the edge of your consciousness, you stop chasing your release for a minute. First, through the hazy clouds cast by your blood, you see a broken form unfolding, looking more like the dried remains of a wind-twisted and battered tree than anything else. However, when the tormented figure seems to be approaching, and the scarlet veil finally fades due to your immobility, then the shock cuts through even the tension of air that is stuck in your throat. Because your brain, fighting with hypoxia, understands that the creature is swimming closer to you with measured laziness, which may have previously feasted on the disintegrating corpses washed to the surface.

A pair of milky white eyes take shape from the dark, endless void with an almost otherworldly light, and the hunger looming in them paints the mouth so dreadful, which stretches into an impossibly wide snarl with cruel joy when it discovers in you its prey frozen in fear. As if the corners of its mouth were trying to get around the elongated head, splitting the dry, ashy skin on its skull like grotesque cuts. Yet, your eyes are immediately drawn to the pale gums and the sharp teeth protruding from them, stained a dirty brown by the rotting pieces of meat sitting on them. And as the twisted, thin body floats closer, a series of dim, tormented blots appear behind it, like an army of faithful shadows, which absorb the rays of moonlight piercing the water, bringing an ominous night to the desolate realm of the lake.

And it doesn't take much time, just a mere fleeting second, and you become sure that you have to flee, because these horrible devilish beings will clean the pliant network of muscles and tendons from your bones before suffocation has a chance to push you into the saving ignorance of unconsciousness. That's why the fierceness of survival awakens in you anew, and even you yourself can't believe the power that terror stirs in you, when you almost tear the tentacles of the stubborn seaweed from you, and the adrenaline that settles on your nerves doesn't allow the pain caused by the attack of the thorns stabbing into your palm to reach you. And if you'd have time, you would burst into tears of joy when the damned plant finally releases your ankle, but you have no time to be relieved, because you see the cautious advance of the distorted beasts squirming in the corner of your eyes, and you can feel the small waves on your skin that their excitedly grinding teeth create.

You're almost desperately try to swim towards the surface, and although the force of the pressure gnawing at your insides increases with each hasty movement, and small black spots slowly crawl into your field of vision, you don't care about the agony that crushes the soft tissues of your internal organs. When your hand finally breaks through the mirror-smooth border of the lake's surface for the first time, and your fingers are caressed by the prickle of the cold night air, then all the suffering that has tried to push you into the silky lap of another death disappears. And perhaps you've never been so happy to see the moon sprawled out like a divine being in the middle of this imaginary world, and you're not at all bothered by the sardonic glee with which its sparkling, silvery gaze follows how you begin to swallow the life-giving oxygen like a pitiful fish on dry land. Although you forcefully cough out the remnants of the water that have strayed into your airways, as soon as the first sip of air fills your chest aching with burning stinging, and the specks squirming in front of your eyes vanish, you have the strength to focus on the way out. And you know that you don't have time to hesitate any longer, because you can see the moving outline of the unknown monsters gathering below you.

You run your gaze along the landscape shrouded in dreadful stillness, and you feel your stomach flutter with gratitude when you discover how seductively close the line of the shallow shore stretches behind you. You only wildly hope that you're able to outrun these horrible creatures, as you put each of your tired limbs to work and start swimming without any delay, because it only takes one of these awful beings to catch you, and your remains will be reduced to tiny crumbs of bones and viscera. And despite the fact that you've met your end countless times, you know that each of your deaths would pale in comparison to being torn to pieces alive by these infernal abominations. Perhaps this is the motivation that breaks through the last barrier in your consciousness and helps to get your body to move with an unprecedented urgency, and this is what dulls the ear-splitting scream-like noise of the frenzy unfolding behind you.

The few minutes seem like millennia until you finally reach the swampy ground, and you stumble to your feet, yanking your shoes from the mud's stubborn grip with an angry cry as you clumsily drag yourself ashore. And as you finally make it to the edge of the wet sand, you drop to your knees, panting, allowing yourself a few meager seconds to rest before you're forced to run again from the evils that stalk you. Because you’re sure that whatever the tentacled creature was, it's still lurking in the depths of the abyss, and the two murderers can also be breathing down your neck thanks to the terrible sidequest you've fallen into. Almost instinctively, your hand sinks into the pocket of the soaked pants, and when you find the disconcertingly untouched map, you feel a heavy weight lift off your heart. All you have to do is to lie low a bit, and then calmly set off to look for the next clue, which can finally get you out of this ever-deepening madness.

