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comfortless · 7 months

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so. please consider: König is a prince (yeah we aren’t going full king this route, maybe he has an older brother or some complications having the throne to himself but either way he has some power just not all of it lol) and reader is part of a performing troupe that usually acts out plays outside of the castle. he goes out to watch them and becomes so desperate for her that he gets /her/ to perform as /him/ when the plays are about his heroic deeds or whatever.

i have had this idea stuck in my head for days and i just know you can bring it to life 🩵

the evil little König in my head took over. no one look at me. 🥩🏰

prince!König x fem reader.

content/warnings: 18+. minors do not interact. dubcon. mentions of adultery (not committed by reader or König), corruption kink (virgin!König), cunnilingus, light roleplay, scent & praise kink, smut (piv), reader is kind of evil here (König still manages to be worse), allusions to abduction.

“You are certainly lovelier than my wife, the Queen!”

He had his sword drawn, not high enough to elicit panic, but just enough to know that yes, there was a very present threat. This could be a bloodbath in an instant. Speak another word — he won’t refrain. He feels his teeth grit, grating, ash in the mouth and in the air.

The actors are unaware where they are stood on stage, and the mass of bodies surrounding barely take note of their Prince. A phantom. Loathed thing that he has always been. More hated than even their lecherous, stupid king. There’s only one thing he’s good for and it’s never been politics; there’s no need to garner up public appeal when your stage is a foreign field littered with blood and corpses.

Another insult to his poor mother and the city could be one too.

From a small wooden booth acting as a prop depiction of a brothel, steps a woman. Barefoot, bare flesh, the only thing she wears is a breast band and a loincloth of finely stitched lace. She isn’t a whore, not in truth, but she looks the part of the women his men rush to the second they’ve returned home. Ale and sex in abundance, and he’s never had the focus for the latter after a round of the former.

He watches as she sways, draws her hand to her forehead and bats her lashes while her other trails up her thigh to the hem of the piece concealing her womanhood. She stops with a laugh, turns to the crowd with sparkling eyes and says, “You lot should not cheer! The Queen surely deserves better than a womanizing fool!”

König’s never been one for plays, how tactlessly they slander the royal family and make jest of current affairs. This troupe, though… he thinks it’s done in taste. Or maybe it’s just her.

Even as the aging performer with his weathered face and messy gray beard acting the part of his father rushes to the pretty thing on stage and paws at her waist, König can not tear his eyes away.

The scene reaches its end when the brothel is burned, enacting something horrible the king had done several springs ago. Bereaved, the woman returns to the stage and bares her breasts, monologuing so sweetly as she feigns tears for her fallen sisters.

König swears to be nothing like his father but he still finds his trousers fitting more tightly at the sight, not foul enough to touch himself here, if ever at all. His heart aches with each fragile word spilled from those plush lips, and his cock demands further engagement with each gentle sway of her body and heave of her round tits.

His sword slots back into place at his hip when the scene comes to an end: the crowd a storm of laughter, the fire of the torches illuminating the street flickering, the actors dissipate behind the wooden stage, and all at once the play is over.

Tactless and impulsive, he thinks to thank her for not furthering the set-up for a joke, looks the part of a proper fool when he makes his way backstage where she’s sat wiping away carmine from her cheeks. The actress’ eyes go wide and hazy when she catches sight of him towering over her, the cloth and mirror slipping from her hands to rest on the table.

Of course, she takes it as a warning, asks him if he would prefer they only act out the current affairs— the recent siege of the southern kingdom, maybe? Or a story about the harvest festival? The gods or beasts? Anything she can sputter out to the man she easily recognizes as being the Prince.

König only finds himself further endeared when she dips her head as if ashamed and moves to conceal the bare skin of her stomach as though it would be insulting to see her in such a state of undress.

He excitedly tells her about the siege, of how he slaughtered those treasonous men and so valiantly brought their women and children to the capital to live much more honest lives, boasting while she looks on in acute, wonderous horror. That’s what he chooses, even pulls his hood from his face and drops it into her lap when he tells her she has to play his part.

The actress explains to him, docile and sweet, that she’s never played a male role and certainly lacks the stature to accurately represent him of all people. To which, he laughs, bids her a farewell with a flick of his wrist and wanders back out into the cobblestone and muck to finish up his patrol of the city.

A fortnight later, she returns to the stage in hastily put on armors, his veil hanging proudly about her head, a wooden sword clasped tightly in her hands. The crowd watching laughs at her expense as she tries in earnest to perfect the way she imagined his sword must have danced during that siege. The male actors fall with each tap of the weapon’s tip, and her voice takes on a forced, deeper tone when she speaks her praises to the kingdom she’s pilfered glory for.

König only sees fire, not in the flames of torches but lain out before him, a heat that courses from the picture of this beautiful little doe on stage straight down to simmer in his chest, his stomach. She’s so cute, pretending and doing her best just to appease him that he finds himself backstage again once the play concludes.

It’s just to talk, to congratulate her on a wonderful performance. He even presents a hefty sack of gold coins to her when she returns his veil, and she marvels at the donation, takes each piece and turns it in her fingers for a time before setting the little bag on the table.

Her brow scrunches for a moment before she settles on offering her hand out to him, fingertips ghosting over his upper thigh, loitering on the armor shell protecting him and drifting further up until he takes her hand and interlocks their fingers. Surely then, the actress comes to realize that her prince is as pure as the sisters in their temples.

She breathes out a laugh and shakes her head.

“I mean to pleasure you, my Prince,” she says, less meek now and more insisting. Her hand draws back to remove the prop armor from her body, eyes never leaving his own.

Though he considers the woman’s offer heavily, pulse stampeding and heart aching, he does eventually will himself to voice a weak refusal.

Never does he keep himself holed away from her for long, even after; König returns for each play whilst his men go about patrolling the city for prowlers and thieves. He watches each performance and continuously seeks her out backstage after. They talk each time, with him offering his suggestions and her clamoring for excuses as to why, no, she isn’t fit to play his role for another fight or some drab court meeting.

Finally, the same song and dance proves too much.

This night, there is no play and König still finds himself in the room cluttered with set pieces and props. The other actors have gone about seeking their own affairs for the evening; bedsides to coax comfort from or mugs of ale and bowls of bone to drown themselves in whilst gambling away the coins the hungering crowd has thrown their way.

She sits with him, perched up on her little table wearing nothing at all. Her skin is lit aglow by candlelight, the incense burning bathing all in the welcoming, warm comfort of lavender and rosemary. There’s ash in his chest again when he finds himself at her side, already aching with a want that should not exist, one that he would deny in full with bared teeth and blurry vision.

Only, she doesn’t prompt him with questions when her palms splay flat at the chest of his tunic, just grins like a wolf given a fat leg of mutton when she feels him begin to tense. She assures him that she’s only teaching him to act after demanding that he kneel, catches his jaw atop her hand and guides his face between her thighs where he then pants and groans at the foreign, enticing scent.

It awakens something in him, something bathed out and buried in blood, the very same that courses through his veins like a violent river now. A feral look and an iron grip on her hips that would leave bruises is all she gets. All until she hisses out the words, “I am your princess and you will do as I ask.”

The first lick is hesitant, clumsy, his stubble grazed over her most sensitive parts as he slips his tongue across the smoothness of her slit. He doesn’t have an idea of what he’s doing, only enacting the vile things he’s heard men about the castle speak of, how to properly take a woman apart and push her to not only want, but to need.

Mostly, she’s unimpressed.

When he gathers her taste on his tongue, he becomes a man possessed, ripped away from duty and sovereignty and brought down to the lowness of mere swine. He groans into her cunt, laps and suckles at anything his tongue and lips can touch, savors the sight, dewy and swollen when he presses a kiss to the bud that finally does get her to purr.

“Sweet boy..,” she coos to him when her hands find his hair, petting him so gently as he continues to lap at her clit. “You’re taking such good care of your princess, yes?”

His mind blanks entirely, driven forward with a renewed, feverish vigor as he dismantles her wholly with a drooling mouth and an unrelenting stare. Rationality should have pulled him away before it ever got to this point; she’s a peasant, and he can’t run amok fathering bastards and condemning himself to Hell for a simple woman. But that’s all beaten back by her taste, the way she writhes in his hold, keeps whispering her praises and lacing those soft fingers through his hair… no amount of devils or men could pry him from her cunt.

Only she does when her voice comes in a pant and her grip tightens to pull him back. The table, his face, all sticky and wet with what must have been her very essence, drawn out by a man lacking experience but so unknowingly eager.

“Take off your clothes,” comes her next demand, one he obliges with a great hesitance.

The tunic is pulled away with shaking hands, the tie of his trousers next. He mutters a curse below his breath when his cock springs free, so erect and angry it looks painful. The tip drools just as much as that fluttering heaven between her legs, pearly beads of preejaculate leaking down to stain the fabric and further condemn him to this impromptu fate.

He jerks when she wraps her hand around him there, whines when she leans forward to kiss its head.

“I can’t…” His voice sounds weak to his own ears, pathetic and miserable as he makes a mock attempt at prying her away with a gentle press to her shoulder. “My princess… we should not.”

He’s almost certain she’s a devil herself sent to exact some punishment upon him when her lips curl up into a grin and she lies back with her knees drawn to her chest. She speaks such words to him then that he would not dare to ever repeat, songs only the unknown could sing. An angel, perhaps, when she slips a finger into herself to demonstrate to him just what should be done… there, with panting breaths and whispers of heaven.

And finally, when his cock throbs and kicks at the sight, all resolve is entirely lost. He positions himself over her where she guides the tip of his manhood to her slit, praises his size when his hips give an involuntary twitch and he slightly dips into her, sampling her warmth and the resistance from something so thick pressing into her.

His world crumbles at the sensation, cobblestone replaced by the raging heat of brimstone and an obscene lust that clouds his mind and leads him to spear her open to his hilt.

He finds holiness in their union, bites back a roar when her walls tremble around him. She only laughs when his teeth find her shoulder, only sings more hymns into his ear as he fucks into her cunt at a reckless, brutal pace. The words don’t register, far-away and distant amidst the roaring tide of sensation. She’s so tight, so wet and yearning, quivering beneath him and clawing down his back.

“We shouldn’t, hm?,” she whispers in his ear, teeth grazing the lobe. His strokes become even sloppier, each thrust stuttered and heady when the sound of her voice pulls through the haze of bliss. “My sweet boy is so good at this, though…”

His voice is nearly a wail when he loses himself fully then. He holds the back of her thighs, fucks himself through an orgasm that leaves his head spinning and his body shaking as though he’s come down with some wretched fever. And perhaps he is ill, because he can’t bring himself to think of anything more than the divine rapture of stuffing his seed into the warmth of her pussy, can’t bring himself to pull his cock out of her even when he begins to soften.

His face is buried against her neck, professing his endless love as he breathes her in and ruts into her over and over until his cock is once again stiffened and drooling inside of the very cunt he would die to keep.

Surely, when her troupe begins to pack to drift further out into the kingdom for their performances to be seen… he could accuse them of slander, have the old man playing the part of the lecherous king executed, the others thrown into rat-infested cells, and the little princess tethered to his bed to warm his heart and his cock.

He will kiss away her tears, tell her that all could be forgiven if she would only let him make an honest woman of her.

#könig x reader #tw: dubcon

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flightofthejackdaw · 6 months

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I just want to say how much I adore the women of One Piece, not just on a ‘holy moly these women are beautiful’ but also on ‘holy moly these women are so well written’

I love how many layers the lady’s have, even those who are not part of the main cast

Nami acting as the brains of the crew, but always being up to scrap with the boys and put them in their place, her fear of trusting and being betrayed being a core aspect of her character. WCI and Wano are pretty recent examples of this, with her anger at Sanji, and her belief in Luffy. I love how confident she is in her self, and how she is a little evil sometimes she’ll use everything at her disposal to get what she wants. How she knows that she’s needed on the crew and without her they would’ve all drowned along ago, and she’s beautiful and cute and she knows this. I hate people thinking that she’s less of a character post timeskip just because of her appearance, she’s so much more than that

Vivi’s love of her people and her country, her worrying nature and her desire for adventure despite her position. Her care for the crew despite the small amount of time she knew them. Also how she’s basically the main character of Alabasta, and how she’s the one saving her country

Robin going from someone who was always looking over her shoulder, always running and never having a real place to call home. To someone who knows she has a family who loves her and will protect her no matter what, and she can be her strange morbid self without judgement (other than from Usopp)

Viola and Rebecca, two ladies forced into a living hell under Dolfamingo. One humiliated by her own people and forced to fight for her life when at heart she just wanted peace, and the other whose soul was almost broken by Doffy but chose to fight against him even if she knew she wouldn’t win. Viola going to stab Doffy even if she knew she would fail shows her strength as she stood up against him even if it could’ve meant death because she wanted to do what she could

And there are so many others that are just as amazing:

- Big Mom: a major villain with a twisted idea of family and love. One of the most powerful pirates in the sea, all this strength but she’s still just someone that was abandoned by the world and became obsessed with filling that void

- Pudding: a woman twisted by the abuse she suffered hating herself and lashing out at others in turn. And how that persona comes crashing down when showed only a bit of kindness

- Boa: the strong powerful empress, who is deeply scarred and can’t show any weakness to her people. And just wants to be loved by someone who sees more than her beauty

-Reiju: the older sister that had to go along with her little brothers abuse, and helped when she could. But only when she couldn’t be the target, she’s flawed and distant but she loves her brother

- Bonny: a literal child who braved the seas to save her father and became one of the most wanted pirates of her generation in under two years, scrappy and tomboyish with a soft heart for her dad

These ladies are living breathing characters! And there are some many others that are just the same, they are all so well developed and different from each other in character. And none of them are just there to be, ‘the girl in the group’ or the ‘love interest’ (though Boa likes Luffy and Pudding likes Sanji neither are their main character traits and have story reasons for being in love)

I love them so much

I love women

A certified girl kisser wrote this at like 1 am

#one piece #cat burglar nami #nico robin #boa hancock #vivi nefertari #jewellery bonney #vinsmoke reiju #big mom #charlotte linlin #charlotte pudding #one piece girls

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itsabouttimex2 · 7 days

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I hope this isn't an odd question

But, do you think Wukong or Macaque would act or treat different their "cub" if they genders were swapped or being a female version? This is also for a Yan behavior

I don't know too much about how is the raising of a monkey from the father and mother so I was curious with this since they're both mystical demons

I was thinking about this when I saw some fanarts from the artist @/car_nimbus on Twitter, they made a neat versions of the characters with another gender

Monkey Mama

(Hmm okay let me build a hypothetical OG “Female Monkey King” to work off of here and then I’ll try to translate that into LMK’s SWK. Also, I’ll probably make a second variation of this afterwards with other characters, haha. This got a little long to do both SWK and Mac!)

Sun Wukong as a character is already heavily defined by rebellion and personal choice, so I think that making him a girl only really compounds that layer of his character.

In many older narratives, female characters are often expected to be more obedient or modest than men, and very frequently only exist as prizes or, more rarely, villains. A female Sun Wukong; assuming she plays the same role as her original incarnation, defies the expectations of how “traditional” women should behave, shirking the demure and passive “ideal” and adding another layer of rebellion to her character.

(JTTW is actually pretty great in terms of female representation, with characters ranging from the perpetually good Quanyin, the eventually repentant Princess Iron Fan, and the straight up evil White Bone Spirit. I’m a big fan of how the women aren’t slid into any one “role” throughout the story.)

I think: in story, she’d likely be viewed as a sort of “anomaly”—a woman too strong, too outspoken, and too unwilling to conform to typical feminine ideals. Her defiance and arrogance might be viewed as even more scandalous by the Celestial Realm.

Instead of being made a “stable-keeper”, I think probably she’s sent to whatever Heavenly Scullery exists in that divine realm, and put to work very quickly. She would treat this “job” with indifference or even amusement at first-after all, physical labor or menial tasks don't diminish her self-worth or confidence! She’s had a life of hard work, leading an army of Yaoguai, cultivating Flower Fruit Mountain,

So she’s fine with this… at first. Then it turns out that the food she makes with her fellow low-class workers isn’t distributed amongst the people making it, but plated up nice and pretty for a bunch of “stuffy old gods” who didn’t lift a finger! Bullshit!

So obviously, the prideful Monkey Queen goes on a destructive rampage in regards to the unfair disparity of treatment, then storms back down to Earth to throw a “feel-better” party with her fellow Yaogaui.

(Which isn’t just a party, but a symbolic reclaiming of joy and community, with her monkey tribe representing the freedom she craves and the earthly bonds she prefers over heavenly authority. It's not just an escape, but a statement of independence.)

After an extensive set of repairs, the Court sends down someone to drag her back, because, you know, the local super-powered monkey is back on the loose, and that’s not exactly great for them. This time, they offer her a “better” role- she gets to become an official Peach Maiden, lucky her!

Of course, it’s just another form of entrapment, but within a prettier cage. Even though she's given a cushier position, it's a veneer- she's still being silenced, controlled, and stripped of her freedom. The role played by a Peach Maiden is an inversion of Wukong's essence, as these women are happily serving the role of passive caretakers, nurturing with gentle smiles—a direct contrast to the free-willed, brash nature of the Monkey Queen.

(And while there’s nothing wrong with being demure, passive, and feminine, having people try to force her into that role is where Sun Wukong draws her line.)

Here, she is expected to watch in silence as others revel in the freedom and power denied to her. It's a different kind of prison, one that quietly erodes her spirit. When the Celestial Court tries to reintegrate her as a Peach Maiden, they are once again attempting to place her into a docile, decorative role, one that strips away her power and independence. Those immortal peach orchards, a symbol of immortality and divine favor, becomes a prison for her.

Surrounded by "ideal" women who embody the quiet, submissive role she despises, the Monkey Queen finds herself chafing under the pressure of conformity. Her energy, once boundless and chaotic, is now caged, and the simmering resentment builds.