But when that bone-shaking scream blasts into the silence of the night once again, you wince reflexively, like a startled animal that has finally realized that the predator will soon wrap its foul-smelling jaws around its neck. And although by now you should have gotten used to the fact that this goddamn place always lulls you into a mirage-like illusion of tranquility with the promise of a moment of ease, only to avenge its mercy all the more cruelly, yet now fear claws into your insides with the same force as if you were experiencing the terrors of this nightmare for the first time. Because when you glance back, you see the cloudy eyes break through from under the velvety, rippling veil of the water, like faintly looming ghosts that were vomited out by the mouth of the lake opening to the other world, to drag you with them into the pits of insatiable hell. One of the gruesome figures emerges from the waves rocking like liquid obsidian, and its sickly thin body straightens amid gut-wrenching crackles, as if every single bone would slide into place on top of another, crumbling under the withered tissue. But even though the beast looks ungainly, when its mouth full of sharp teeth opens and that high-pitched, whistle-like screech rushes out of it, you clamp your hands to your ears to try to dull the pain of the head-splitting sound, and with the pain piercing your eardrums, you realize that if you don't get away now, then those teeth will be painted ruby by your intestines next time.

However, before you can even move, the howling stops, and it takes a few moments for your mind to register what is happening. And when you discover that pair of glowing red eyes appear behind the enraged army of monsters, you wish these bastards would rip you apart alive, because maybe that would be a more pleasant death than what those smoldering irises have in store for you. Because there is such a hungry temper dancing in them that settles into the aggressive movement with which the stranger takes hold of the head of the menacing water creature about to attack, lifting it up into the air. His huge palm swallows its face green from algae, and the way his strong hand clenches around the abomination's skull seems almost pitifully simple, as if the wretch would be nothing more than a worm to be trampled upon. And you feel how your insides convulse with nausea when the stomach-turning crunch, with which the bones shatter into pieces, reaches your ear canals, and you desperately try to swallow back the bitter bile pooling in your mouth, as, after a wet splash, you see the soft, pink flesh spilling out between the hooded monster's long fingers.

It seems that this makes the other grotesque entities understand that something more terrifying than them has arrived, and they swim back to the protective shelter of the lake with such ready submission, as if they were trying to hide from the sight of their angry king, before he would erupt into a frightening rage. Through the dread slowly bubbling under your skin, you realize that maybe this man really is their ruler, since the horde of malformed forces living in the water turned against you after he first surfaced behind the sea of mutilated bodies. And perhaps there is some woefully obvious logic in this, since the game wouldn't have allowed this new location to appear if there hadn't been an even more horrible surprise waiting for you in it. When the last of his terrified subjects finally disappears, the giant starts towards you with lazy steps, and with each passing meter it becomes more and more noticeable, how the hard muscles weave through every terrible corner of his tall figure, and suddenly it becomes painfully clear to you that even the bloodthirsty shadows skulking in the forest would offer greater safety if you threw yourself into the arms of formless darkness now.

You try to get up shaking, because you understand that you're just hanging another death flag on your forehead with your hesitation, but as soon as you put weight on your wounded leg, a bitter pain shoots into your ankle, as if someone were trying to twist your foot around its axis with their bare hands, and from the stars dancing before your eyes, you helplessly let your knees buckle and help you fall back into the mud with a dull thud. And even though you try to relieve the persistent throbbing of the white-hot pain with the air inhaled through your nose, by the time your head clears enough to be able to get yourself to move, your body, trembling with agony, is already swallowed up by the all-consuming shadow of the man towering over you, and you know that you’re done for. You don't have to turn around to know that the hooded monster has finally stalked you down, because you can see the black blanket with which his large figure covers the ground decorated with small stones and plants washed up on the shore.

You don't even dare to move for a little bit, and you feel ridiculously stupid for offering yourself on a silver platter with your person immobilized by terror. As if you were willingly present your chest to him so that he can tear out your scared, beating heart, but you can't even twitch, because, with the pounding of your pulse in your ears, the fear spreads through every inch of your body, pushing every muscle fiber into paralyzed helplessness. And you feel how the blood freezes in your veins, when a terribly sweet scent snakes its way into your nose, like the smell of the juices of rotten fruit left under the rays of the summer sun, which at the same time enters your head and covers the frightened upheaval in your skull under some inexplicable hazy fog, and tightens your stomach in a death-tight grip. Although this strange smell brings you closer to dizziness, even in the confused daze that descends upon you, you can perfectly detect when an unknown creature glides onto your shoulder with a damp springiness, then slowly slithers its way up the graceful line of your neck like a curious leech. You're unable to restrain the reflexive movement that makes you cringe in alarm under the curious touch of the uninvited guest, and even though every fiber of your body turns to stone, you raise your eyes to the intruder despite the anxiety gathering in the pit of your stomach. And when you discover the pitch-black tentacle shining with a velvety light, and the purple suckers lined up on them, which breathe unsolicited kisses to the valley of your cleavage, you yelp and charge forward to try to crawl away from the monster with such panicked clumsiness, like a wounded wild animal trying to escape from the wolf with its last breath.

However, no matter how hard you try to break free, the fear raging in your body only leads to an uncoordinated shuffling, and you fall to your stomach on the fish-smelling ground, hissing from the ache that rips through your ankle. Your mouth fills with tiny grains of wet sand, but you don't mind the sour taste on your tongue, because it penetrates your terror much more clearly when you feel the searing heat of another body behind you, seeping through the thin material of your soaked t-shirt like a contagious disease. And you know that the end of the night has arrived, because when you see a giant hand sinking into the mud next to your head, you recognize, along with the horrible delusions flooding into your mind, that you already lost your chance of survival when you waded into that damn lake.

And the newcomer doesn't leave you a moment to recover from your shock, because you just got rid of the intrusion of the sticky organ, you feel the tentacle breaking under the battered fabric of your top, and you can't stop the terrified tremor that moves into your limbs in time, when the probing caress of the feelers passes through the tense arch of your spine. The tenderness with which he traces the small valley between your shoulder blades is almost stomach-churning, because you're aware that with one careless movement, he could unfurl the row of vertebrae from under your skin like fresh peas from their shell. And you know that he only wants to lull your vigilance with the fleeting gentleness with which the appendage moves towards the line of your ribs to try to migrate to your chest, like a lover who wants to explore the lush curves of his beloved's body. And your brain, stuck in the fear of death, is relieved a little when the sleek arm finds an obstacle in the moldy ground, but the small joy that takes hold in you is pitifully short-lived, because your attacker only grabs your hips with a frustrated grunt and pulls you up with such light carelessness, which you wouldn't be able to fight even if the horrors of the night didn't weigh on your every cell like a leaden blanket. And as his fingers sink into the soft flesh, you feel that following the touch of restrained power, the mark of his hand will soon be ingrained into you with a purple color.

Still, you’re much more horrified, and goosebumps run over every defenseless inch of your body, as the clammy limb reaches your bra on its path, and a startled squeak gets stuck behind your quivering lips that is elicited from you by the attack of the slimy organ burrowing under the soft material. You don't dare tear your eyes away from the pebble shining with a dull light, which rises orphaned from a small sand dune in front of you, because you're terrified that if you follow how the monster takes what your vulnerable body offers to him unwillingly, you will sink even deeper in the muddy swamp of terror. Yet every nerve ending in you is sharpened when you feel the cold, slick flesh sliding against the soft mound of your breast. And there is something repulsively intimate about how one of the suckers latches onto your nipple with an almost insatiable hunger, as if this monster wasn't holding you in the trap of his strong body for the first time. As if he's got his hand on a delicacy, the nectar of which he has tasted at some point, and now the longing for the tantalizing aroma on his tongue would drive him forward. But your brain cannot understand why this absurd thought awakens in you, because it's unable to focus on anything other than the involuntary shiver that runs along your spine when it sucks the sensitive skin that has become its prey with an almost playful lewdness. And this small act is enough for the miserable moan, that has been crawling up your throat on foul feet until now, to finally break through your mouth.