The buildup to her inevitable rebellion after being made a Peach Maiden, then, becomes a very sympathetic moment because it's not just a rejection of the role forced on her, but a rejection of the very system that tries to diminish who she is at her core. Her rebellion isn’t about anger and shame- it’s about reclaiming her true self after having been suffocated by the expectations of the Celestial Court. Her rampage becomes an assertion of her identity as something that can't be confined by heavenly rules or social mores.

The Court, in its attempt to “contain" her, only fuels her defiance further, leading her once again to rebel.

It was never going to end well. But it ends all the same, and punishment is to be levied to the Queen, just the same as any other rebellious rule-breaker... actually, probably harsher.

There’s “you broke our rules and tried to lead a coup”, then there’s “you did all that, and we also find your very person to be wrong on a fundamental level”, and then she gets the book thrown at her twice over.

But! Then she meets Tang Sanzang, who sees something in her that neither the Celestial Realm nor her own band of Sworn Brothers saw. Not a heretic simian savaging a holy realm. Not a Queen to rally behind for their own gain.

But a lost soul in need of guidance.

And from there the Great Monk works on building Sun Wukong up as a person instead of leading her astray or trying to cut massive chunks of her personality out? And talks to her about the things she cares about? And teaches her about all the things she missed after spending five hundred years under a rock?

And then she meets Zhu Baije, who starts out a little too happy and carefree about having a beautiful woman around, but eventually comes to smash open heads when Wukong is disrespected, because that’s not just a hot woman, that’s his sister?

Or Sha Wujing, who helps her with even the smallest things, from trimming her claws to cutting her wild hair to preparing meals for the monk? And lets her perch on his shoulders and head so the queen can get some skinship in?

Then Ao Lie, who is every bit the “disappointment to the world at large” that she was considered? And they take turns braiding each other’s hair and wiping the mess from the other’s face, and sleeping in the same tent and same bedroom because it’s less effort?

She gets a dad and three little brothers?

She gets a family.

And then loses it and is alone again for several hundred years more.

So if we go with this theoretical “My natural existence has been rejected for being seen as ‘improper’ by a court of stuffy traditional assholes” and then “I dearly love/miss my dead found family” angle, I think she’d be portrayed as a very different sort of character in LMK.

She’s quicker to lash out and defend herself, and much less willing to sit around and let the world pass her by- because that’s what was demanded of her by the Celestial Realm.

Be good. Be quiet. Be demure. Be obedient. Be anything except you.

I don’t think she’d be as willing to “rest on her laurels” as her canon counterpart, given that a “quiet boring life” was what she had fought so very hard to escape in the first place, so instead of isolating herself from the world in the first place, she probably sets up a little “souvenir shop” at the foot of Flower Fruit Mountain, taking a human form to sell little knick-knacks that herald to the journey she undertook with her old friends.

In part, this is how Wukong works to honor them. To spread their legacy. To ensure that they aren’t forgotten, left as a footnote in the annals of history. To remember them.

In part, it’s how she justifies all the mistakes she’s made and the suffering she’s been through. Settling in to a pointlessly relaxed life is exactly what she fought against, after all. She’s heavily fallen into the “sunk-cost fallacy”, where giving up and settling in, to her, means “losing”. It means “everything I went through was all for nothing”. So she keeps at this little store instead of just retiring and isolating herself from the world, even though she’d be happier to ditch it and lounge about.

So when MK and his eccentric bunch of friends comes around with their boundless energy and mischief, she immediately goes, “Oh, okay! This is what I wanted!”

(It’s not. All she’s ever wanted is her friends back. How could there be anything else?)

The Monkie Kids are vibrant, eccentric, and full of qualities that immediately resonate with Wukong. They remind her of the energy, camaraderie, and sense of adventure that she once shared with her old companions. She sees MK's arrival not just as a chance to teach someone a few of her old tricks, but as an echo of her own life—a life she hasn't been able to truly let go of.

So she starts projecting- on the surface, MK is very much like her. He's spirited, good-natured, and curious- and reckless. Just like she was. Wukong latches onto this quickly, sort of using the kid as a proxy for herself. After all, if she can't go back to her old life, why not embrace a new one that feels close enough? In some ways, this marks her refusal to accept the passage of time, a desperate clinging to the hope that, through MK, she can rekindle the connections she once cherished.

However, underneath that initial enthusiasm is the repressed understanding that MK, despite his similarities to her younger self, cannot truly replace what she lost. The friends she fought beside, the battles they waged together, and the lessons they learned are unique, irreplaceable moments in her life. No matter how much MK’s gang reminds her of the past, he and his friends a stand-in for the companions she still longs for. But her deep desire to reconnect with her old friends clouds her ability to see MK for who he truly is: his own person, on his own journey.

It takes her a while to get to that point, though. So she’s more doting and affectionate, in a way that somewhat stifles her student’s training because she wants to be both her old carefree self and also a good mentor, and the two just get jumbled.

Sidenote: I think with the difference in actions and behavior, MK would be more open to viewing Fem!Wukong as a parental figure than the OG, especially since he doesn’t really have someone to fulfill that “mom” role.

For their dynamic, I think something like this would be the outcome:

———————————————————————-

The afternoon sun hangs low in the sky, painting the landscape in hues of varied orange and blue. With a tired hand, MK wipes the sweat from his brow.

He’s perched on one of the rocky spires dotting Flower Fruit Mountain, gazing at the view with a small smile of accomplishment. Training had been intense lately… if only because he had been doubling down on the time he spent practicing, without giving as much care to rest or aftercare.

After all, even though his powers were blooming steadily… his enemies also were growing in power and quantity, leading to the ever-creeping edge of fear that anything less than a constant one-hundred percent just wouldn’t be “enough”.

And right as he reaches back to grab the golden staff he has inherited from the Monkey Queen-

“MK! I told you to take a break, not run off to do more training!”

Her voice, uncharacteristically sharp, cuts through the formerly tranquil air, causing MK to jump. He turns just in time to see Sun Wukong strolling toward him, her hands on her hips and a look of mock annoyance on her face.

MK grinned sheepishly, shifting his grass-stained boots against the dirt. “I was just, you know… checking out the view.”

She raised an eyebrow, the corner of her mouth twitching in amusement as her eyes narrowed in annoyance. This kid... “Uh-huh. Checking out the view or sneaking in some practice when I wasn’t looking?”

Caught fast in his lie, MK rubbed the back of his neck, face scrunching up in embarrassment. “Maybe a little of both?”

In spite of herself, Sun Wukong quietly laughs, the sound echoing like a chiming bell through the mountain. Her long, golden hair flowed behind her in the wind, each strand catching the light like molten fire. Despite her legendary status- the rebellious warrior who’d fought the heavens and nearly won!- there was a warmth to her that MK had come to cherish.

“All work and no play, MK,” she said, sitting beside him on the rock and ruffling his hair with a fondness that always made him feel like a little kid again. “You’ll burn out before you get anywhere.”

He looked at her, eyes shining with admiration. “But you never stop training. You’ve been at this for centuries! I just…”

A pause, as his chest turns over, unsettled by the notion of opening up. But… it’s the Monkey Queen. So it.. should be okay, right?

“I want to make you proud.”

Sun Wukong’s expression softens, and she wraps an arm around his shoulders, pulling the boy close in a tight embrace. “You already make me proud, kid. You don’t have to prove anything.”

MK leaned into the touch, feeling a wave of comfort wash over him. Even from the start she’d been like this with him- protective, nurturing… and maybe a bit overbearing at times. But he didn’t mind. It made him feel safe, like no matter what challenges lay ahead, he wasn’t alone.

MK chuckled, turning his face up to meet his idol’s eyes.” I’ll keep up,” he triumphantly declares, pumping a fist.” I promise.”

“Good.” Wukong shifted, her clawed hand lightly missing his spiked locks. “Now, how about we head back to the shop and grab something to eat? You’ve earned it.”

MK’s stomach growled at the mention of food, and he nodded so eagerly that she wondered if his head wouldn’t ache from the motion. “You know, I won’t say no to a good meal.”

The Monkey Queen stood up, dusting off her mentee’s clothes before offering him a hand. “Of course you won’t. C’mon, my treat.”

———————————————————————-

Now, to answer your question about how she acts in regards to her own cub… in general I think she’s much more doting than the OG, willing to express herself through constant displays of physical affection, in ways that are far more varied.

Constant forehead smooching, cuddles, grooming sessions, all of it! Mama Wukong never wants to let go of her baby! Sit down and let her paint your nails! Let her comb and braid your hair! Let her make you a nice lunch (loaded with mystical drugs to keep you nice and sleepy for extra cuddles), or at least a filling snack! Let her pepper your face with kisses as she spins you in her powerful arms!

Lots and lots of indulgent fluffy days of binging unhealthy foods and watching cozy reruns of old shows, your head in her lap as she hums and does up your hair with her lazy hands.

Lots of reminiscing about old suitors as she considers the quietest and quickest ways to kill anyone who makes the futile attempt to pursue you in the same way.

Despite her obsessive behavior, Wukong struggles with conflicting feelings about wanting her child to be strong and independent, just like her! She pushes you to train hard and become powerful, but when you inevitably seek their own freedom or autonomy, she’d experience a mix of pride and heartbreak, pushing her deeper into possessive tendencies.

If you ever tried to leave or even just start to break away, Wukong’s worst traits would bubble up like hellfire. Just as she fought against an entire realm’s authority, she would absolutely wage a war to keep her child close, all while justifying her actions as love.

The Monkey Queen is also more willing to take routes outside of brute force if it means securing extra protection for Y/N. If Macaque or maybe Azure (or someone else like Erlang Shen) wants to try and play “suitor”, well, she’s not too interested… until the thought arises that having him around makes you extra safe! And then she’s willing to think on it.

(That’s assuming that you aren’t one of their biological kids to begin with, in which case there might be a sort of “yandere triangle”. Azure/Macaque/Erlang Shen doing his damndest to reclaim his wife, before he learns that she’s had a child while he was gone... or maybe Pigsy and Tang decided that MK needs his mentor in a more ‘accessible’ position, and plot to drag her to Megapolis…)

Lots of potential monkey mama shenanigans, basically!

#Platonic Yandere #Yandere Lego Monkie Kid #Yandere LMK #Yandere Sun Wukong #MK #Yandere Mother #Yandere Headcanons #Sunburst Duo #Genderbend #Female Sun Wukong #TW: Drugging

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shapelytimber · 2 months

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Look, social media aus are very dumb but fun to do fklxkdk Illya would make short videos (mostly) about fashion, and Napoleon would be very unsubtle about being a Spy

I am formally apologizing to the uncle fandom for tiktoker Illya Kuryakin, I have no regrets (also @quijicroix is part responsible, being my evil advisor)

Here are the posts in details, and the profile pics :)

[COMMISSIONS]

No process this time, just me yapping for way to long about every choice and refs that went into this dumb au below vvv

Illya is younger than Napoleon (I usualy headcanon him at around 25 and Napoleon 35ish), so I think their use of social media would be quite different : hence Illya on Tiktok and Napoleon on Instagram. Also it's not the 60s so Illya can be like 10% less reppressed :)) but as a debuff Napoleon now has the technology to call him a nerd

Illya's page started as a cover for some affair, but he ended up kinda enjoying doing it in his free time. It's like a hobby for him, a way to experiment with fashion ! It's what made him want to pursue fashion design as a career after his curent spy job. And also I think he gets more and more nervous the more followers he gets, because as a spy having a chance to get recognise in the street is really bad dkdldlos Napoleon teases him endlessly that he became a tiktoker (as he should)-

Did I, at one point in the project, had to scrap the thirst trap idea to keep the fashion nerd vibes ? Yes I did, but just know he uses the "twink" tag :)

• The first post is a ref to the discotheque affair, not the best episode and a great miss for not including a disco Illya outfit, so I made him one to match the other :D

• The second is to the Hot number, but he gets to wear the thrush pattern !

• The third one is what made me do all of this ! Because, if you're not french, you might not know about one of my favorite yearly twitter threads : Met Gala outfits as INSEE graphs by Clara Dealberto ! Don't care about the met gala, but this is very funny :) and such a Illya Kuryakin thing to do kdkdkd

• fourth one isn't fashion related, it's a ref to popart and the "he has Dostoïevski eyes" line that made us laught a lot

• A little Fiddlesticks for the dog post, because it's a banger episode. Plus a nod to he dog expert from it, with whom Illya had palpable sexual tension fkfkfkl I like to think they kept contact ;) (shoutout to this fic (Intensity by AconitumNapellus) who absolutely get the vision, 10/10 guy to "cheat" on your boyfriend with)

• and the final one is a make over because of course it is

As for Napoleon, being older and less invested in this, an instagram made sense. But crutialy, I get such strong modern oss117 vibes from Napoleon (the way he shoots his gun, the goofy faces, the awkward stance everytime he enters a place, the inexplicable in universe rizz...) dkfkldls modern oss117 was a parody of both 60s james bond and older oss117 movies, but I'm now convinced they also whatched some uncle while doing these, it's just so obvious- anyway all this to say, in the second movie oss117 has to pose as a photographer and gets way too invested in his cover (it's his thing don't question it), and at the end of the movie we get to see all the photography he took during his mission..... Let me tell you how hard it was to resist him having an instagram full of blurry women on the street (canon 60s napoleon would have done it I'm sorry)- but what I kept was the pretty "badly" shot pics of random things, tho you sometimes get the odd decent pic taken by Illya. And he gets to be in a duck floatie as a treat and nod to oss <3

• Pinned post is because it became frustrating for him having to respond to people asking him if it was his real name or if he was a far right french man simping for Bonaparte

• first post is not a ref, but if my very sexy flat car was burning in the desert I would take a pic (ft Illya despairing) kdkdkd

• Duck floatie is a oss117 ref

• selfie with a beautiful woman (ft his finger), no ref I just love drawing women

• also Fiddlesticks for the cute Napoleon fox !! And to kinda link the two profiles :)

• and finaly Spy with my face ! He tried taking a picture of his date (I'll let you decide who it was), but oops front facing camera kdkdkdk

Can you tell I had a lot of fun doing this ? I love this show way to much omfg

PS : if you've never seen the recent oss117 movies, you should they funny ! But oh god some jokes are terrible- the first one is the best, minus one gay joke frankly not great. They nail the gay joke in the second one but oh god... They do not always win the 'is our character a piece of shit or is the movie problematic' gamble so be aware of that. And the 3rd one is shit don't bother

PPS : I don't use Tiktok, I tried my best to emulate the feeling of it but be aware I have no idea what I'm doing dkkdld

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pascalsbby · 1 year

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CARNAL / Chapter 4: Defile

Joel’s POV <3

Chapter 3 / CARNAL Masterlist

Summary: 5K/ f!reader, dark!joel, dbf!joel, stalker!joel.

Warnings: 18+ mdni, SMUT, age gap, Joel defiles you, talks to you through it, then comforts you. dominate & aggressive joel, pet names, praise kink, stalking, p in v, unprotected sex, fingering, oral (f receiving), spitting, talk of anal + the usual pure filth. you’re so welcome.

Made this extra nasty for my Joel girlies <3

“The enormity of my desire disgusts me.” - Richard Siken

°:. *₊ ° . ° .• ♡ °:. *₊ ° *₊.• ♡ °:. *₊ ° . ° .• ♡ °:. *₊ ° *

Joel doesn’t want it to be this way, but it just is, and he thinks it always has been. A shameful nagging that started even before his wife decided she didn’t want him anymore. Maybe she saw it, the pinhole, sitting slightly to the right of his chest, veering ever so slightly towards his heart.

Women are better at telling those things, just knowing this and that. Identifying the rotten thing before they ingest it.

He’d been captivated by other women before. Coworkers, thigh-high wearing sweethearts at the bar. Sarah’s friends. His ex wife’s friends. It was easier to keep up with them when he knew where they lived, worked, who they hung out with. Accidentally running into them at the local corner store… offering to pump their gas whenever he happened to be there, too.

This was different though.

The chasm cracked the day Sarah had shown him the photographs of you. He felt the sudden release of tension before the pain of the wound itself settled in. This… this is what his being had been searching for, right? You. And it just took longer cause he’s 26 or so years your senior. He’d lived an entire life before you, the same amount of time you’ve been alive.

If anyone was gonna save you, it’s him.

He spent hours in the depths of whatever website would give him what he needed to sustain his interest. He knew exactly where you grew up, he’d walked the beige colored halls before. But that wasn’t enough. What door was yours in Sarah’s apartment complex? Before he found out, he bet it was the one with the evil eye mat in the front. He was right.

What car held you as you drove through town… when’s the last time you checked the oil? He found out quickly, knew you wore your seatbelt too. Good girl. He’d even opened the hood one evening and checked the oil. It was entirely too low, so he filled it up. You needed to check this stuff.

What bars did you frequent? One was The Strip, where you spent most your time outside at the bar politely dodging older ‘men’.

He knew your favorite aisle of the water-damaged grocery store down the street. You spent the most time deciding on which hand soap you wanted, smelling them all and scrunching your nose when you didn’t like the smell.

What boys were you seeing? And at what times? As far as he could tell, none. And that’s how he liked it. But he couldn’t be inside your long classes with you, and he gave up sitting outside of them a couple weeks ago. They were three hours long and you usually went straight home. What if there was a boy in there?

He needed to physically insert himself into your life and then maybe… maybe you’d want him to stay. See how good for you he could be.

When he turned from the nude woman painted on the wall, a version of you in oil, to the warm, guts and roaring blood of you- the gash completely tore itself open in the moments it took for his eyes to eat you in. Every nerve ending in his forty plus years heeding, 7 trillion of them.

God you were a pretty little thing. He knew that, from watching you defile yourself for him over a screen. Listening to your pussy shush itself as you slipped your fingers between your folds, cooing at him. But having seen these things before, having seen every crevice of you, didn’t stop his cock from all but jumping towards you. He wanted to be in those crevices; tasting, smelling, feeling.