And as if this one sound would feed the horrible man's unquenchable greed, for you shudder in horror, as another tentacle wanders over the nervously heaving line of your belly with slow laziness, and for a terrible moment it just flirtatiously skims along the waistline of your pants. But his patience doesn't last long, because he pushes under your jeans with an almost violent want, and you don't even have time to react, the limb sinks under the damp material of your panties with such insidious speed. Your consciousness can't keep up with the siege on your body, but it still fills you with agony as the lush flame of desire flares up in your stomach, as one of the suckers closes around your clit. And the muddled whine that creeps up your trachea is unfamiliar even to your own ears, when the wet pressure increases around the sensitive bundle of nerves, because you would rather bite your own tongue in shame, but the shock that rolls over you is too strong to resist the pull of the sensation.

But when you feel the feeler gliding between the silky petals and almost curiously circling the entrance of your pussy throbbing with scorching heat, then the fire of protest rekindles in you, and you set your hands on the damp ground to brace yourself against the beast. But even though your unexpected opposition gives you momentum, it feels like you hit a concrete wall, the man's chest swelling with hard muscles press against your back with such unshakable confidence, and you become aware painfully soon what kind of fun you've made him have, when the hardness that bulges in his crotch pushes against your bottom. And he, perhaps mistakenly, perhaps on purpose, sees your pathetic attempt as an invitation, and the deep, throaty groan rings in your ears, with which he thrusts his cock against you with impatient fervor, like a damned animal ready to mate. And as his huge hand clamp down on your hips with an almost vise-like force, even the stray idea of escape suddenly seems like a ridiculously far-fetched dream, because his fingers will crush all your fragile bones to dust before letting you get lost into the night. But even though the icy poison of dread sneaks into your every brain cell, you know you have to take flight, since the goal hasn't changed. You have to survive. And if you stay here, you voluntarily count down the minutes until the moment of your death, which, no matter what sweet torment the game promises, you know it's coming.

And as if he would sense that he cannot drive away the stillborn idea of resistance from you with his insidious tactics, that hurtful, syrupy smell appears again, which fills your nose with such a vicious intrusion that you have no chance to understand what is happening, because as soon as the dark fog spreads over your brain, the burning tingle that sends liquid flames into your core saturates every inch of you. An almost drunken intoxication settles on you, and it's only a dull fear in the back of your mind that he might be using some kind of pheromones to deter you from running away, but even though you recognize the diabolical method with which he traps you, you're no longer able to pull yourself together. The desperate demand of lust stirs up in you too strongly, and suddenly it doesn't seem alarming at all, as the tip of the tentacle that ventured into your underwear teasingly slips into your wet heat just for a moment. And you don't even have enough common sense to understand how terribly pitiful it is that you willingly squeeze your trembling body against the stranger like a bitch in heat.

And if the hooded man didn't suddenly freeze over you, you wouldn't even notice what was happening around you, because his presence settles on every single one of your senses, as if someone would drip hot wax on you, slowly closing you in an impenetrable shell, condemning you to eternal lustful suffering. But as vehemently as he started, your attacker ends his torturous game as abruptly, and as the impenetrable veil of the treacly essence in your head is inexplicably replaced by the metallic smell of blood, then your consciousness is able to clear. And although it takes a few excruciating moments before your brain is finally capable of receiving the stimuli from the outside world, then you can hear quite well the pain-filled, enraged groan that breaks out of the monster's mouth, as a large knife lands in the sand with a dull thud a few short seconds later.

And there is nothing tender about the way the long appendages terrorizing you disappear and one hand smoothes on your back to pin you down to the ground, almost ramming you into the cold embrace of the wet soil, and for a moment the air is forced from your lungs, as his huge palm spreads between your shoulder blades with warning roughness. And you understand the silent instruction even without words, and the revived stabbing of fear escaping into your limbs helps to force you into corpse-like immobility. And that's when you hear the soft crunch of the autumn leaves, as something treads through them to sneak cautiously closer to you in the distance. Your frightened gaze is immediately fixed on the trees rising beyond the shore, but for a tense second, you see nothing but darkness shrouded in eerie silence. However, the man notices what you don't, and his robust figure towers over you so possessively, like a rabid animal protecting its prey, and you don't even feel like more than a piece of meat, which the cruel world of the game has turned into such an irresistible reward.