He’d never been a man to beg, but he’d do it for you.

He knew too, in that moment, that you hated him the moment your eyes settled upon his face and your heart, body, told you precisely who he was; before he’d even reached out his hand and introduced himself. Before he even got the chance to touch your skin. What a hard-ass.

Here you were in front of him, pretending like he didn’t just tear your world open. What was he supposed to do? He couldn’t think of another way to do it… there was no other way. You wouldn’t have met him if he asked, or on the off chance you would, you wouldn’t have stayed long enough for him to explain himself after he uttered a few words of who he actually was.

You’d spent too much time being told, screamed at, by men telling you what to do. Why would you listen to him? He knew it. But he was hoping that your chest opened for him, too. That you had the same defect for him.

He had to get you in public, around the people who you were hiding your secret from. That was the easiest way to guarantee that it stayed that way. No telling Sarah, no telling your dad.

You had looked so scared. And it thrilled him, honestly. He had that over you. You were trembling and he wanted nothing more than to bend down and lick the sweat from your forehead. He did that, made you feel that way, had that control. It meant he had a chance to talk you out of the fear. Fuck it out of you, even. Hush your whimpers and screams into his palm.

He needed to see you, touch you, smell you. Seeing you over a computer screen, no matter how intimate, was not enough. He feared what he would do if, when on his stalking sprees, he saw you with another man. He needed to get this feeling out of himself, before he hurt someone.

“I said, excuse me.” You interrupted your dad.

Joel's instincts took over as he reached out for you, his fingers grazing the warmth emanating from your hip beneath your dress as you pass, almost walking through him. He is struck by the velvet-like softness that greets his touch, a sensation that lingers in his fingertips as a dull ache. Your warmth seeps through his skin, ripping the hole in his chest even further than he thought imaginable.

How could these two realities simultaneously exist on the same plane?

That deep-rooted desire to comfort the hurt within you. To hold the ever-wounded little girl and brush his lips across your forehead. Tell you that he’s here, you’re just fine. He’ll protect you. Lay you down on his chest and shhh your fears away. You deserve to be protected.

He wanted to raise goosebumps across your freckled shoulders and be the person you melt into at the end of the day. He wanted you to intertwine your tired bones with his.

He would do, be, better this time around. You wouldn’t leave him like she did, no. You would devour yourself for him, spit back out your bones and let him put them back together.

There was another place within him where he desperately needed your body. He needed to feel your hole flutter against his tongue, his cock. One where he could slip his spit covered fingers into your tight heat and stretch you just big enough to fit the girth of him. The sound that would vibrate through your lips would unnerve him, he would do anything for you. Fill any hole you wanted.

You’d fit around him so tight, so well. Always such an obedient sweetheart for him. “Oh c’mon darlin’, use your words. Pull them apart, oh goooood. Shhh. You can take it. It’ll only hurt for a minute Birdie.”

He wanted to push you onto the ground beneath him and unravel your inhibitions- force you to come undone for him. He yearned to scatter bite marks across your soft stomach and side, lick between your breasts, kiss the back of your knees.

He wondered what his initials would look like carved into your soft inner thighs. Marked by him, for him.

How could he undo you while trying to hold you together? A deafening need heaved through his chest. It fucking hurts.

He knew, deep down, that you would willingly surrender to him. Even though hatred was spewed across your face. Whether he asked kindly enough or convinced you that his involvement was obligatory rather than just desired, he sensed you would comply. He couldn’t help that his blood simmered for you, it stung him. He felt like he was burning from the inside, out, clawing around in his insatiable desire to explore the depths of you. To feel those depths with his fingers, his cock, his tongue, his nose.

He gathered himself out of his thoughts, and drew his body toward the path you had taken in your escape. He didn't pause to ponder the questions that would be asked: why he, out of all people—neither your mother, father, nor best friend—was the one chasing after you.

It was him. It had to be. It always has been. He had decided it the day he met you that summer, the first time he heard your laugh. Then, you grew up. And he wanted more. He was so fucking ashamed but there was nothing he could do to stop the want. He didn’t try very hard, though.

He didn’t want to stop it, because then that meant you were gone. You wouldn’t have kept accepting the calls if you didn’t want him back. You wouldn’t have nearly fallen to your knees in front of him if you didn’t care. Which is why he stopped trying to get rid of this vile thing you nursed inside of him, because you wanted him, it, just as much. You just haven’t had the chance to realize it for yourself.

The moment he entered your warmth, you would feel it too. He knew.

Why would you lay yourself out for him, reaching down to spread yourself wide open for his view, for his pleasure, and beg him to defile you- if you were just gonna leave?

As he observed you throwing yourself against the metal doors between stairwells, he caught the faint scent of your perfume—notes of bergamot, vanilla, and ire. When your eyes met his, truly and not merely through photographs, he felt an overwhelming urge to drop to his knees and weep in front of you. He wanted to surrender his entire being, to give himself over entirely if it meant that you would believe he meant you no harm besides the kind you wanted. The kind that felt good. That he was chasing a feeling that erupted within him and wouldn’t stop knocking at his chest.

You smelled heavenly, perfume and fear. You embodied the rest of his life.

The whole in his chest was the shape of you.

With a deep breath, he entered the bathroom, realizing that he needed you to remain by his side long enough for him to articulate the growing emotions within him. He yearned to explain why he acted the way he did, hoping that you might find it in your heart to forgive him for just showing up (and being seen this time).

He was still trying to figure it out himself. Why the world chose him for you, and why it was making it so hard for him to fulfill that proposition.

At the beginning he brooded over whether to stay and ultimately hurt you no matter how often he argued within himself that he would never… or to go and leave you be. That wasn’t an option anymore. It never had been, really.

You looked maddened, irate. But the blush kissing your cheeks from the heat of your anger looked so pretty.

“I was 15,” you spat at him. “Do you do this often, Joel? Stalk your daughters friends and tell them how much you want your nasty cock in their mouth? Pay them to strip for you and pay them extra to stick their fingers in their pussy so you can get off? How many? How many fucking girls have you done this to Joel?”

Ouch. You only saw the illicit side of everything he was willing to give you. He was paying you, even, to stay in his life. How could you not see he just wanted to be closer to you? But you weren’t wrong, it did look like that from the outside. An older man pursuing his daughter’s best friend, his best friends daughter. Finding her online, showing up to her gallery show.

Sarah would probably never speak to him again if she knew the extent of his need… the things he’s done to himself in your name. No one knew how much it hurts though, to know you’re out there in a world where he can’t have you all to himself.

He didn’t answer in time.

“Should I ask Sarah?” You continued.

Absolutely fucking not.

“Shh, shh. Lower your fucking voice,” he spat as he stepped towards you. You looked so small beneath him, face red and angry. He gripped your shoulder and pushed you against the concrete wall. He liked having this control over you, and he knew you liked it too in some sick way.

It was easy for you to give up control if it meant cowering down beneath his broadness. He was rock hard.

He felt himself buzzing, seeing the slight shock against your face before you pulled it back and turned it to anger. He watched your nipples harden beneath the thin layer of your dress and knew you wanted this just as bad, whether you admitted to it or not.

This was all for you. The possibility of losing his relationship with his daughter.. this is a small town, he could lose his job, then his house. Everything. All for you to stand here and pretend you don’t want it, basically yelling it down the hallway for everyone to fucking hear. After everything he had given you and how intimate he’d been for you. After just last night, you watched him spit on his fingers and fuck himself.

Yet you stand in front of him, threatening his dissolution.

“One word out of your pretty mouth and I will break you.” He whispered into your hair, once again inhaling you deeply. He kissed your forehead, a weak apology for being quick to anger. But you were starting to thrash around, making it so much harder than it needed to be. So he stood himself sturdy in front of you and put one arm above your head and the other next to your side, pushing you further into the wall.

Maybe if he showed you how good he could make you feel, you’d stay. He just needed to remind your cunt how good a cock felt inside of it.

There was silence, a contemplation.

“Why me?” You looked up at him through your eyelashes.

Fuck, you needed him, it was written all over your face. Who else was going to protect you like could?

“It was your eyes, Birdie.” He admitted.

You continued to run your pretty mouth, but he wasn’t having it. He begged for you to listen to him, but you wouldn’t. Finally, he had enough of your talking.

“If you don’t shut your fuckin’ mouth,” he accidentally spit and watched as you licked it away without thought. Fuck. He would happily give you more. His already hard cock pushed even further against his struggling zipper.

“What? What exactly are you going to do?”

You questioned, softening in tone and running your hands up his chest. That was an invitation. He took it.

“How ‘bout I show you, you fucking brat. You can’t hide from me. I see you, I can see through you. I saw you the very first time our eyes met and I see you now. Wigglin’ beneath my touch. You need me sweet’heart, stop denyin’ it. I know you remember how I made you feel without me even touchin you. So let me touch you.”

Before you could argue some more, he moved his hands to your small shoulders and turned you around. His hands were massive compared to your body, and he liked it. Your curves were dying to be let free, held in too tight by the dress. Your breast, begging to be cupped and played with.

Oh he’d imagined so many times rolling your hard buds between his lips, tonguing them. Your breath hitched, and he let out a low chuckle. Already, you were giving in to him. He knew you would, such a good girl.

He threw the dress to the ground and looked upon you, naked, standing below and in front of him with your palms against the wall. You were completely ready for anything he wanted to give you, stick in you.

He couldn’t help but moan into your skin, you answering in response.

“Now go on, tell me more ‘bout how much you hate me, Birdie,” he growled into your ear, pushing his entire body against yours, taking your breath away as his cock brushed against your back.

You made sounds, no full words.

“That’s such a pretty noise,” he nudged. You didn’t respond but your cunt did, releasing more sticky want.

“S’okay, you can hate me Birdie, but your pussy flutters every time I look at you. She doesn’t hate me, princess, she needs me ‘n she wants me.”

You let out a barely audible fuss.

“Aww lookie there baby, she’s drippin’.”

He reached down and caught the drop with his finger, sucking it clean into your ear as you dizzily looked into the concrete wall, attempting to level your want for him. He didn’t even know if you fully heard his teasing in your state.

“Your effort not to melt under me is truly admirable.” He growled as he stuck out his tongue and ran it along your ear, sucking and breathing, tickling. Fuck. You tasted sweet but your nervousness had caused you to sweat, but he liked that too.

Then, he slid down to his knees so he could be level with your pussy, immediately reaching to spread you open and take you in. He reached in front of you and grabbed a handful of your stomach, pushing your ass more towards his face. He could smell your arousal, and he almost came right then and there, like some goddamn teenager.

Red underwear stared him in the eye, a deeper burgundy down your seem where you’d been dripping for him.

“Oh so fuckin’ pretty sweet girl. Look at that,” he traced his thumb down the back of your cunt, pushing the fabric deeper into the slick already coating them. You whimpered and attempted to buck your hips back, rotating your hips so that your holes were even more open for him.

“Nuh uh uh,” he tutted as you started to squirm even more. That wasn’t gonna do, he needed you still so he could have at you. He dug his thumbs into your ass, spreading you open once again, without a doubt leaving marks that would later bruise, showcasing his want. Reminding you that you were entirely his.

He held your pussy open, air hitting your open holes, licking lines up and down your slit as you moved. Your cunt wide open, showing him that she was ready for him, sucking up a mix of his spit and your cum every time you moaned and your walls fell in on themselves, pushing in and out in want.

He laid his tongue flat and licked from asshole to cunt, flicking and sucking on the thin skin between the two.

He spit.

“You’re the dirtiest girl I’ve ever seen, you know that? Letting me stick my tongue and nose on your pretty little asshole. Want me to fuck you here baby girl?” He circled it, pushing his spit in with the tip of his pointer finger. You whimpered as your hole swallowed the tip.

He knew if he fucked you there right now, the tip of his cock wouldn’t even make it in before he came, and that wasn’t the type of game he wanted to play right now.

“Hmm, I hear you. We’ll save that for next time. It wouldn’t be fair of me not to work you open first.” Breathless, he heard a “please Joel” fall from your lips.

“Oh fuck. Say it again. I’ve been waitin’ for my name to pass your pretty lips.”

He didn’t know how much he needed to hear you mutter his name like that until it hit him in his fucking chest.

“Joel, please.”

He smirked against you, pointing his tongue into your hole, circling and lapping at you as you continued to drip onto his tongue.

“Could taste these sweet juices for the rest of my fuckin’ life.” The sounds your body made as he pointed himself in and out of your cunt were godlike, vulgar.

He told you to keep your palms against the wall and stop moving, your final warning. His nose was covered in you.

“Joel, I-“

“Tell me baby, use your words,” he murmured into you.

“Take me, right now, please. Can’t wait Joel, I’ve been waiting so long.” God you sounded pathetic for him, begging and wanting him.

Without warning he fucked two of his fingers into you, and realized how tight your walls were stretching against them. You were already completely full from just two fingers.

“You wanna take my cock? You’re so tight you can barely handle two of my fingers. So fuckin’ impatient, hmm?” He curled them upwards and the spongey insides of you continued squelching, you tightened around him and he knew what you wanted… needed. You just needed to let go, stop thinking.

“Let it happen. Stop fightin’ it and let it out baby. I’ll catch you.”

You threw your head back and your long hair fell against the top of his head as he crouched below you. He wanted you to cum down his wrist so he could lick it clean in front of you.

You looked pure, hungry, and your body shook around his fingers as all of your sounds immediately stopped. Your orgasm rocked through you and the bathroom was dead silent, only filled with the sounds of his fingers coaxing out more juices.

Then your thighs stopped shaking aggressively and you spoke.

“I can take it. Please Joel. Please, sir.”

He rose from the ground. Did you just fucking call him sir? That was all he needed.

“Then take it.”

Somehow during all of the movement he had taken his cock out of his jeans. It was fully erect, kissing his stomach every time he moved further into your pussy with his face.

He wrapped his large hands around it and guided it to the back of your cunt, precum sticking to your lips. He tapped your cunt with his throbbing tip, moving his cock around to pick up your juices and mix his in with yours.

Finally. Finally you were going to be his.

He wrapped his arm around you from the back, his forearm covering your mouth before you dropped your head back onto his bicep. Your hair was sticking to your face from the sweat, eyes rolled back in anticipation.

And then he was one with you, cock hugged by your tight warmth. And it was everything he thought it would be, but better. He let out grunts as he fucked into you, hips hitting your ass as the sounds of your wetness meeting bounced of the bathroom stall. You fit so well on him, he fit so well against your walls. It was meant to be, he knew even more so now.

Breathless moans left your lips and he bent his head down to swallow them. Sucking on your top lip as you sat limp against him, his body holding you up as you took him like the good girl he knew you always were, would be, for him.

“S’tight baby girl. I don’t know how those little toys even fit in these holes. Gonna need to stretch you out better next time ‘n it won’t hurt so much. I’ll fit you even better next time.” He shushed your moans, dropping his nose into your hair, completely lost and intoxicated by the smell of your sex.

“I-inside,” you managed. He almost shot his spend into you right then. You could warned him before you said something so nasty, so good.

“Want me to cum inside that tight cunt, is that what you’re tryin’t ask me? ‘N what about your daddy, hmm? What would he think ‘bout you walking out of this bathroom with his best friend’s cum drippin’ down your legs?”

Defeated, you let out another sound.

“Dirty girl. I want nothin’ more than to fill you up. But this isn’t the time or the place. You know that.”

You came again, squeezing his cock so tight, and Joel pulled out as fast as he could after your walls kissed against him, wanting, but not letting himself cum just yet.

“Turn around, baby.” He ordered. And you did, slowly and shakily. You were having a hard time catching your breath.

He then pushed you onto your knees from your shoulders, not caring whether he was hurting you or not. All he saw was how fucked you looked, pure bliss still lingering between your legs, tiredness clouding your eyes from cumming multiple times on his cock. It was his turn.

You grunted in pain as your knees hit the floor, and that’s all he needed from you. He cupped his heavy cock and stroked himself, spitting down to it making it even wetter.

“You’re fucking sick, you know that?” The words getting caught in your throat. That’s all he heard as he planted his feet into the ground and threw his head back, grunting as his cum spit out of his aching tip, dripping all over and down your pretty face. He swore he saw the slightest grin reach your lips before you stuck out your tongue and caught the mess he was making.

And then it was over. You were covered in his cum from what didn’t reach your mouth, bare and still shaking. You looked so pathetic, ruined. Your mascara had fallen down your face at some point and it looked like you had been crying.

Now what?

His mind was clear for the first time in months, thinking about how they’d been gone thirty minutes or so. How would they answer the questions that would undoubtedly be thrown their way? How the fuck were you going to be able to get yourself together again, looking like what you did before you came into the bathroom?

You were sitting on the ground, wiping cum from your face with paper towels that you got from above you. Joel reached to the side and handed you your dress after fitting his soft cock back into his jeans.

“Here, baby.” He said softly.

Silence.

There was something hanging in the air, unsaid. Was it guilt? Shame? For acting like complete animals the first time you two were alone together, devouring one another whole.

And then, your shoulders heaved and a deep sob left your mouth. It was the saddest thing he’d ever heard, full of pain and hurt. He immediately felt it in his own chest.

You weren’t going to cry naked on the bathroom floor, so he picked up your dress and held each of your arms up as he put it over your head and dressed you, letting out soft, “shhh”’s to you.

He wet a few paper towels and bent down to face you, gently grasping your face as you were shying away from him, tears falling. Your eyebrows were turned inwards, your face showing just how much pain you were feeling.

He wiped your face softly, focusing underneath your eyes where your mascara was running. He cleaned you up and then held your face in his hands, you, squeezing your eyes shut so he couldn’t see you. Or rather, you couldn’t see him and the look upon his face.

He sat fully on the ground and pulled you into his lap, doing a once-over to make sure you were all dressed and clean. You’re immediately nestled your head into his neck and he placed his large hand on the back of your head, holding you there gently.

“Shhh, it’s okay baby girl. You can let it all out, okay? I’m here baby. Let them out, it hurts too much when you don’t.” He stroked your hair and prayed that you felt comfortable in his arms.

He could tell this was painful for you, crying in front of him- the vulnerability and nakedness it took to completely lose yourself in front of another human. He understood that he had just taken something from you, had just hit something deep within you.

“Birdie, look at me,” he whispered. You opened your eyes without question and waited.

“Be weak with me. Break, rupture, scream. Intertwine your bones with mine and I will hold ‘em safely so they can rest. I’ve got you baby. ‘M not gonna hurt you.”

You didn’t respond, so he put your back against his chest and rocked your slightly, letting you have the silence and calm.

Minutes passed and your sobs eventually stopped, Joel’s shirt soaked from them. You moved so that he was holding you, but could look into your eyes better.

“I’m sorry baby girl, I didn’t mean to hurt you.” He let out, shamefully. He knew he could be overpowering, he’d been told before. “Let me stand up and I’ll leave, okay? Tell ‘em that I couldn’t find you but I looked everywhere.”

“You can’t just touch me like that and then leave,” you let out, begging him.

°:. *₊ ° . ° .• ♡ °:. *₊ ° *₊.• ♡ °:. *₊ ° . ° .• ♡ °:. *₊ ° *

Notes: Here’s Joel arguing with himself, trying to justify his actions as he descends into his own chaos.

I added more dialogue because in my mind Birdie is so lost in pleasure during the last chapter that she isn’t even narrating everything to herself/us.

And I just wanted a dirty talking Joel ;) You know me.

Someone referred to ‘carnal!joel’ and my heart grew 10 times bigger. I love it.

Tag List: @strang3lov3 @leeeesahhh @blackvelveteen1339 @huffle-punk @xxmr-potato-headxx @ssssc0m @paleidiot @i-love-rafe @silkiers @gracevn @scarletsloveletter

#joel miller #tlou #joel miller x you #pedro pascal #joel miller fanfiction #tlou fanfiction #carnal #joel miller x y/n #the last of us #pascalsbby #smut #Ao3 #perv!joel #dbf!joel #stalker!joel #carnal!joel

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ganondoodle · 5 months

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"bc i find it weird and uncomfortable how nintendo treats and comments on Riju and the gerudo as a whole"

Could you elaborate on this? Outside of men perving on the Gerudo (which is honestly just representative of real life scenarios) I can't think of anything problematic in regards to how they or Riju are treated. (Her being put into power at such a young age is questionable but that's just one of the downfalls of hereditary ruling I think.)

This is genuine, I'm not trying to be sarcastic or obtuse or anything! I never noticed anything overtly concerning so I just was curious what you were referring to. (Sorry I'm sure there's a post or something I missed where you were talking about it.)

so, this ask comes off as a little weird since the Gerudo are very overtly orientalist/racist stereotypes and you can just .. .research it instead but, given that i recently got an ask from someone saying they were 14 i will answer it bc i know sometimes you think first about asking someone about something instead of looking it up yourself

so, mind you, i am not a person of color, and the issues are a giant can of worms i cannot possibly go into every detail of nor know every detail of

the Gerudo, both in older games and new ones (botw/totk) are basically a bunch of stereotypes about black and arab people rolled into one, they are based on a mish mash of middle eatern cultures together with popular stereotypes about them

they wear stupidly impractical sexy clothing for people living in the desert, its very skin exposing (something that is the opposite of what you do living in an environment like that) and based on the wrong but popular idea of the 'belly dancer' outfit- an outfit that isnt sexual but was popularized as something akin to a strippers outfit by western people (colonizers im pretty sure .. who else) and is STILL used as that, they also wear high heels ... in the desert ......... a sand desert .... and wear heavy make up (like hylian women dont)

even worse then that the EXACT SAME outfit is used for the children as well, they too are put into heels, heavy makeup, and that 'belly dancer' outfit which is very VERY uncomfortable if you know what that oufit is largely seen as .. (even if youd try to argue that Riju wears it to seem more like a competent leader, it falls flat bc the children wear the same damn weird outfit as everyone else)

the Gerudo are also all very muscular in a way that no other women is in the game, which plays into the stereotype of black women being more masculine/mannish than uwu frail little white women and thus, among more, less women, or being able to feel less pain (yes that is an actual belief wtf??), while at the same time still sexualized

now in OOT they were thiefing evil women (thief being yet another stereotype for arabs as well as evil) whos only 'good' one both rejecting some of their tradition (kinda playing into the idea of those tradtions being wrong and adhering to the "good" traditions of western people is what makes you good) and is also abused throughout the game; in botw/totk they are not eviiiil but live in a closed to all men city and their entire society revolves around finding a hylian man to marry, their only goal in life is basically to find a man and have a family which i HOPE i dont have to explain why that is problematic (misogyny anyone) while it is treated by other NPCs as something to be conquered, something alien and other that beckons them to invade, they constantly try to get into the city where all da sexyyyy women are (hello????????????) and its less treated as disgusting and more like a haha little joke (in botw theres a guy circling around the city at all times??? excuse me?? and in totk the same guy is SNEAKING ON THE ROOFS OF THE HOUSES IN THE CITY LOOKING TO GET IN?????????????????)

the argument of that just being real life is ... not all wrong per se but the thing is, ONLY the Gerudo are treated like sexy things to be oogled at (both in OOT and botw/totk, possibly even more but i am not as familiar with all games in the franchise) and no other women from any species is eyebrow raising to say the least, and it never really gets called out either beyond making fun of that one guy by scamming him out of his boots by .. pretending to be a girl (pretty sure link is the only non Gerudo that is oogled at by anyone and its the creepiest creep)

then, with Riju in particular its made even worse that she is not just young but VERY young (which also begs the question why the fuck the Gerudo would put someone so young into the seat of leader of their entire region- something also no other race does), shes only 12 in botw and yet, like all the other children too, put into the same kind of outfit, but then theres also the commentary in the concept art book saying that "gerudo age faster than hylians and thats why shes got a mature air to her" which, among being a way to make how shes sexualized (both in outfit and at times camera angles- also applies to Urbosa) seem more okay (its not) and plays into the stereotype that people of color are quicker to gorw up and thus be treated as adults despite being children like any other child- hence why often in the news when a black child is shot they dont call them a child but "young man", using that to subtly shift it to seem more okay (like we are currently seeing in the genocide of palestine, news calling a murdered SIX year old palestinian "YOUNG WOMAN" while calling a 19 year old white soldier lady who got a little bruise an abused child)

and it also applies to Ganondorf, he is the epitome of evil arab men stereotype, power hungry abusive and ruling over lots of women (in this case its his entire race...), (with a hint of antisemitism too, his hooked nose being both used as an overemphasized feature for arabs and jewish people as a sign of their connection to the devil/sing of evil and to other them from white 'good little noses'- (((i want to yell about this so much bc big and hooked noses are so cool and beautiful argh))) and his skin tone being always some strange greyish-yellow color no one else has and even worse mint green in totks official art, despite him being very dark grey in model- green skin being yet another antisemitic trope PLUS playing into the whole idea that being evil means you also LOOK evil, whichs is often, who would have guessed- anything that isnt the traditional western beauty ideal of thin thin white and young)

while also in totk, he as well is sexualized with his new revealing outfit and the weird constant emphasis on how he is meant to be sexy to everyone alike (and it not being apparent in the game nor used in it) in multiple interviews with the main people in charge of the franchise- and his evilness being what all the Gerudo must atone for, they birthed this eviiil man (who is evil from birth i guess bc thats totally fine and logical) and they have to bear that sin for all eternity (as in dialog about him in the gerudo sage cutscene, plus the whole idea of the closed off city, despite there having been no ganondorf in thousands of years, being closed of to men as to shut out any potential Ganondorf or similar evil? though the latter im not sure how supported it is .. i cant remember every line of dialog ok) while the hyrulean monarchy and its uwu blonde god descdendants are never even confronted with the horrible shit they did, bc its fine if they torture and murder people (OOT and possibly more), chase them into the void or persecute their own servants bc da king got afraid they could rise up against him- with their only choice being give up their tech and knowledge to live under the royal rule (botw/totk ancient shiekah- shiekah, and its presented as a good thing, we are all happy beign the eternal servants of the monarchy :)))) or be killed, and the ones resisting are eviiiill and now a cult and also very stupid and silly and not to be taken seriously (yiga) while its mentioned once as a fun fact and never ever mentioned again, bc, the hyrulean monarchy is all god descendant uwu white blonde people that are so good you guys, everything they do is in the name of good uwu and neva to be questioned uwu bc obviously everyone that opposed to them is evil bc they are the perfectest good guys uwu

youd think, and i hoped, they would do better by now, in botw, the gerudo are not well done at all, different than before but still bad, but at least they introduced other people with darker skin tones that arent Gerudo so they are not the literal only people with non white skin anymore- but with totk espeically, they had the chance to make Ganondorf into an interesting villain with a point, maybe not even full blown villain, bc he has a point- he does but its not treated as such, its treated as if he is the most blatantly flat evil guy ever- even more flat and one note evil than all his previous appearances, which is frankly, quite insulting to say the least

look i wanted to keep it short but here we are, i dont know if this anon was genuinely being genuine or not (since bigots like to act all non offensive and like to ask you to explain your very obvious point ..) but i dont htink i ever talked about it as a whole so eh- i probably missed stuff but anyway, heres a good video about it for zelda in particular

youtube

#ganondoodles answers #zelda #i really dont think you need to be an expert to see why how they are portrayed is off #but who knows #none of the biggest zelda youtubers ever mention it either #so maybe to some people it realyl is a non problem #...given how many baffling racist comments i have seen about the gerudo .... theres worse i guess #wasted work time with this #but anyway

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poppy-metal · 9 months

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aaaa poppy going crazy bc stepsibling jordan who's older than u and just thinks you're so cute!! and is unbearably mean to you becuase of it teases you for being so sweet and oblivious :( makes fun of your girly little room and your pretty little outfits :( teases you for walking around in your tiny little sleep shorts nd how nervous u get when its just the two of u home alone. im afraid i cant take it

-🦸‍♀️

naur bc they intimidate you so bad. you dont know if they genuinely hate you, because they're always picking on you. you can't help but want their attention, even when its the two of you bickering it makes you buzz inside because their focus is on you. and oh, you can't help the way your heart pulses whenever those dark eyes land on you - zero in on you.

and we're you're all alone in that big house... a part of you is excited, like buzzing. you subconsciously dress cuter, because you've seen the kind of people jordan hooks up with, know they like feminine women and dumb himbos - you're not a himbo, but well, you put on your pinkest socks - your most delicate pjs. little bows in your hair. loiter outside your room in the kitchen, living room, just for the hopes of running into them.

when you do, its when they come back from the gym, nylon shorts hung low on their hips, tank dotted with sweat. you're sitting at the kitchen counter top, spoon dipped into your strawberry yogurt and you just kinda.... take them in. they yank open the fridge and guzzle half a water bottle down in one sip, and its almost pornogrpahic the way some spare water drips down their throat.

in masc!form you can see the way the tank clings to their chest and abs. the corded muscle in their arms. the tattoos running down their skin - gotten to piss off their dad after marrying your mother - and you're just a girl.

"parents are out." you say softly, looking down at your yogurt.

their eyes fix on you and that flush you always get around them starts in your cheeks, warms down to your belly. they finish off the water bottle, crush it in their hands. they approach the island, rest their forearms on it - jesus they're so big - your eyes dart to the silver chain that dangles around their neck. half silver chain, half pearls.

"you sound excited about that," they note. "you plannin an epic rager I should know about?"

you shake your head, giggling a little. "i dont think i even know enough people to throw a party. plus, i dont wanna anger your father - hes scary."

jordan rolls their eyes. "hes a pussy."

"jordan!"

"do what you want - he wont give a shit. you're the good girl." the way jordan says it, with a hint of resentment, deflates you a little.

"I'm not that good."

one dark brow raises. "oh yeah?"

you figet. push your spoon around the cup. "well, i haven't done bad things, like-"

"like me?"

"no!" quick to reassure. "i mean in general things that are viewed as bad. partying, drugs, alcohol, except for that one time i accidently took a sip of my moms spiked eggnog during christmas-"

jordans lips fold together like they're holding in a smile, but a little dimple peeks out. these little things you dont notice, too flustered with your own overexplaining.

"- but besides that one time, i haven't done anything but. but im not good - i mean, what is good anyway? cause a person can do all these good things and then still be a bad person with the way they think, you know."

teeth dig into jordans bottom lip as they appraise you. its clear you're embarrassed at having spoke so much. you dont realize how fucking cute you are, and that makes them want to mess with you. a little. alot. they rest their hip on the island, looking down at you.

"you have bad thoughts, baby sis?"

there goes that face flush again. "well, not evil ones."

lips quirk to the side, they tilt their head at you like you're an interesting puppy playing a trick for them. "uh huh." they hum. "what kind are they then? spiteful? bitchy? or..." they shift then, voice changing half way through their talking. "are you a little fuckin' perv up there?"

if they could frame your face they would. squirming in place. shifting in your seat, eyes darting away quickly. basically all the confirmation they need.

unbidden, the thought of you in your bed, hand between your legs, rubbing that little clit furiously to fantasies running through your head hits them and they have to swallow. fuck. they imagine your skin flushing, grinding your hips because you cant hit the spot right, frustrated. would you give upn teary eyed? or would you roll over and hump your pillow. what kind of sounds do you make? quiet and soft? throaty? they think there'd be alot of whimpers. their eyes trace down your skimpy sleep shirt. god, yeah. they could make you whimper. it'd be so fucking easy. you'd let them too. the way you're constantly looking at them with those big eyes of yours, vying for their attention. makes them want to squash you under their thumb. and make you cum.

"n-no!" you try to defend. "i just meant I'm not a goody two shoes!"

"sure you're not." they totally think that's bullshit. "wanna prove it?"

you blink at them. "prove it?"

their tongue darts out, licks their bottom lip. they feel their cunt throb in their boxers. they're kinda no better than a dog. panting at the fucking bit to get you alone all the sudden. they've thought about it before, fucking obviously. you dont get a hot new baby sister like you and not imagine fucking her. this is the first time they've considered doing something about it though.

"come on." they push off from the counter, making sure their bare shoulder brushes yours as they pass. they feel you shiver, and smirk. "lets go to my room."

they don't look back to see if you'll follow. they know you will.

#ask #🦸‍♀️ anon #tw: stepcest #jordan li x reader #throws this at u

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rrcenic · 3 months

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sorry for posting so much about the neil gaiman thing im very opinionated but heres my general take on neil gaiman (TW FOR S/A AND SU1C1D3!!!!)

good omens fandom please read this. yall need it

i wanna start with: believe victims. it might not be as bad as it was claimed to be bc the reporter was an anti bdsm terf who considers all bdsm 🍇 (including the bdsm w neil), but there was still clearly manipulation, weaponized power imbalance, and dubious consent. even if it wasnt s/a, it was fucked up. neil did some fucked up things

while we dont know if he actually s/ad those women, neil gaiman is clearly flawed

ive seen time and time again that his fans (specifically the good omens fandom) can get so viciously defensive of him that they refuse to see any flaws he has

as someone who was ruthlessly attacked because of neil, i hesitate to give him the benefit of the doub

when i had just turned 13, id just gotten on tumblr. i was thrilled that good omens season 2 was coming out. i was even more thrilled to see neil gaiman on tumblr. so i sent him an ask where i asked if crowley and aziraphale would kiss. i get why that was annoying. he probably got those asks all the time. but i worded it respectfully, and i was genuinely unaware that he was annoyed by this question

he responded to my ask with a multi paragraph callout post talking about how sick of this question he was. harsh, but not necessarily nefarious

the response wasnt the problem. it was that i got so many hate comments and death threats and people telling me i didnt deserve joy and i was ruining neils life and so many fucking anon "kys" asks that i had to quit tumblr. i tried to apologize to neil, i sent him countless apology asks where i begged him to ask people to stop cyber bullying me, but he never responded. it took years before i was able to communicate to him all the hate id received. his response was a basic "sorry for the miscommunication" and that he wished there was a way to convey tone on the internet (someone said "there is! tonetags!!" and he responded with "i dont like those"). the SAME COMMUNITY who told me to kms was suddenly saying "oh neil your such a saint" (THE TERM SAINT WAS USED MULTIPLE TIMES!!!!!) and "this poor ignorant child"

i was a kid and i was bullied off the internet and neil didnt respond to my pleas for forgiveness for almost 2 years. i was also in the most unstable time of my life. i was EXTREMELY suicidal. people telling me to kms deeply affected me

plus he reblogs a ton of "vote blue no matter who" stuff. i dont agree w that statement but i think its okay for people to say if they actively support palestine. but neil gaiman doesnt post about palestine ever other than reblogging posts that say "sure maybe the stuff in palestine is bad but if you dont support biden 100% democracy will crumble!!!" also im pretty sure he never apologized for some older zionist posts

ive seen a lot of stuff where people are saying "hey shhh its okay i see good omens fans getting sad bc of the stuff with neil but its ok!! youre still a good person even if you ignore this issue!!" and like. huh??? i dont think ignoring it makes you evil but its certainly fucked up to not be critical of the media you consume. pretending nothings going on is immature. you all sound like jk rowling fans smh

his general attitude towards fans makes me uncomfortable. ive seen people bare their souls in his asks (all of them start with something along the lines of "oh sir mister gaiman sir i am nothing but a disgusting peon compared to you you saved my life id die for you!!!") and he gives rude cold responses. i mean of course he gets annoyed and of course he gets spam but no one is forcing him to respond to asks. he doesnt seem to care very much??? this doesnt make him a bad person ofcourse but it does give me the ick

summary: even if he didnt s/a those women his fans need to grow up. he is not a pure perfect person. he might not be evil but he makes some extremely damaging choices. hes not a saint and never has been. at the end of the day, hes a rich cishet white man

#nics stuff #neil gaiman #free palestine #tw sa mention #tw sui mention #opinion #opinions #controversy #palestine #good omens #good omens fandom

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blacksunrequiem · 5 months

Text

Disclaimer: I wrote this post as an enthusiast for Dune: Part Two (2024) and the ‘seductively sick’ portrayal of Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen. Any other thoughts or comments are welcomed and appreciated! TL;DR: The aesthetic choice of Feyd’s blackened teeth aligns well with the widespread custom in ancient Vietnam — a sign of beauty, maturity, and even brutality. Read more below. Original photos belong to their respective owners.