"Get the fuck back into the lake, König!" A deep voice breaks through the heavy quietness of the forest, and you would recognize Johnny's hoarse baritone out of a thousand, because you have been lucky enough to taste the danger of its deceptive bloodlust too many times. But now, as the outline of his body unfolds from under the black veil of shadows among the vegetation, you recognize the murderous anger, the icy tension of which sits in the line of his broad shoulders. And although you only see a distant figure moving out of the corner of your eye, the anxiety in the pit of your stomach immediately tells you that Simon is the one who stalks through the tangle of wild bushes like a big cat about to pounce. "She's ours."

And you can feel on your back how that angry voice resonates through the chest of the beast holding you down, with which he finally responds to the appearance of the uninvited visitors. And for a minute that seems like an eternity, nothing happens, and being stuck in this horrible anticipation, the panic awakens in you, which makes your brain finally able to form meaningful thoughts, and you can spot that tiny little detail that has been resting in front of your nose until now so happily. Because the man's hand is still resting in front of you, digging into the mud, and when you see the row of red beads adorning the thick wrist, the spark of recognition lights up in your head. After all, this terrible place doesn't place anything unnecessarily, and the crimson glimmer that brings the bracelet to life under the silvery rays of the moonlight cannot be a mere coincidence. This is a clue, and perhaps this whole horrible torture has prepared this moment. And you feel in your gut that you have to get it.

Therefore, taking advantage of the fact that the hooded creature is centering all its attention on the enemy hiding in the thick of the trees, one of your hands moves with cautious slowness to crawl toward the jewel, and every single one of your senses is keenly focusing to see when will the creature above you, who is becoming more and more furious, notice what you’re preparing in such great secrecy. And as your fingers get caught in the thin cord of the precious object, you look up in terror at the behemoth above you, and the pounding of your heart in your ears quiets down slightly when you see how unceasingly it scans the emptiness behind the thick trunks. And you only see it in your periphery, as something with a metallic glint shoots out from the infinity of the forest, and that's enough for the tentacles lurking above you to act on their own, wild with rage, certainly working to save their owner from an attack intended to be fatal. However, this one act unleashes all hell, because the monster suddenly loses its patience and launches forward with an aggressive roar like a demonic beast thirsty for blood, and he doesn't even notice how the bracelet is torn off him as he pushes forward toward his opponents who are hiding behind the vegetation.

And you know that you have no time to waste, because it's only a matter of time before the bloodshed unfolds and you become an unwilling participant, from which there will be no way out, only certain death and another miserable awakening in the back seat of the car. So, forcing the will into your limbs, you push yourself up onto your knees, and a series of dark spots swim into your vision, as a knife-like pain shoots into your ankle even from this harmless movement. But you swallow the scream that is about to escape your lips, because if you draw the attention of these scumbags to you now, all your chances of escape will be gone. That's why, overcoming the throbbing ache, you reach towards the pearls scattered in the sand, and as you collect the ruby spheres in your palm, they glow up in red, leaving behind a cool tingling sensation. The smoldering light travels along your arm, and as if guided by an invisible force, reaches your tortured leg, and you watch in amazement as the bruises drawn by the violence disappear from the skin in the wake of the faint glow. It takes a second for you to realize what has happened, and when you notice the sounds of the fight unfolding in the forest, you hastily put your treasure in the safety of your pocket. You'll have time to wonder what the hell is going on when you finally manage to disappear from your pursuers again.

That's why you just spring up nimbly and head towards the multitude of trees, hoping that the battle, drowned in increasingly violent shouts, will drag on long enough for them to lose track of you. Because the night is still long, and you're quite sure that no matter where your path leads, more horrors will be waiting for you, because this damned place will do everything to lock you in the glass cage of its fictional world. But with the map and the pearls in your pocket, the hope, that you might live to see the dawn and you get out of here, finally rekindles in you.

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pleasingsatellite · 1 year

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liked by harryfan1, y/nfan2 and 25,840 others

harryandy/n Harry and y/n arrived in Venice today for the Venice Film Festival, looks like y/n is going to be his plus one! We can't wait to see them on the red carpet.