Teeth blackening in Dune: Part Two (2024) through the lens of Vietnamese culture

One thing that mesmerizes me about Feyd in the 2024 Dune movie is his blackened teeth. Not only does this provide an impressive physical appearance for Feyd, but it also reminds me of a long-lost fashionable custom in my home country.

Original inspiration. As far as I know, the film crew creatively invented this aesthetic for the movie from the inspiration of the black mamba (a type of venomous snake in sub-Saharan Africa) and images of geisha with black teeth. Similar to folklore and legends, other countries and ethnicities also dyed their teeth black with their local traditional recipes.

Vietnam-specific. Particularly in Vietnam, teeth blackening was once a popular aesthetic choice for both commoners and noblemen. As teeth blackening was a sign of elegance and decency, it was prevalent for Vietnamese women to adhere to this practice. This custom was deep-rooted as early as 400 BCE and grew so profound as an indicator of being ready for marriage or fierce on battlefields. Side note, Vietnamese people would not dye their teeth black until they came of age; it was indeed a statement of maturity.

A clash between the East and the West. It is also hilarious that until the early 20th century in Vietnam, white teeth were regarded as barbaric; only animals, savages, and evil spirits would have white teeth. During this time, one may casually make a sarcastic remark about pretty girls with white teeth such as “Oh you’ve got a pretty face but your teeth are as white as doggo.” On the contrary, in the eyes of the French colonists, the locals had impressive straight teeth but those were “as black as sewer pipes”.

Cannibalism? In some online discussions, internet users theorize that Feyd’s blackened teeth may indicate cannibalism. This fan theory is reasonable enough, because during World War I, to curb the abuse and bullying from the larger and stronger Moroccans and Senegalese mercenaries to the smaller Annamese counterparts, a French officer spread the rumor that black-toothed people were cannibals and could devour two legs in just an hour, terrifying the African mercenaries and bringing peace to the Annamese ones.

How to? So, without the privilege of wearing an Invisalign filled with black dye like Austin, how did the Vietnamese dye their teeth? In short, one must generally undergo the following stages to dye their teeth black: mouth sanitization, red dyeing, black dyeing, polishing, and maintenance, which on average took around three weeks. It was reported that the first teeth-dyeing session would rather be physically painful due to swelling mouth and lips, stinging sensation of the dyed teeth, and strict dietary restrictions (e.g., refraining from fatty and hot food, smoking).

On another side note, I don’t know exactly what the food that Feyd chewed in the early morning attacking Sietch Tabr and degrading Rabban, but to maintain the sheeny stylish black teeth, ancient and older Vietnamese often practiced betel nut chewing.

Dear Dune fan fic writers, please consider adding this long-lost social custom into your fics; multi-cultural representation would be greatly appreciated and respected.

Please let me know if you want me to delve into greater details of the teeth blackening tutorial in Vietnam. I may do a part two on this for my lovely Feyd and Vietnamese culture if you guys are intrigued!

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bonefall · 10 months

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Elder Bones, what is your opinion on Brightflower supposedly being in the Dark Forest according to the 'magical warrior cats god' Su Susann? According to the Warriors Wiki, Su Susann put Brightflower in cat hell for hating Yellowfang once and supposedly not being sane after the truth was revealed about the death of her children. I quote, "On Vicky's Facebook, Su Susann wrote that Brightflower resides in the Dark Forest since she was filled with hate when she thought Yellowfang killed Mintkit and Marigoldkit, and was subsequently shocked and no longer sane when Brokenstar revealed the truth about the death of her kits." Seems pretty fucking messed up if you ask me.

HOT TAKE: I think it works okayish with the older "vibe" of the Dark Forest being the sort of place where your feelings put you. Like you lose a mortal part of yourself in death, and what lives on in the afterlife is your life's energy.

So it would be fucked up if, say, your kittens died and you blamed the wrong person, were consumed by it, and then in death were dedicated to that revenge in a sort of nightmarish Angry Ghost kind of state. But also, kinda neat. No wonder they take such good care of their elders, when their belief is that negativity at death can make you into an evil spirit.

And that's interesting with Ashfur in mind, too! Like it's not really something StarClan can control! If you feel like you were justified, if you didn't believe you had hate in your heart, you go where you think you should go. Tweak the line from Yellowfang to Ashfur, and have him decree, "My only crime was that I loved too much!" And you have GREAT setup for TBC.

It could unironically have made a really good way to drive conflict-- have heroes who believe they don't deserve Heaven, and villains who fully believe they do. Makes an interesting worldbuilding idea, at least.

BUT that said, that's probably a personal bias. I want the Dark Forest to be SOMETHING deeper and less simple than canon, where everyone who goes there is usually some flavor kind of murderous freakazoid (unless youre frecklewish, in which case, RIP but dont be The Nearest Woman next time, the Erins HATE those). I'm perfectly capable of seeing how fucked up it is that the two Authorial Damnations were basically just... sad women.

The other one was Lilywhisker, who was "bitter" because... she broke a leg. So the only two non-murderers who were actually sent to Hell under that feelings-first system were a Sad Mom and a Disabled Woman. If that system continued, you KNOW we'd end up seeing a billion girls damned to Hell while the boys are judged less harshly by the narrative, because the Erins are a LOT harder on women's feelings than men's.

In any case, it's not canon any longer so it doesn't invoke white-hot rage like some other statements. But it really was massively uncomfortable, considering their poor track record with both women AND mental illness.

#BB!Lily didn't go to the Dark Forest but her mate who died in the same cave-in did #Not because she's bad but because she seriously just wants to teach people about tunneling #So BB!Leafshine is breathing heavily as Heathertail is experimenting with tunneling but not getting involved in DF training with Her Boys #Leafsh in a bush trying to blast her with brain beams like ''join my emo band. join my emo band. join my emo band''#bone babble #Also Lily's placement doesn't make any sense in-canon either because she was absolutely NOT bitter in her TR appearances #She's just kinda chillin

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epinebleue · 11 months

Text

maniac (m) | lee taeyong

when you try to summon your older brother, things don’t go as expected.

pairing: evil spirit!lee taeyong x reader (female)

genre: horror!au, mature, angst.

warnings: heavy depiction of death and blood, possessive behavior, explicit sexual content.

author’s note: i suck at writing horror, i’m so sorry. happy halloween!

You’d always remember that night.

How the moonlight sneaked through the white curtains, how the shadow of the naked trees in your garden formed strange shapes that stretched across the floor and walls of your bedroom.

Not a sound could be heard, as if the world itself had gone mute.

You moved in bed to press your back against the wall behind you, wishing you could blend with it. That way, you would be safe from the horrors of the night.

You squeezed your teddy bear to your chest, looking for comfort. You had tried everything, from counting sheep to mentally singing lullabies, and all your efforts had been useless: you just couldn’t sleep.

And suddenly, there were lights.

You snapped your eyes open, glancing at the blue and red lights dancing around your room.

It took you seconds to realize that they weren’t coming from the inside, but from the street. Curiosity had always been a personality trait of yours, so you got out of bed to look through your window.

The lights belonged to a police car that had parked right below it, from which a man and two women came out, the man fixing his hat as he walked.

You watched them turn around the corner, disappearing. Seconds later, the doorbell ricocheted around your house. Once, twice. The third time, you heard your father's voice in the hallway. When you opened the door, he was walking past it.

“Stay in your room.” He said, rushing to the staircase with bed hair and struggling to keep his eyes open, still sensitive to the sudden light. Your mother followed, putting on her thick, blue robe.

“Mom?” You called, the teddy bear still caged in your arms. You didn’t know much, but you knew that police officers coming to your house in the middle of the night couldn’t mean anything good.

“Don’t worry, honey.” She patted your head on her way to the stairs. “Matt, stay with your sister.”

But once your parents were on the ground floor, you exchanged an accomplice look with your older brother. Matt kneeled at the end of the stairs and signed you to join him in the rebellious act of peeking through the bars.

One of the women spoke, addressing your parents by their last name. Each of them showed their credentials.

“I’m Officer Walker. This is Officer Gallagher, and she’s Doctor Edwards. May we come in?”

As your parents allowed them in the house, the doctor looked up, catching you red-handed. A soft smile appeared on her face, but you went stiff, like a rabbit caught in the headlights.

“Hello.” The doctor waved in your direction. “I’m Doctor Edwards. I’m really, really thirsty. Would you mind giving me a glass of water?”

Your brother frowned at the doctor’s request. He thought about it for a moment before grabbing your hand and walking down the steps, heading to the kitchen. You locked eyes with your mom on the way, encouraged by her quick nod.

You took your usual seat at the table, the doctor sitting right in front of you. Your brother grabbed a glass and poured water into it, then handed it to her.

“Thank you very much.” Doctor Edwards took the glass to her lips. She drank a little and spoke again. “May I ask for your names?”

Your brother answered so quietly that she had to ask him again. When it was your turn, you spoke louder.

“Those are so pretty.” She left the glass on the table, away from you. “And what’s your other brother’s name?”

“Jackson.” You answered. Matt was distracted, looking towards the kitchen door as if something had caught his attention. “He’s in high school. He’s really smart, he’s top of his class.”

“Well, there’s something I have to tell you about Jackson.”

You could see right through the doctor. She wanted to say something but struggled to find the words. It happened to you weeks ago when you couldn’t tell your parents that you had lost your brand-new pencil case.

A sob reached your ears, followed by the heart-breaking cry that only loss could cause. Your little brain started to connect the dots as you jumped off the chair and ran to the living room and straight into your father’s arms.

The sudden realization that you wouldn’t see your brother ever again punched you in the gut.

You closed your eyes and wept, hoping it was all a nightmare that would end soon.

You would discover that, even though it was indeed a nightmare, you would never escape from it.

There had been a time when you thought you would never place the last box on the floor of your new home.

For two years, you shared a house with other students. However, you were at a point in your life where you desired full independence and privacy. All it took was a little help from your parents and brother to find a cheap but cozy apartment on campus.

“This is pretty nice.” Matt said, poking his head through the kitchen’s pass-through window that connected with the living room.

“I know, right?” You rested your hands on your hips, glancing at the empty space. “I’m so looking forward to decorating it, maybe painting the walls. What about white with an accent? Yellow would fit…”

“I’d prefer green or blue.”

“No, I like yellow.” You shook your head at his recommendations, pressing your lips together. “It reminds me of the sun.”

“Only you would choose the ugliest color ever.” He teased. The kitchen supplies clinked as he shoved them in the drawers.

“You’re wrong. Red would be the worst.”

“Red’s cool.”

“It’s cool if you’re going for the “somebody died here” vibe, that’s for sure.” Your brother kneeled to store a pair of pots inside your oven. “I’m going to need your help for one last thing.”

You grabbed the biggest box and opened it. The vintage gold frame was the first thing to catch your brother’s attention, but you saw his eyes shine the moment he noticed what it surrounded.

It was a photo your dad had taken during Easter at your grandparent’s farm. You were a year old, wearing a green dress with tiny yellow flowers embroidered all over it that your grandmother had knitted. On your left, Matt, who didn’t like having pictures taken, frowned with his arms crossed. He looked tall for a five-year-old, but then again, he had always been taller than the average. At your right, Jackson, ten, smiled brightly as he bent over to hold you by the waist, preventing you from falling headfirst.

According to your mom, you had seen something moving in the grass and you were trying to grab it with your little hand.

The picture had been the family’s Christmas postcard that year.

“We looked adorable.”

“Talk about you, look at me!” Matthew pointed at his younger self in the picture. “I was so grumpy then.”

“Just then?”

“That’s pretty bold, given the fact that I’ve helped you move in.”

You decided to hang it right next to the entrance door. That way, your brothers would be the last thing you saw before leaving the house and the first when you arrived.

The wave of nostalgia caught you off-guard.

Living alone was another milestone you had hit, one Jackson would never witness. You were getting closer to yet another graduation he would miss.

At some point, you had stopped grieving your brother to start grieving those things that would never happen. It made the overcoming of the trauma much more difficult.

Not only were you sad, but also angry. Out of the people in your family, you had been the one to know him the least.

Matt could look back and reminisce on the good times he spent with Jackson. He had been the one who taught him to play sports. You had also shared meaningful moments with him, of course, but the connection hadn’t been strong yet.

Yet.

Three letters that set your insides on fire. His time on Earth had been so brief, his departure had been so unfair. Many times, you found yourself wishing it had happened to somebody else.

Four people in that car, but your brother had been the only one to not make it out alive.

“Are you okay?” Matt muttered. You didn’t answer, simply rounding his waist with your arms. He stroked your back, letting you hug him and hugging you back.

“Thank you for helping me.” You said against his shoulder. “Thank you for always being there for me.”

“I’ll always be.” Matt glanced at Jackson in the picture. He missed his older brother, the person who had been his hero, so damn much, but it wasn’t the right time to tell you so. You needed a rock, and he would be it. “And he’ll always be, too.”

You had absolutely forgotten how big the campus was.

Your brain had told you that assembling your new bed at midnight was a bad, bad idea, but you weren’t known for being rational.

You were running a spicy four hours of sleep when the sound of your alarm hit your head like a hammer, a reminder that you had to be in class in less than half an hour.

By the time you made it to class completely out of breath, the teacher had already explained the final project and grouped students in pairs. So you sat there, waiting for someone to adopt you into their group, aware of the fact that you had made a horrible first impression.

“Professor?” A girl at the back of the class raised her hand. “She can do the project with us, we don’t mind.”

God bless you, you thought as you stood up and walked over to the girl and her partner. You sat beside them in silence, only speaking to thank them.

For the rest of the class, you took notes and paid twice the attention you usually would, trying to make up for your late attendance.

The clock struck noon, signaling the end of the class. As you put your stuff inside your bag, one of the girls called your name.

“Do you want to go to the cafeteria to speak about the project?”

“Yes, please.” You nodded, hanging your bag over your shoulder. “I’m so sorry, I’m usually on time!”

You proceeded to explain the pain and suffering you had gone through at 1 AM after losing a screw in your wooly rug. Several hours later, you were able to sleep on a bed instead of on a mattress on the floor.

“It happens to the best of us.” The girl who had invited you to the group laughed, showing her perfect set of teeth. You couldn’t help but notice how stunning she was. “My name’s Heejin, by the way, and she’s Mihyo.”

The girl beside her waved at you, shyly.

“It’s nice to meet you, guys.” You said, opening a blank document on your tablet as soon as you sat on an empty table at the café, ready to commit to the project.

“So, you live alone?” Heejin took the spot in front of you, placing her things on the chair next to her, forcing Mihyo to sit by your side. “God, you’re so lucky. I’m tired of sharing my oxygen and personal space with horrible people.”

“I totally get it.” You replied, tapping the pockets of your jacket to check that your phone was still there. You had a bad habit of leaving your stuff everywhere, and your parents had made clear that they wouldn’t pay for another phone if you lost your current one. You had to be careful. “I grew up with two older brothers, so living alone has been a pretty big step for me.”

Mihyo and Heejin exchanged looks, a mischievous smile on their faces, before looking at you again.

“You have two older brothers?”

“How old are they?” Mihyo spoke for the first time. “Are they cute?”

“I think so?” You laughed, awkwardly. “Matt’s twenty-four.”

“What about the other?”

“Oh, he…” Even after all those years, you struggled to say the word. “He died.”

It slapped the smiles off their faces. As they rushed to cover their mouths in shock, you couldn’t help but be glad. That would teach them not to be so nosy when it came to other people’s business. You would excuse them, though, for the sake of your education.

“I’m so sorry.” Heejin said, attempting to grab your hand as if comfort from a stranger was exactly what you needed. You rushed to place them on your lap, avoiding any kind of physical contact.

“It’s fine, it happened years ago.” You rose to your feet, grabbing your bag. “I’m going to get some coffee and a muffin, do you want anything?”

You walked over to the queue, checking your messages in the meantime. Being away for some minutes allowed you to forget about the conversation and gave them some time to gossip about you. Two birds with one stone. You texted Matt about the weird interaction, promising to tell him everything over the phone that night.

Shoving it down your back pocket, you looked around as you waited.

There were students on their way to class passing by or just chilling with their friends on the grass. A certain someone caught your eye, a boy you hadn’t seen in months, only getting updates about his life through Instagram.

Qian Kun was sitting underneath a tree with an open book in his hands. By his side, you recognized two familiar faces: Lee Haechan, a computer major, and Na Jaemin, a fashion student. Haechan turned around to check out a boy who walked past them and whatever he told Jaemin and Kun about him made the pair laugh.

Kun had the most beautiful smile you had ever seen, and you would’ve spent the rest of the afternoon admiring him if it hadn't been your turn to order.

During the first project-related session, which took place at Heejin’s apartment, you realized that she wasn’t joking when she said her roommates sucked.

One of them, who greeted you with a growl as soon as you came in, had brought their boyfriend to the dorm, and the echo of the headboard hitting the wall was, to say the least, fucking annoying.

The other didn’t seem to understand that people were supposed to talk when working together, and she knocked on the other side of the wall every time you, in her opinion, were too loud.

No wonder Heejin wanted to run away.

“I’m so sorry about that.” The girl apologized to you and Mihyo once you were at the door, in the hallway, ready to leave.

“It’s not your fault,” Mihyo said, her backpack hanging from her shoulder as she struggled to shove the notes she had taken inside, “but we’ll need a different place next time.”

“You can come to mine.”

You were quick in your suggestion, refusing to go through that hell again. Heejin waved you goodbye as she closed the door, and you walked along with Mihyo towards the staircase, the air around you tense and heavy.

“Have you ever tried to speak to your brother?” The question took you by surprise, almost making you stop dead in your tracks. As you went down the steps, you allowed yourself to think about it.

“You mean like praying?”

Mihyo shook her head. “I mean like summoning him. One of my friends did it in high school with his dad, and he sent him a message from the grave.”

The want to laugh was so strong that you couldn’t help but snort as you opened the entrance door of the building. “That’s bullshit.”

“It’s not!” Mihyo snapped. “He told my friend something only he knew.”

“Yeah…” You cleared your throat, making Mihyo roll her eyes at your skepticism. “I’m sorry to break it to you, but they were totally pulling your leg.”

The girl shrugged. “Don’t believe me, then.”

And you waved at each other before parting ways.

The idea of summoning your late brother was ridiculous. It would be a stupid thing to do and totally wouldn’t work. It sounded like the start of every bad horror movie.

You repeated it to yourself, trying to vanish that what if that constantly showed up in the back of your mind, slipping through the cracks of your most rational thoughts. What if it worked? What if you got to speak to your brother even for a minute, tell him that you loved and missed him so much?

Trying wouldn’t hurt anyone.

Mihyo and Heejin rang your doorbell at exactly 7 PM three days later. Mihyo was carrying a rectangular board under her arm and a plastic bag from where she took out six tall, white candles.

“Are we really going to do this?” Heejin asked, throwing you a look of concern, shocked that you had accepted to participate in the nonsense.

Mihyo scoffed, surprising you. She had been so quiet when you first met her, Heejin having the upper hand every time. Now, she behaved like a different person.

“We haven’t even started and you’re chickening out already?”

“I am not chickening out!”

“Then come here and help me light up the candles.”

Not convinced at all, Heejin walked over to the center of your living room, kneeling beside her friend, who handed her a lighter. You observed the scene from behind, your arms crossed, biting your lips in hesitation. But curiosity had taken over, and there was nothing your rationality could say or do to stop you.

Embarrassing yourself once you realized that invoking spirits wasn’t possible was the worst possible outcome you could think of. More than half of the world’s population had used an Ouija board at least once in their life, you were sure.

The sun began to fall and darkness covered every surface of your apartment with its black cloak. The only light in the room came from the candles. You felt chilly all of a sudden, the tiny hairs on your nape bristling.

“Everything’s ready.” Mihyo announced, placing the Ouija board on the floor, in the middle of the circle she had formed with the candles. “Come sit.”

You sat beside them, careful not to knock any candle over. The last thing you needed was burning the whole building down.

“Just in case you don’t know how this works,” Mihyo grabbed a triangular pointer with a hole in the middle and showed it to you, “we place this on top of the board and ask a question.”

“And then?” Heejin’s voice was incredibly shaky.

“Then, we wait.” Mihyo’s dark irises fell on you. “Ready? Oh, and don’t you dare remove your fingers until we properly close the session. It would be a disaster.”

Trying to swallow the knot in your throat, you placed your index fingers next to Minhyo’s on the pointer and waited for Heejin to do the same. You pitied her a bit. She had been shoved into this mess for no reason other than friendship. Eventually, the girl had no other option than to add her index fingers, too.

“What was your brother’s name?” Mihyo whispered after a few seconds of silence in which you questioned your sanity.

“Jackson.”

“We want to talk to Jackson, her older brother.”

The girl spoke loud and clear, with no trace of hesitation. It made you wonder how many times she had done this, as she seemed so familiar with the procedure. An empty hole was starting to form inside your stomach, growing bigger with every second. You felt dizzy and sick.

“Jackson, are you there?”

Anxiety crawled into your skin. By the look on her face, it was crawling in Heejin’s skin, too. She reminded you of a statue, with her eyes fixed on the board and her fingertips glued to the pointer. You couldn’t even tell if she was breathing.

“Jackson, we would like to talk to you. Are you there?”

You had to blink twice to believe what your eyes were seeing.

The pointer had started to move, slowly, to the side, as if pulled by an invisible string. With wide-open eyes, you looked at Mihyo. The girl had gone speechless. The pointer’s hole reached the letter H, then I, and stopped.

“Hi.” Mihyo said, trying to remain calm. “Are you Jackson?”

This time, the pointer moved even before Mihyo could finish the sentence. It slid to the right, stopping on the word No.

Who are you then?, you thought, following the pointer as it moved again.

“C, A, R…” Mihyo chanted out loud. You stopped bile from reaching your mouth. “E, F, U, L…”

“Careful?” You frowned, glancing at Mihyo. “Wh-”

A screech ripped your throat, only drowned by Heejin’s screams.

The pointer had been lifted and thrown across the room as if someone had launched it. The object hit the wall to your back, then fell to the ground.

You couldn’t move, you couldn’t breathe. Half-lying on the floor, you couldn’t look away from the static item lying on the floor.

You missed when Heejin, who was a crying mess, got up to turn on the lights, the yellow glim flooding your living room.

You definitely missed the figure that hid in the darkness of the hallway, watching the scene with amused eyes.

Two weeks had passed and you still couldn’t find a reasonable explanation for what had happened.

There were too many options on the table: a bad dream; a joke from Heejin and Mihyo, or even just Mihyo. But the dent on your wall proved it hadn’t been a dream, and Heejin’s reaction had seemed too genuine to be staged.

The three of you didn’t address the issue during your next meet-up, but Heejin refused to go to your apartment anymore, forcing you to book one of the rooms the library offered for group study sessions.

Weeks passed by, and you started to forget the event. Everything felt back to normal; everything, except for one thing.

You felt more tired than usual and it had reached a point where, sometimes, you even fell asleep without noticing. It was starting to become a problem. You had things to do and assignments to turn in. You couldn’t afford to lose that much-needed time.

“I’ll send you a photo of some really good vitamins.” Your mother insisted over the phone. “I’ve been taking them for months now and they work wonders.”

“I’m not a fan of pills, mom, you know that.” You closed the front door behind you, leaving your bag in the hanger next to it.

“Yes, but these are like gummies… Are you there, honey? I think the line died.”

“Send me the pic, yes. Mom, I’ve got to work on my homework, so I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?”

“Oh! Sure, baby. We love you!”

“Bye, mom. I love you, too.”

You ended the call, eyes glued on the dark, still hallway. Homework had been just an excuse to hang up on your mom. You swore you had heard something in your room, similar to footsteps. Your mind, trying to ease your nerves, told you it probably was the neighbors upstairs.

Even if you wanted to go and check, your feet stayed rooted to the floor.

And then, the sound of glass shattering made you run to the front door, holding onto your phone for dear life. When you opened it, a figure in front of it made you scream.

“Wow!” Qian Kun was holding his hands up, as scared as you. “Are you okay?”

“I think there’s someone in my apartment.” Your heart pumped like crazy inside your chest, close to suffering an attack.

“What do you mean you think?”

“I don’t know! I just got here, I was on the phone with my mom and heard footsteps in my room and then…”

“Calm down, calm down.” Kun gently pushed you to the opposite wall of the hall, away from your door, and leaned in a bit to peek at the inside of your apartment. Then, he turned around and whispered. “Is there anything I can use as a weapon? An umbrella, perhaps?”

“My dad gave me a baseball bat but it’s in the kitchen, under the sink.” You whispered back.

“Where’s the kitchen?”

“On your right.”

You watched Kun disappear behind your door. Anxiety was eating you alive, you could barely breathe and there was a possibility of falling if you stepped away from the wall, but you couldn’t leave him alone. So, walking as softly as possible, you got in on time to watch Kun grab the bat.

“Which one’s your bedroom?”

“The door at the end.”

“Stay behind me, just in case.”

“Wait!” You looked around the kitchen, trying to find something you could use as a weapon. A knife would suffice to scare off whoever was in your room. “Alright, let’s go…”

The boy made his way out of the kitchen and into the hallway. Your trembling hands held onto the knife, so hard that your knuckles turned white. You could hear your heartbeat in your ears.

He stopped in front of the door, glancing at you over his shoulder. He grabbed the handle before opening it abruptly, the wood panel hitting the wall. Kun stepped in, swinging the bat, trying to catch the person inside by surprise.

But it was empty, and you stood there holding the knife up, dumbfounded.

Kun lowered the bat. “Are you sure you heard footsteps?”

“I am!”

You brushed his shoulder as you walked past him, having noticed something missing. You rounded the bed to see what you were looking for lying on the floor: a photo your family had taken in Canada while on holiday, a few days before Jackson’s death.

Pieces of broken glass fell as you lifted it by a corner to leave it on your bedside table, where it usually was.

“That must be what you heard.” Kun supposed, leaving the bat on your bed.

“I guess so.” You muttered, glancing around to check if something else was broken. Weirdly enough, everything seemed in its place.

“I don’t want to come off as nosy, but,” Kun scratched the back of his head, “do you have any idea who would want to break into your place? A toxic ex-boyfriend, maybe?”

“I’ve never had a boyfriend, so I doubt it.” You picked up a piece of glass from the floor and left it beside the picture. You would throw them away later. “I’m so sorry about this. You have places to be and I just… kidnapped you for nothing.”

“Don’t apologize, you seemed on the verge of passing out.” Kun opened his eyes as if remembering something very important. “I’m Kun, by the way.”

“I know.” You tried to fight the smile that was about to appear on your face. “You’re the golden boy of campus.”

“I thought people had stopped calling me that.” You told him your name when he asked. “You should change the lock, by the way, just in case.”

“Yeah, I better do that.”

After a few seconds of silence, Kun spoke again, with genuine worry.

“Do you want me to stay a bit longer? I don’t mind.”

Letting out a sigh of relief, you thanked him. Your heartbeat seemed to have gone back to normal, but you were still shaken. And confused.

Maybe you were lacking sleep, but you weren’t making up stuff. Someone had been in your room, someone had broken the picture.

But who? And why?

“Do you want anything to drink?”

“Water’s fine.”

A pair of orbs followed you both as you left the room, the pieces of broken glass, the bat, and the knife long forgotten. He clenched his jaw.

He hadn’t expected an obstacle.

Thanks to the cozy lighting of your lamp and the smell of lavender coming out of your diffuser, you truly relaxed for the first time in weeks.

You didn’t even flinch when the footsteps in the hallway approached, slowly. The moment they reached your door, they ceased.

You didn’t have to wait much for the visitor to reveal himself.

In front of you, there was a boy. A pair of black sweatpants was the only garment he wore. It allowed you to admire his pale skin, which contrasted with his charcoal hair.

He stood by the door, admiring you from afar. Then, he spoke.

“Are you scared?” To your surprise, you shook your head. “Why not?”

“I like the company.” You replied, giving him a sad smile. “I feel lonely.”

“Do you want to tell me about it?” Again, you shook your head. The boy walked towards the bed, his gaze on you the whole time. “What do you want?”

On all fours, you crawled to the edge of the mattress, hands going up to touch his neck. The skin was cold. It made you shiver, but you didn’t find it uncomfortable; quite the opposite. You craved more contact.

“I want you.”

The boy looked down, getting lost in your eyes. He smirked, realizing that kneeling like that in front of him made it seem as if you were worshiping him. In a way, you were. You just didn’t know it yet.

He caressed your cheek with a stone-cold finger. You closed your eyes at his touch, mouth falling open.

“What’s my name?”

And although you didn’t know, it rolled out of your tongue naturally.

“Taeyong.”

You heard him hiss.

“Open your eyes.”

You obeyed. His skin was no longer pale, but it still felt cold against yours. You swore his eyes had gotten darker. At the sight, you pressed your thighs together.

“Now, lay down.”

You did as you were told, falling on the messy covers of your bed. Taeyong’s hands found your ankles. He caressed the skin with his palms, all the way up to your panties. Your breath hitched as he hooked his fingers in the elastic band, pulling down and letting them fall on the floor.

What followed was your pajama shirt, and soon you found yourself naked in front of Taeyong. No one, except for your mother, had ever seen you naked.

He scanned your body for a few seconds, his eyes finally landing on your breasts.

“You’re a beautiful creature.” Taeyong whispered, placing one knee on the mattress. Your stomach tingled in anticipation as he settled in the space between your legs. “Have you been touched before?”

You avoided looking at Taeyong’s face out of embarrassment. However, his breath hitting your wet core kept you well aware of his position. “No.”

Next thing you knew, he was pressing his open mouth against your entrance, sighing at the taste. You gripped the blue sheets beneath you, getting lost in the foreign but amazing feeling.

His tongue was warm and soft. He licked you eagerly, as if he had been waiting for this moment for years. He dragged his tongue from your folds to your clit, closing his lips around the sensitive bud.

Something cold pressed against your entrance, and the contrast between it and your burning walls had you squirming away, only for Taeyong to grab your thighs to keep you in place.

Taeyong inserted a long digit inside you, your velvet walls especially welcoming. The tightness of your pussy reminded him that he was the first person to ever stretch you like that. It made his dick twitch in his pants. He was greedy, and the way you swallowed him served as an encouragement to pull out, shoving two fingers instead. He heard you curse as his mouth released your clit.

You were a sight for sore eyes: moans spilling from your mouth, holding onto the sheets to ground yourself.

“Does it feel good?” He asked, already knowing the answer.

“Yes.” You sighed, licking your dry lips.

The boy pumped his fingers slowly, enamored by the way they disappeared into you and the noises your arousal made each time. Soon he found himself setting a faster pace that had you arching your back, hands falling on his dark hair.

It didn’t feel like your first time at all.

There was no pressure, no doubts. Taeyong knew how and where you liked being touched. There was a connection between the two of you, something difficult to explain.

Taeyong’s tongue found your clit again, and you grabbed a fist of his hair. The growl he let out made you grind against his face. Taeyong stood still, letting you fuck his tongue, but never ceased the movement of his fingers, pushing them further.

Your orgasm wasn’t far, you knew even though you had never felt anything like that. It was like a wave that hit you hard, bruising your skin.

Taeyong, amazed, watched as you came. Your walls hugged his fingers so tightly, you tasted so fucking good. He couldn’t stop, he just couldn’t.

But the overstimulation was unbearable and, eventually, you moved away.

Under your attentive gaze, Taeyong took off his pants. He was thin enough for his hip bones to stick out. His biceps flexed as he grabbed your thighs once again, sliding your body down the bed. His pale skin glowed under the light in an iridescent effect that got you hypnotized.

It was easy for Taeyong to slip into you, being fresh out of an orgasm.

You had seen a lot of movies about first times, fantasizing about your own. Not in a million years would you have imagined all the sensations it would bring.

It hurt a little, but you bit your lower lip, not wanting to look like a loser who couldn’t take dick. Taeyong caressed your frowned forehead in an attempt to ease your pain, but he kept on pushing, only satisfied once he was balls-deep in.

The sting of pain was an open wound that Taeyong tried to stitch up by leaning down to whisper words of encouragement in your ear.

And it worked.

He had barely been inside you, but you wanted him to move. You wanted to know what sex felt like. You wanted the pleasure, the passion, all of it.

Moving your hips made Taeyong understand. He pulled out slowly, only to thrust back again roughly, making you gasp and whine.

Taeyong leaned down, pressing his bony chest against yours, and took the opportunity to make you round his hips with your legs. You fit together perfectly, like pieces of a puzzle.

“You take me so well.” He confessed, quietly, as if the walls could hear. “You’re made for me.”

And, for the first time, Taeyong grabbed your face with his long digits and kissed you. It was passionate, messy, needy. His lips and tongue, once cold as ice, were like a spring day now.

There was a subtle change in the mood. Taeyong was well aware that something had shifted inside him, a change of priorities. You were top on the list now, and he would treat you as such.

He increased his pace with every thrust. You embraced his shoulders, further pressing him against your chest. Not once did Taeyong stop kissing you. He would swallow your noises like the most expensive wine.

“You’re close.” Taeyong said at your walls trapping his dick. You simply nodded, eyes shut, looking for his lips in the dark. He sat up, grabbing a handful of your breasts and squeezing them.

Your hands flew up to grab his wrists.

“Taeyong…”

“Yes.” That proud tone was such a turn-on. You wondered if you were losing your mind. “Say it again.”

Your voice barely made it out as he pounded mercilessly into you. There was a weird feeling in your tummy.

“Taeyong!”

An electric shock crossed your body from top to bottom. Taeyong exploded into you, letting out a grunt that covered your skin in goosebumps.

You were awake. Strands of hair stuck to your sweaty forehead, and the sheets beneath you were uncomfortably damp.

You touched your entrance with your middle finger, moving your hand away the moment you felt the wetness.

What the hell had just happened?

Forming a friendship with Kun wasn’t on your bucket list for the year, but you guessed it was bound to happen.

Ramen nights on Fridays became a tradition and meeting up to study in the library was mandatory.

Everything you have heard about his persona before actually knowing him turned out to be true.

He was the kind of person to choose his words carefully, speaking his mind with the utmost respect towards everyone. Always the smartest person in the room, you couldn’t help but stare at him with tender eyes, amazed by the knowledge he carried.

Falling in love with him was bound to happen.

“I’m choosing the movie next time.” Kun grunted at your words, putting his coat on.

“It wasn’t as bad as you’re making it seem!”

“I literally predicted the ending as soon as it started.” You smarted, your only purpose being as annoying as possible. “It was bad.”

“Fine.” He walked over to your door but didn’t open it. “Should I bring candy next time as an apology?”

The fact that he knew you loved sweets made you smile.

“It’ll do.”

None of you moved. Kun glanced at the picture by the door, giving you the feeling that he was trying to stick around a little more.

You wouldn’t complain.

“I want to ask you something, but I don’t want to look stupid.”

You quickly responded.

“You’d never look stupid.”

“Do you have feelings for me?”

You wondered if your sincerity would take a toll on your friendship. But if Kun was asking, there had to be a reason.