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harryfan1 ugh he looks so rich are you kidding me???

y/nfan1 my favorite thing about them is they always look like they're going to two separate events

↳ harryfan2 you're so right, harry looks like he's on his way to some fashion event meanwhile y/n is holding ice cream looking like she's going to frolic

y/nfan2 ughhh need a y/n and Florence interaction so I can feed my delusion that one day they will be in a movie together

liked by harrystyles, harrisreed and 890,303 others

yourinstagram I feel like I'm sending my over dressed toddler off to his first day at school. Happy Brit's day! I'll be cheering you on from my table in the audience with the endless supply of champagne 🫶🏻

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harryfan1 omg omg omg omg

harryfan2 he looks so good, the flower? the bare chest? the everything???? 😗

annetwist please remind him to drink water between his alcohol ❤️

↳ yourinstagram don't worry mama twist he's in safe hands

↳ harrystyles I told y/n and Gemma I'll have max 2 drinks.... or 5 if we win

jefezoff BEHAVE GARY

liked by y/nfan1, y/nfan2 and 45,594 others

y/nupdates y/n today at the Brit's reacting to Harry drunkingly confessing his love for her during his speech

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y/nfan1 stop she's so cute she was so embarrassed 🥺

y/nfan2 I just know the minute he was running to the stage she knew he'd say something to embarrass her

harryfan1 he loves her so much are you kidding me

y/nfan3 "and to y/n, everyday I look at you and wonder how I managed to land such a hot girlfriend. Everything I do, I do with you in mind. Everyone give it up for the prettiest girl in the room!" 😭🥹😭🥹

↳harryfan2 if any man said this about me I'd propose and jump his bones on SIGHT!!!!

liked by harryfan1, y/nfan1 and 29,234 others

harryupdates y/n is in the audience tonight at LOT Japan! Harry waved at her when he came out and sent her kisses and told security to check on her!

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harryfan1 he's so cute and smiley tonight and now we know why

harryfan2 I need someone to love me as much as harry loves y/n fr fr

y/nfan1 omg I saw her at the show tonight she's so cute and was telling the people with her how jet lagged she is but didn't wanna miss the show so she had to drink a bunch of coffee before hand 😙

y/nfan2 my angel I love her I hope she stays in Japan with harry now that she's not filming anymore

harryfan3 someone threw a shirt at harry with a picture of him and y/n on the front and he said he's gonna wear it as soon as he gets off stage

↳ harryfan4 we're about to get a 1d gym shirt repeat again with this shirt I just know it

liked by harryfan1, y/nfan2 and 89,382 others

pagesix I just can't keep my hands to myself! Singer Harry Styles and actress y/n were caught in a very public PDA session last night during a street party in Japan. The couple who have been together for 5 years were spotted by onlookers but clearly only had eyes for each other. Ugh, young love!

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harryfan1 heart stopped I've been standing in the same spot for hours 😫

y/nfan1 MY MOM AND DAD!!!

yourinstagram ...oops 🤭

↳harryfan2 girl that's all you gotta say!!! we know you don't regret it

↳yourinstagram not at all 😙

harryfan2 you know harry's in deep when the man who catches every camera doesn't catch the one recording his make out

↳yourinstagram it's more like the 6 highballs he drank 🫢

liked by harryfan1, harryfan2 and 34,590 others

harrydaily Harry out shopping with y/n and friends today in Japan! When fans mentioned the kiss harry and y/n just laughed and shook their heads

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harryfan1 that man regrets NOTHING

↳harryfan2 I mean would you lol

harryfan3 I'm so happy harry and y/n finally feel comfortable to be so open with their relationship

harryfan4 he looks so fine ugh that post pubic makeout glow

harryfan5 I know Jeffery was loosing his shit seeing those pics and harry and y/n were just like...it is what it is

liked by yourinstagram, annetwist and 8,945,931 others

harrystyles I mean do you really blame me?