“Why are you asking me this?”

“Because,” Kun sighed, “I have feelings for you.”

You couldn’t help it. You tiptoed and crashed your lips against his. They were soft, just like him.

The kiss was a dream come true. You held onto the collar of his coat and he grabbed the sides of your face, both pulling each other closer, and giggled when you had to break it off to catch some air.

He left shortly after, having set a day for your first official date. You had wondered if you should have invited him to spend the night, but Kun was a gentleman.

He would never.

That night, Taeyong burst into your room like a hurricane. He threw every single item on your vanity to the floor. He punched the mirror, which broke under his fist, yet not a single drop of blood stained his skin.

There wasn’t an ounce of fear in your system, deep down knowing the reason why Taeyong was so mad.

He locked eyes with his disfigured reflection in the mirror before turning around.

“Do you love him?” He asked, his nostrils flaring up.

You shrugged. “I like him.”

“Do you love him?” Taeyong repeated. Finding no answer, he straightened his back. “What’s my name?”

“Taeyong.”

“Do you love me?”

“I desire you.”

He wasn’t satisfied with your answer, though knew better than trying to change your mind. He told you to turn around, his dark voice sending shivers down your spine. You got on all fours and waited.

Where Taeyong had been kind and gentle the first time, he was rough and violent. He ripped your underwear in half, making you gasp, and he grabbed your hair as he forced his way into you, ignoring the whimper you let out.

His thrusts were erratic. You knew he wasn’t chasing his high or yours, he just wanted to cause pain, inflict dominance. He wanted you to know who was in charge, who you belonged to.

And you allowed him to have you his way, equally drown in pleasure and worry. You weren't yourself when you were with him, he unleashed a side of yourself you couldn't recognize.

Taeyong freed your hair, but his hands soon closed around your neck. Air got stuck in your throat as you desperately tried to inhale.

He wasn’t playing.

“If you bring him here again…” He growled, his demonic tone ringing in your ear. “I’ll kill him.”

You lurched awake, gasping for air.

There was no way that had been just a dream. It had felt too vivid, too real for it to be a figment of your imagination.

The hairs on the back of your neck stood up, adrenaline still pretty much flowed through your veins.

Something felt off.

The light coming from the streetlamps was dim, yet it allowed you to scan the room.

The door was open, but you couldn’t put your finger on whether you had left it that way before crawling into bed. Your eyes moved towards your vanity and mirror; nothing out of place. You caught movement from the corner of your eye in the wall beside your window. Squinting, you tried to make out a figure in the darkness.

And you found it.

He had been observing you way before you saw him, inhaling your fear like the best drug ever made.

With no reason to keep hiding, Taeyong took a step into the light. He looked at you with the intensity of a predator about to kill, but you couldn’t move.

Taeyong opened his mouth.

“Hi.”

You jumped out of the covers, falling to the floor because of your numb legs. You looked back to Taeyong, who had taken a step closer, and crawled towards the switch on the other side of the room.

His footsteps were light, but his presence was strong. You knew where he was even if you couldn’t hear him.

You punched the switch before turning around. Under the lights, everything seemed perfectly fine.

But your uneasy heart and shaking body knew better. They knew that Taeyong was still hiding in the darkest spot he could find, observing.

Waiting.

Your apartment was haunted.

Nothing else could explain all the things that had been happening ever since the Ouija session went wrong.

Getting help was urgent, and you knew exactly where to find it.

That’s how you found yourself knocking on Mihyo’s door eagerly on the morning of the next day. A wave of surprise washed over her face as soon as she saw you.

“Oh…” She muttered. “Hey.”

“Hi.” You hesitated for a moment. “I have to talk to you. Can I?”

Mihyo took a step to the side, letting you in. You sat on her couch, drying your sweaty palms by rubbing them against the rough fabric of your jeans. Mihyo sat on an armchair, in front of you, and waited.

You didn't know how or where to start. Although Mihyo was familiar with the paranormal world, you feared she would think you were losing your mind. Hell, even you did!

“So, what’s wrong?”

“Please, don’t think that I’m crazy.” You began, aware that the phrase would set a difficult start. “Ever since the… incident, weird things have been happening in my apartment.”

“What do you mean by weird?”

You breathed in, trying to calm your nerves. Recalling the events gave you chills.

“Some weeks ago, I heard footsteps in my bedroom, and even though no one was there when I came in, a picture I had on my bedside table was on the floor. But the worst thing is that I’ve been seeing someone, a man, in my dreams. And not only in my dreams. I think he’s haunting me.”

Mihyo bit her lip throughout your confession, finding it hard to make eye contact with you. During the few seconds in which nothing, not even your breath, could be heard in the living room, you thought that perhaps you were a little bit crazy. You definitely sounded like it.

“I’m going to ask you something, but don’t take it the wrong way.” Mihyo spoke. “Have you, like… had sex with this man? In those dreams?”

The fact that she was asking gave you goosebumps, because it meant she knew something that you didn’t, and judging by her tone, it wasn’t good news.

Slowly, you nodded.

“Are you a virgin?”

Awkwardly, you switched your position on the sofa, playing with your fingers. “Yes.”

Mihyo straightened her back, sighing.

“Well, the good news is that you aren’t insane. The bad news is that you’re right.” As you rubbed your face, unable to form any coherent sentence, Mihyo continued. “Apparently, there are some ghosts that prey on virgins, using sex as an energy drainer. Have you felt more tired lately?”

“I have, but I thought I was just burnt out.”

“He’s feeding on your energy to get stronger. That way, he’ll be capable of crossing the threshold and stepping into our world. If he does so, he’ll be able to do whatever he wants.”

You blinked twice, speechless. The situation was simply overwhelming.

“So, basically, I’m fucked.” Mihyo couldn’t even disagree. “But if we were invoking Jackson, why did he appear?”

“An Ouija board isn’t a phone, you see? The person answering might not be the one you were calling.” You cursed under your breath. “I guess he has been waiting for someone to open the door, you know?”

“What do I do, Mihyo?” Your lip trembled, and upon seeing you on the verge of tears, Mihyo sat down next to you, patting your back. “Should I move out?”

“The apartment isn’t the problem. He’s stuck to you. He’ll follow, wherever you go.” A sob ripped your throat. If only you had known better. “But don’t worry, we can fix this. We must open the session again and close it properly this time. The only problem is, those who were there the first time should be there again.”

Obviously, it was Heejin Mihyo was referring to. To be honest, you wouldn’t blame her if she refused.

“How’s she doing?”

“We barely speak now.” Mihyo admitted, rather sadly. “She’s been avoiding me, but her roommates told me she has been acting weird: she can barely sleep, she’s having nightmares, and she’s not doing well in class.”

The burden of guilt felt right on your back.

“God, how could we’ve been so stupid?”

“I’ll convince her.” Mihyo took your hand, trying to give you the illusion of safety. “Don’t worry. We’ll fix this.”

Much to your surprise, you found them both waiting at your door.

Mihyo was right, she looked terrible. She had bags under her eyes and had bitten her nails to the point of gnawing on the skin. Although the wounds had been tried to be covered with bandaids, you could still see them. It looked like she hadn’t washed her hair in weeks. Heejin muttered a low hello to you, and nothing else came from her mouth.

A blast of cold air hit your face the moment you stepped into your place, making you shiver, but not from the cold. It came from a window that you didn’t remember leaving open, but you knew better than to scare Heejin to death. You simply walked towards the window and closed it.

Just like the first time, Mihyo lit up candles and placed them on the floor, forming a circle with the Ouija board in the middle.

You couldn’t shake the eerie feeling of something possibly going wrong, very wrong. But, if you wanted your old life back, you had to suck it up and solve it, so you were the first to sit in front of the board and place your index fingers on the pointer. Mihyo followed and, after a moment of hesitation, Heejin.

“What’s his name?”

“Taeyong.” Mihyo nodded, letting you know that the session was about to start.

“We want to talk to Taeyong.” She said out loud. “Taeyong, are you there?”

He didn’t take long to answer, the pointer moving to the word yes.

“It’s not you that we wanted to contact, Taeyong. It’s time to go back where you belong.” The pointer remained in its place, and you allowed yourself to fantasize about the idea of him being gone. “We’ll close the session now.”

“No.”

That familiar voice ricocheted against the walls of your living room, turning your stomach. You thought you had just heard it in your head, but as you glanced at the girls before you, you understood that it hadn’t been the case. Heejin was white as paper, on the verge of passing out. She made the pretense of separating her fingers from the pointer, only for Mihyo to scream at her to stay where she was.

“Taeyong, you don’t belong here!” Mihyo screamed. “You have to go!”

It happened in the blink of an eye.

Taeyong appeared where the Ouija board was, stomping on Mihyo’s hand. The girl let out a gut-wrenching scream as she held her hand, eyes fixed on her crooked, broken fingers. Taeyong slapped her with the force of a thousand men, and she fell limp on the floor.

Your first instinct was to grab Heejin and drag her up with you, making a run towards the door. You tried to be quick but Taeyong was quicker, grabbing Heejin’s hair and yanking her back, causing you to fall. Pain spread from your shoulder to your wrist.

You looked up in time to watch Taeyong slam Heejin’s head against the wall, the noise of something cracking flooding the room, and watched in horror as he threw her away as if she was nothing, a string of blood sliding from her forehead down to her cheek.

The apartment fell silent.

“You.” His black eyes fell on you. You were paralyzed. “How could you do this to me?”

You opened your mouth, trying to say something, but nothing came out.

“I tried to be understanding. I allowed him in here, thinking that fucking you like a bitch would make you develop the slightest loyalty towards me. And what do you do?”

Taeyong took a step forward, snapping you out of your trance and forcing you to crawl back.

“You try to send me back. As if I meant nothing to you.”

For every step he took, you moved away. Eventually, there was nothing but a wall behind you. You pressed your back against it, thinking that if you pushed enough you would go through it.

“I’m not a monster.” He said. Then, he crouched down and pointed at the girls. You couldn’t bring yourself to look. “This is your fault.”

A single tear rolled down your cheek as you opened your mouth once again. Struggling to find the words that got stuck in your throat, you ended up whispering.

“I’m sorry.”

Taeyong tilted his head to the side. For a second you thought that you would get away alive. He looked at you with nurturing eyes, the way you glance at a child who has said something incredibly innocent and naïve.

“I know you are. I am, too.”

You didn’t have time to process his words as he straddled your lap. Desperation and fear flooded your mind as Taeyong closed his long, bony fingers around your neck, stopping any air from getting to your lungs.

But you wouldn’t go without a fight. You kicked the air, you scratched his face, his eyes, but it was like trying to catch vapor.

You thought of your parents, of Matt. Losing another kid, another sibling, would break them. You thought of Heejin and Mihyo, who had lost their lives because you didn’t know better. You thought of Kun, lamenting not having said something sooner.

As you slowly lost consciousness, you came to terms with the fact that you were going to die. Through your half-closed eyes, you took your time to take in the face of your murderer.

He was insanely beautiful, like the fallen angel.

You breathed in so quickly that you choked, coughing as you got up. You jumped over Heejin’s dead body, repeating to yourself that there was nothing you could do for her or Mihyo other than find help.

You left the door open and ran down the empty hallway. When you turned around the corner, you found yourself inside your apartment again, in your hall. You could see your furniture from your position.

You swore you had left your apartment. You tried again, and again. Yet every time you turned around the corner, you appeared in your hall.

No rational explanation could make you understand what was happening. It felt like a sleep paralysis experience: knowing that you were dreaming but unable to do anything to wake up. Except this was real life, and you were trapped.

Then, you saw it.

It hadn’t been Heejin’s body the one you had jumped over. It had been yours. Your open eyes pointed to the ceiling, devoid of any life.

Your body collapsed and you fell to the floor, on your knees, weeping like a child. You called for your mom, your brother, Kun.

“There’s no need to cry.” Taeyong’s words were sweet like honey, but they made you want to vomit. “It’s not as bad as it seems.”

“Why are you doing this to me?” You cried. “Why, why?”

“You told me you were lonely.” His faked innocence didn’t go unnoticed. “I was lonely, too, but now I have you.”

“Please, please, let me go…”

“Now we have each other.” The smile on Taeyong’s face was prominent but never reached his eyes. “For eternity.”

No reposting or translations allowed.

#nct smut #nct taeyong fic #nct fic #taeyong smut #nct taeyong #nct taeyong smut #nct taeyong horror #nct horror #taeyong imagine

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boolger · 4 months

Text

READ ME A VERSE - COD

☆Kate Laswell x afab!Reader - explicit - MDNI - 11k words ☆AU to a certain degree. Reader and Kate are in a fictional radical christian group who is pretty secluded in a little town. Inspired by the song Verse by Emily Jeffri, which i have been obsessed with for a while, but in particular this part;

“Last time I saw her, we were in church I said my love to her and somebody heard We haven't locked eyes since or said a word.” Verse, by Emily Jeffri

☆tags: radical religion, homophobia, religious homophobia, internalized homophobia, sexism, abuse, violence, isolation, mention of miscarriage, dub-con, non-con sex, non-con kissing, victim blaming, bad parents, mention of death, afab!reader, forced marriage, masturbation, fingering, oral sex. Happy ending.

☆Summary: You had been considered ‘sick’ for years, sent away from your hometown and family to get better, isolated and forced to repent. But years later, when you are ‘healed’ and granted permission to return, there is a woman in church that you don’t know. You want to be a good Christian woman, even if you don’t want to marry Phillips Graves, but this Kate haunts your mind. No prayers can stop your thoughts, the verses are not able to stop how the two of you constantly feel pulled towards each other, lured by your sinful thoughts and the lust for actual love.

You grew up here, in between good Christian women and men, with sin seeping into your bones, only hidden by your fragile flesh and skin. Organs rotten with wicked thoughts, every day of sickness a punishment for your refusal to repent, you were sure.

That was the way you had lived your entire life, knowing something was wrong with you - but every waking hour, you couldn’t help but wonder, if this sin, this evil, the crime, was merely that in their eyes. In the community’s eyes.

Once, when you were younger, 19 and naive, you had told your best friend, thinking she could keep the secret, thinking she might understand that it wasn’t something that should be said out loud. Yet, barely 24 hours passed and then your parents knew, pulling you to the church, to the elders of your village, the leaders of the church making you admit out loud to your immorality, to the sinful demons of lust that had taken over your body.

Women aren’t supposed to fall in love with other women, they said, you’re not supposed to lust after another woman - your lust is only for your future husband.

Your mother cried, sobs echoing through the empty church, no doubt with people around it, listening in to the judgment of the crime that had never manifested anywhere but your body.

Your father’s face was like stone, but the disappointment dripped from him wordlessly, at his refusal to even look at you.

It can be cured, they said, their wrinkled faces spitting out your sentence, praying, bible reading, hard work - and sending her away. Only when she is changed, when she truly repents, can she be loved by our Lord again.

With such simple words, your fate had been sealed for the upcoming years, pulling you from your well-known home, from your family and the town you had never truly left for longer than a couple of hours. To a farm, miles and miles away. You had been there once, several years ago with your family, vague memories of petting some cows and collecting eggs.

Instead you watched the car drive away after an hour or so, leaving you behind in the middle of nowhere, your trusty flip-phone taken from you as well.

At the farm, two couples lived, a younger and an older pair. The only good thing about your years at the place was that you couldn’t be married off when considered “sick”. You prayed that God would never forgive you, when you saw how the couples treated each other. A couple of farmhands appeared now and again, that you weren’t allowed to speak to but other than that, you didn’t speak to anyone but the couples.

You lived in a small room, bare walls except the cross next to your bed and the painting of Jesus next to the door - caught in between a painting of a man you were constantly forced to read about and a crucifix that would remind you of the punishments if you didn’t change.

Simple food, simple clothes, work hard, routines and prayers several times a day. The men would read out verses in the evenings sometimes, as you all sat around them. You weren’t allowed to watch anything but specific christians movies every saturday. After watching each one twice, you stopped asking for it.

A year passed before you saw your parents again. Once again your mother was crying, but she seemed happier now, talking about how you had grown, how you looked healthier. You showed her and the upper church members who had tagged along around the farm, doing your best to seem better. Sinfre. Never mentioning anything bad. They went into the kitchen to talk, while you were sent to feed the chicken and collect eggs, denied access to your second judgment.

Another year, they said, another year would do her well, just to make sure she is truly well again.

Your mother kissed your forehead, telling you to read your verses, your father saying he would pray for you. They all would, they comforted you, another year and you could join them in the car, go home with them.

That night you ran, crawling through the window, abandoning Jesus and his crucifix, no plan in mind other than to get away. Another year wouldn’t cure you, one year hadn’t even done much. You understood it was wrong, sure, but you couldn’t stop it. You refused to be on the farm till you turned 21.

The town wouldn’t offer you any sanctuary, you knew, so you ran the opposite way, into the unknown darkness.

They found you the next day, walking along the road towards another town, hoping someone would pick you up and help you. You screamed, fighting all you could, scratched and kicked as they pulled you back into the car - returning you to the farm. They belted the soles of your feet until they bled and left you in your cleared room, with nothing but a bible.

You knew then, that it would probably be more than a year before you would return home. After that night, the door to your room was locked every night, bars put in front of the window, keeping you from crawling out through it again.

Days passed, prayers spilling from your mind, weeks then, verses recited, months - it took almost three years more before the lies spilled as easily from your lips as the prayers did, and the people around you finally dared to believe. The lies about dreaming of a husband, of stepping into the role of a good, christian housewife, of bearing children for your husband, all sin free. You were a good girl now, a woman of God, who prayed every night for a husband and finally, finally they believed you, men of the church and your parents once again returning.

You felt alienated to them, yet you smiled, saying you were cured now. Said you dreamt of marrying, of having your own house with a husband. Your mother cried tears of joy. Healthy again, you stepped into the car, going back to a town you no longer considered home, after four years of departure.