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....hello.... the longest long time no see wow. tbh I just have not felt like even opening the Tumblr app since like mid-january and eventually just deleted the app but finally felt a little bit rejuvenated tonight. I've been trying to reply limit just how much time I spend on social media and trying to read more and have been but also miss just being on here and posting (I'm not saying I'm back to regular posts but will try and post when I can)

#harry styles fake ig #harry styles fake social media #harry styles fake instagram #harry styles x you #harry styles x reader #harry styles blurb #harry styles fluff #harry styles imagine #harry styles instagram #harry styles au #harry styles headcannon #harry styes #harry styles fanfiction

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aarafox · 1 year

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On Stolitz, Desire and Misunderstandings

I’ve thought about them so much for the past few days that I just have to put my thoughts somewhere. This might be far from structured/coherent but contains everything that has been running around in my brain lately. Feel free to interact with me about this because they’re driving me insane (in a positive way).

Quick disclaimer: I’ve watched everything in nearly one sitting a few days ago and am new to the fandom, so I might be unaware of commonly known info or things the creators have said or confirmed. If you come across any of my questions that have been answered already, please forgive me for not knowing and feel free to enlighten me! Let’s begin~

The main thing that got me thinking about this so much is Blitz’s line in ep 7 when he brings Stolas home after their failed date: “Don’t act like what we have is anything but you wanting me to fuck you, okay? You make that really clear, all the time.”

But the thing is, he is wrong. We as the viewer know this, how Stolas chokes on his food when he sees that Blitzy calls, how he lunges to pick up the phone and how his eyes turn into little hearts when he hears the question. If anything, Stolas is smitten with Blitz.

He even calls Gabriella a “mood” when she asks Alejandro why he won’t love her. It’s indisputable that he’s thinking about Blitz here.

And how much he actually likes Blitz becomes even more clear to us at the start of season 2, when they’re kids. Stolas falls in love at first sight and blushes several times.

And then, 25 years later, he is delighted to meet Blitz again. After the initial (joking?) assumption that Blitz has come here to “ravish him”, he tries to make gentle conversation and asks him how he’s been. Blitz is the one who decides to initiate sexual relations—that is, he pretends to start it, and decides to keep it up when he hears Stolas chirp about how happy he is that it’s his “first ever friend” who wants to do him. But Stolas, before this, was surprised by Blitz’s advances and unsure how to react. Stolas, if anything, has to believe that Blitz is very sexually attracted to him.

That is why Blitz’s line in episode 7 fascinates me this much; one would think the reverse of what he says is true. Stolas has no reason whatsoever to believe that Blitz ever wanted more from him than sex/the grimoire, especially with how their relations began. So it strikes me that apparently, to Blitz, it hurts him to think that Stolas wants nothing else from him. He even begins to cry there in the van as he begins to reject the prince.

See the tears in his eyes? Why is that? Is he embarrassed? Angry? Does he feel guilty for putting Stolas in a “disgraceful” picture? Is he thinking about entirely different things that happened to him in the past?

And Stolas cries when Blitz is gone, because, well, he does think of Blitz as more than a sex friend. He was so excited to be asked out by him, he made himself look pretty, tried his best to make conversation with him, thought Blitz was actually taking him on their first date ever! He thought Blitz had called him out because he wanted to spend time with him, so he did his best to make the date a success, but all he received from Blitz was, well, nothing… He even tried to end the night on a more positive note by asking Blitz to come inside for something other than sex, perhaps to drink some wine and talk about what happened (or watch a movie, or cuddle 🥺). But when he hears that his sentiment of just wanting to spend time together has never come across—not now, not ever before—and Blitz actually believes Stolas just wants to frolic, that’s when Stolas leaves it for what it is and ends up crying.

(God I feel so bad for him, my heart)

And he spends a LONG time trying to show Blitz, via his texts, that sex is not the only thing that he’s after.

But he only gets one-word responses from Blitz. Nothing, literally nothing to keep going on. It’s no wonder he loses faith in that whatever they had could ever be anything more. And Blitz probably has commitment issues or is afraid of things not working out and he ends up keeping Stolas at a distance—until it’s too late.

And it just kills me that he does care about Stolas but somehow won’t admit it, won’t show it. And yet he sounds so hurt there in that van, when he accuses Stolas of merely wanting to be his sex friend. And he actually cries. For that reason, and for many other reasons not all clearly laid out for us.

Meanwhile Stolas has been crushing on him for 25 years. It’s only natural for him to propose the deal they made: he wants Blitz to be close to him (and he assumes Blitz enjoyed sex with him that first time, since he slept there for the entire night while at first only claiming he could do it “real fast”) and Blitz wants his grimoire. This is the perfect way for Stolas to get Blitz to be with him, because, frankly, he doesn’t have many other reasons to meet up with him. So they make this deal: Stolas gets to be together with him for once a month, and Blitz gets the grimoire. Perfect right?

Except when Stolas discovers that Blitz doesn’t even begin to know how much Stolas actually cares. That’s why he keeps sending those long texts, he tries so hard to let Blitz know they could be doing anything else and he’d love that too. That night after the date he already begins with those attempts, by telling him he enjoyed spending time with Blitz and suggesting things to do inside which Blitz misunderstands for him trying to get him into his bed.

But damn, if that was all Stolas was after, he wouldn’t get so depressed that he’d drink until passing out. He is heartbroken. And somehow, for some reason, so is Blitz. The first thing he does when he gets home is opening his phone to a selfie he took of them while Stolas was asleep.

And others have pointed this out as well, but Stolas doesn’t know about this picture and that Blitz smiled while he took it. On all the pictures Stolas has of Blitz, Blitz looks like he’s not enjoying himself at all.

So what must he think when he sends Blitz his reply that he could be in the hospital for a while in case he wants to visit, and Blitz doesn’t answer?

Well, that Blitz doesn’t want to come. That he doesn’t care enough.

Indeed, if there’s anyone who hasn’t been showing his true feelings or intentions, it’s Blitz. Stolas compliments him, calls him darling and “his” Blitzy, makes himself pretty for their date, and (for instance in ep 2 of season 2) blushes big time multiple times.

He’s had it bad for Blitz for ages, but he (correctly? incorrectly?) concludes that this is not mutual. And he has every reason to think so! Blitz treats their sexy adventures as a business transaction, is all serious and stoic to Stolas about it except for the rare occasion where he does show how much he likes it, like after Stolas rescues him from the demon hunters and he grins and seduces Stolas before kissing him.

But the times when Blitz talks about them to others? Those are moments Stolas doesn’t know about and doesn’t get to see, like when Blitz talks to Striker and stutters like mad trying to explain what they are and aren’t. He never outright says that they’re not dating. He doesn’t even deny Millie’s words when she says they’re boyfriends.

(M&M totally know I’m wheezing)

It just drives me insane how Blitz isn’t honest with his feelings, especially towards Stolas. He probably chooses to believe that Stolas only wants to have sex with him, because that’s more convenient and safer for him, and enables him to keep Stolas at a distance.

Perhaps that is why he never properly responds to Stolas’s texts, never jumps to the opportunity to agree to Stolas’s indirectly asked questions or suggestions. Getting closer might be a bad idea somehow—but after those texts he has to understand what the prince’s intentions are, right? They just don’t talk about it at all; we also aren’t told whether they still do it or not, or just exchange the book like Stolas’s texts suggest. This is striking compared to season 1, where we got scenes of them in bed or talking about their next meet up.

It isn’t until Stolas’s life is in actual danger when Blitz begins to realise how much he cares.

“He can get hurt?” His eyes are trembling with disbelief. After that he finally sends Stolas a text first, and then begins typing again, and stops. I imagine he started typing a yes, but stops himself for some reason. I really hope they’ll show us what Blitz was thinking in that moment. Why would he not go to see Stolas? Because he feels guilty? Because he’s afraid he’ll start caring even more when he sees him wounded in that bed?

But again, for Stolas this just means that he doesn’t care, and the poor owl curls up and turns away from his phone.

#stolitz #helluva boss #my brain is doing things #also if I'm posing any questions I should've already known the answer to please be gentle with me #stolas #stolas goetia #blitzo #stolas x blitzo #helluva boss meta #stolitz meta #I am greatly enjoying this show #not planning to interact with criticism #click on the pics for better quality etc etc #ngl their kissing scene was my fave moment lol... they looked so happy together #can't wait for the next ep uuuuuuugh sobbing

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