“A sheep led back to the fold by the Lord,” your mother whispered to you in the car, holding your hand, but you felt no relief as you returned to the town.

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

You had thought you could wait a little longer - thought they wouldn’t bring it up so soon, but you supposed it made sense in a way; they had to prove to the town that you were cured, you had to prove that the homosexuality no longer festered inside your body, but that you had become a pure woman now. A woman, just waiting to be married off.

Usually, women in the town would marry when they turned 21, so to not be married at 23, almost 24? A scandal that had to be avoided, your status had to be changed as soon as possible.

It was the first time back in church, back in the fold, that you saw her.

The most beautiful woman you had ever seen. Dark blond hair neatly pulled back in a low bun, face sharp and eyes blue, arm in arm with Shepherd - despite the modest clothes, you felt a fire run through you, the wounds blooming up inside your rotten organs, crawling along the spine like demons, demons that the priest and elders had promised were banished. The wrong thoughts and feelings to have inside a church - God would judge you, wouldn’t he?

Let you suffer, just like Christ had, make them pull you back to the farm.

You hurried to look away, instead looking at the men in church. Asking your mother about some of the men, some new members. You had been gone for almost four years, things had changed, people had passed, babies had been born.

Your old best friend, whom you had whispered your secret to, who had done the right thing according to everyone around you, had married her childhood crush, carrying a small child on her arm - smiling at you as she passed, her stomach having the iconic bump proving another child was on the way.

Most of the people you had grown up with and considered friends were married now, most of them already parents as well.

You had spent years worshiping in silence, barely surrounded by more than 4 people and now you were surrounded by over 100 followers, singing the hymns of the Lord that was supposed to have freed you from the madness of your lust.

She sang too, you noted, sitting dutifully next to Shepherd who looked like an old man next to her, though you doubted he was that much older. You grabbed your hymnbook harder, fingers hurting with how hard you gripped it, looking down even though you knew every word and tone.

The prayers spilled easily, the verses familiar, the daily cleansing of your soul.

Your eyes had met, just for a second. It was like your world paused, frozen, just to make sure that you understood that she had looked at you too. Only to immediately look away again, both of you pretending you hadn’t looked. Like a fallen angel, ready to be overcome with the thing that made you unholy at the first point, you let yourself dream of meeting her, properly.

Your appearance at the church, well looking and submissive, dutifully following your parents, knowing your prayers, your worship clear, it all made your parents look good. The priest blessed you as you left, saying it was good to have you back. You thanked him, saying it was good to be back, to be free of demons.

Lies, lies, lies, spilling from your lips, just like the prayers, prayers, prayers. You wanted them to be true, wanted to be free so that you wouldn’t suffer so much.

But butterflies uncurled from their cocoons as you passed the woman who stood with Sheperd, your parents greeting them politely - you too, smiling as a good girl should, your eyes lingering on her for just a second longer, noting how she was looking at you too; it was your imagination surely, but still. You followed your parents, your sister who had been 15 when you left and who was 19 now, the age at which you had disappeared, babbling away.

“She is Mr. Shepherd's new wife, Kate Laswell,” your sister explained as you sat next to each other in the car, apparently aware of everything going on in the town now - or at least, of the gossip, “An outsider, mind you.”

“Alice,” your mother warned from the front seat, the tone sharp, “She isn’t any longer - and she is Mrs. Shepherd, not Laswell anymore. Besides, her parents are good Christian people too… just not a part of our Church. Yet.”

Your sister just waved her hand at her, as if to say ‘details details, mother’, while she continued, “He met her about three years ago on a trip, she came here while you were sick and they married. Before coming here she had a miscarria–”

“Alice!” Your mother turned around in the seat, sending your sister a sharp look, clearly displeased, just as the car pulled into the little driveway, “It’s improper to talk about such things.”

“Sorry, mom,” Alice said, even as she didn’t look apologetic one bit.

You were still stuck at her words, while you were sick. The memories of running in the night, the endless hours of work, of prayers and verses that were supposed to free you. Of people telling you that you were sick, that demons had possessed you. Four years of being turned into a good, pious woman.

“Mr. Shepherd is a good man,” you said, feeling emotionless but knowing that was what you were supposed to say, if this thing had been told to you while on the farm.

“He is,” your mother confirmed, “He is happier after he met her, too - now come on, we have things to do.”

You knew his first wife had died - pneumonia, they said, quickly and without warning - God always takes the good ones first. The bells had rung, echoing through the houses, into your mind as you remembered how the entire town wore black at the funeral. Had it only been that sickness that had curled in between your ribs and infected your organs, things might have ended differently.

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

The Graves family was respected in your little town, wealthy, the Mr. Graves Senior one of the church leaders. He had been one those who took a part of your judgment, of sealing your fate for four years, making your parents abandon you in between harsh treatment and farm animals, surrounded by neverending fields of wheat and corn.

Yet, somehow, despite knowing of your sickness first hand, having been a part of the healing, having touched your head and prayed for you, he still came to your parents’ house, with a smile on his lips.

Feeling hostage in your own childhood home, you served him and your father dinner with your mother, leaving your parents to talk with the older man, told off to do the laundry. You only returned once the doorbell rang, opening it…

To one Mr. Graves Jr.

“My my,” he stepped in, pushing the door open as you stepped back out of reflex, his blue eyes instantly on you, shamelessly running over your body, the arrogant smile you remembered from when you were younger, still present on his face “Haven’t you grown.”

“Mr. Graves,” you answered politely, already wanting to request him to leave. To not look at you in such a manner, to not say such words in that tone.

“Nah, just call me Phillip, darling. You will soon anyway.” His voice was honeyed and he winked at you and before you could ask what he meant, your mother appeared - ushering you away and back to the laundry room, while he was led to the living room.

You tried distracting yourself, humming the familiar hymns as you emptied the washing machine, loading it with dirty clothes, wishing you could enter it too - but no matter what, the words you will soon anyway echoed inside your hollow body.

The Graves family was respected. They were looked up to by many people, one of the few families where the men were allowed to leave now and again. Even having the father of the family over for lunch like this, was a good sign that your family was being respected again, despite the veil of disgrace you had thrown over them.

So really, you should be honored. Not feel nausea in your throat, your heart beating so fast you were sure it would spring out from your ribcage, barely able to breathe. You could barely get the word out.

“Marriage?” You repeated, watching your mother’s excited face as she nodded, your father proudly smoking behind her, standing in the door frame, clearly pleased too, “With… Mr. Graves’ son?”

“Yes dear – oh Phillip is a kind man, bless his heart,” you didn’t like her tone, “Even with everything that has happened, he still wants to marry you!”

“He is a good man,” Your father added from the door frame, eyes watching you, clearly waiting for a reaction, “Wanted to marry you before you were sick - waited for you.”

Waited for you.

You wanted to scream of horror. Legs trembling, feeling like you went blind for a second. Once, when you were a child and your family had been driving home, a deer had been caught in the lights of the car, gone rigid at the sight. It had managed to escape, just in time, saved from death. You had a feeling you wouldn’t be able to escape your fate, however.

“I don’t know if I–” you barely knew what apology to spew out, what lies to tell them.

“Don’t worry - I know this is sudden, dear,” you mom said, taking your hands in hers, leaning forward to kiss your forehead, “but God is really looking out for you.”

“It’s a miracle that the Graves family would even consider her,” your father muttered, thrown at you like a stone, but you barely felt the impact, even as your mother hissed his name.

“Oh, I’ll have to call my sister - you will have the grandest wedding, my baby girl.”

That was what you feared. Your mother disappeared again to go call her sister and within hours the entire town would probably know - not even caring what your answer had been to the proposal that hadn’t happened.

“You’re not going to cause a scene, are you?” Your father stared at you and you wondered for a moment if you would prefer the farm over this. Out there your tears would dry, no woman could seduce your mind, no man would marry you.

“No,” you answered, giving him a smile that barely seemed real, “of course not.”

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

You stared at the date, the 8th of July, 2010, with your name printed next to Phillip Graves Jr. - to be wed. They had given you two months, two months to get to know each other, though you knew you wouldn’t get a say, not truly.

The mere fact that Graves Senior hadn’t stopped his son, meant that they all believed you were free of sin. Yet you always felt watched. As if the security cameras scattered around the town would be able to catch the way you were still sick.

“You’re getting married,” a gentle voice said behind you; it wasn’t a question, more of a statement - just like it had been for you.

You turned, distracted from the bulletin board in front of the Church, only for your eyes to meet those blue ones you kept dreaming of.

“Mr. Shepherd,” you greeted, giving her what you hoped was a polite smile, “I am, yes - in two months.”

She nodded, turning to look at the bulletin board. You dared to think that the smile on her face truly looked a little sad.

“Were you given a choice?” her voice was careful, barely above a whisper. You stared at her, barely able to blink for a couple of seconds as the words sank in.

“His offer of proposal is a blessing,” you felt like it was your mother’s words that escaped you, not your own, “given my time of… sickness… it’s very kind of the Graves family to have even considered me.”

As your eyes met, you recognised the look. Sad, resigned in a way, as if she recognised that it wasn’t your own words, that you were a mere hostage in this situation. You wondered for a brief moment if her situation had been like this. If she too hadn’t had a choice, even though she was older than you. Probably ten years. No more than that. Her lips looked soft, but bitten; probably from nervousness, your mother did that too sometimes.

“It is not a sickness.”

Five words. She made it sound so simple. You felt your jaw clench, your teeth grind together. Verses ran through your mind, prayers through your blood, the urge to step into the church and repent, for something you hadn’t even said.

“Don’t say shit like that,” you hissed, anger that was forced down your throat for years escaping you, as you looked back at the board, whispering out a “it is.”

“No, it’s not.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” it was like needles escaped your mouth, forcing words of others, “it’s because you’re from the outside.”

“What if–”

“I must go,” you said, fearing you had stood there on the main street, close to her for too long, “Have a good day.”

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It is not a sickness, it echoed through your mind for several days, it is not a sickness.

Tell on her, a dark part of your mind offered, she is spewing sin. But if you told on her to the elders, then you would have to tell why the subject was even present in your conversation.

What if you would never see her again then? The mere idea of not getting to see her again, made you want to cry, even if you had barely talked.

The world outside our community is godless, they said, disgraceful and evil, with demons and fallen angels roaming among the humans. Leaving us is like surrendering your place in heaven with our Lord.

Yet you yearned. With each ring of the church bell, you wondered if you could find peace outside, even if it meant your eternal damnation.

No verses had the answers to why you were sick. They had tried to tell you many proved it, yet it was like it never quite fit.

As if God wouldn’t admit to you why he made you this way, even as you submitted to him.

You wanted Kate despite barely having talked to her, certain in your bones that something connected you. Whatever it was.

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You didn’t have a lot of opinions when it came to planning the wedding - it didn’t feel like yours anyways. You saw her, now and again. Glimpses of her as you looked at flower options with your mother at the little florist of the town. In church, next to her husband, never looking happy.

Your eyes met, but you never talked. Anger bubbled beneath your skin, remembering her saying it wasn’t a sickness.

Because if it wasn’t, truly wasn’t, like she had dared to say and you dared to dream, then you had spent four years in hell for nothing. Then you had endured four years of loneliness, surrounded by ghosts who merely reminded you of the words in the book that was your entire word. Watched every night by the painting of Christ, who said love thy neighbor like thyself , but according to the town that didn’t count if thy neighbor were gay.

It was the scars beneath your feet that ache after a long day, it was the darkness of the room you were abandoned in with your bible. These made you angry, when she dared to come here and say it wasn’t a sickness, that it wasn’t wrong.

Because… it was… wasn’t it?

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Despite your anger, the pleasure continued to grow in your abdomen until it became too much.

Pulling open the string of your pajama pants felt wrong, yet you did it, sliding your hand beneath the fabric, then beneath your underwear too. You were 24, you had touched yourself before but it had been years. The farm had snubbed any urge.

You thought of her hands, wandering over your skin, her soft looking, anxious bitten lips kissing yours. Skin pressed against yours, nails digging into it.

Your cunt was wet as you hesitantly touched yourself, fingers sliding in between the lips, the wetness feeling forbidden and sacred almost. It felt as if your body was on fire, a fire that you thought had been killed years ago, making you press your lips together to keep silent. To not let any sound escape your traitorous mouth that had lied for so long, electricity going through your bones as your fingers brushed your clit.

Whether Kate would touch you there or not, you dared to hope she would. You dared to hope that she would let you touch her, the sinful ideas mixing with the shame, though it only seemed to spur you on.

Toes curled, legs cramping and eyelashes fluttered as you came on two fingers, imagining Kate being next to you. Immoral, just like you.

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“Graves,” The name stumbled from your mouth as you stumbled back a few steps, feeling trapped in the garden, your back almost pressed against the apple tree, the fruits hanging around you, heavy on the branches. Your fingers gripped the basket with the apples so hard that you feared it might splinter beneath them.

“That’s my father, darling,” the older man pointed out, stepping closer, breathing a little heavy as he looked at you, confident smile on his lips as always, “I told you to call me Phillip, didn’t I?”

You let out a little huff, smiling at him the best you could, “yeah, sorry - Philip, then.”

“You look beautiful,” it dripped like honey soaked from his lips and you wondered for a moment, if the honey could be poisoned, if he was the snake in the garden - or if the sickness inside you were, “love your dress.”

He stepped closer, your heart quickening, yet not from excitement.

“T-thank you,” you managed, face heating up, eyes flickering towards the house, but you didn’t see any sign of your parents being home - had he just wandered into the garden, knowing you were home alone, “I uhm - why are you here, Phillip?”

He laughed, reaching out to take one of the apples out of your basket, big hand almost swallowing up the fresh fruit.

“What? Can’t I go lookin’ for my wife?” There was a boyish charm to him, you supposed. Most of the women in town would swoon for him and you wondered why he had decided on you.

“We’re not married yet,” you pointed out before you could help yourself, “you really shouldn’t be here, if our parents–”

“What? Think they will be upset about me being here?” he teased, free hand suddenly raising to gently caress your cheek, taking a hold of your chin, leaning closer, grip stopping you from pulling your head back, “I’m a man, darling - not a woman.”

You swallowed.

“Dirty thing,” he crooned, “I’m gonna heal you, yeah? Make you a good an’ proper woman.”

“I-I’m not dirty,” you whispered, barely believing your own words, “I was healed at the farm.”

He chuckled, dark and low, grinning so you could see his gums and you wondered if he would ruin you, bite from bite, take your life from you, “Not properly cured until you marry a man, hon.”

All you felt when he kissed you were burned saccharine and bitter fear. It was a short kiss but it burned on your lips, spreading nausea through your body like a plague, infecting your blood. He let go of you then, stepped back, winking as he raised the apple, “I’ll see ya’ soon, wifey.”

As he left the garden of Eden, the crisp sound of his bite of the fruit almost echoing, you couldn’t help but hope there was a worm in the apple.

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You went to church the next day, earlier than you were supposed to, promising to do your chores later. You needed to talk to God, Mary, Christ, whoever would listen, any saint who might help you feel clean again. Homosexual sin tainting your fingers from masturbation and burning impure lips from the unwelcome kiss from your future husband.

What were you thinking, they would say, you were sure, have you learned nothing? Have you gone mad, sick again from the devils and demons dancing inside your mind and body?

Christ hung on the crucifix in front of you as you sat on the pew, looking up at him. Would he consider you wicked too or had he forgiven you the moment he took upon humanity’s sins?

Would Saint Peter truly turn you away, push you from the loving home of heaven, to the dark, demonic –

“Hi.”

It was barely above a whisper, yet you felt as if it echoed throughout the church, into every crevice, making any statue or painting upon the walls look to the two of you. You turned on reflex, not to her, but to the everpresent church servant. The man was snoring gently, head resting against the cold wall behind him. Unaware of the other’s arrival.

Finally, your eyes met Kate’s, flowers blooming in the pit of your stomach as she smiled gently at you.

“Hi,” you dared to whisper back, watching her as she sat down next to you at the pew.

Silence grew for a moment and you listened to the vague snoring of the servant, your eyes moving to watch Christ on the cross once again. He hadn’t moved one bit since you last looked at him, eyes still on the ground in front of him.

“I’m sorry I upset you.”

Forgiveness - could you really offer her forgiveness, when deep down in your putrid organs, you knew that she was right? You looked over at her, a careful, worried expression on her face.

“It’s okay,” you answered, voice not as loud, “I - uhm… Was mean too.” A small smile appeared and you found yourself smiling back at her, despite your fear. For another moment you hesitated, unsure whether you should utter the truth at her or not. “I don’t want to marry him.”

The words made you feel small, but you continued, though you looked up at Christ once again, keeping your voice low, “but I don’t have a choice, do I?”

She was quiet for a moment, as if to agree with you silently. It was as Philip Graves had said, wasn’t it? A dirty thing who can only become pure again by marriage with a man.

“You do,” she whispered, “but it’s not an easy one.”

You almost jumped when her hand touched yours, warm and soft against your skin. A choice, an opportunity. You had an inkling that you already knew what she would suggest, a part of you wanting to stop her from doing so.

“Leave,” she whispered, the word sounding so simple, yet it was filled to the brim with danger, immorality… the unknown.

“I can’t,” it escaped like an instinct, “My home is here.”

“Is it a home if you cannot be yourself?” Her hand squeezed yours, “don’t let them convince you to marry, don’t make the same mistake as me. Please.”

The sound of the bells rang throughout the church, calling to the daily prayer. She stood suddenly, hand slipping away from yours, stepping to the pew on the opposite side, eyes turned towards the altar. A groan left the Church servant, who mumbled a little, surprised at the sight of you - but he made no other comment.

Don’t let them convince you to marry, don’t make the same mistake as me.

Was she, as an outsider, forced too? She was older than you, probably around 32 or something, but she had been here three years, while you were at the farm. Shepherd was older than her, probably only a few years, but the everpresent angry look always made him seem older.

The prayers tasted like ash at that Church sentence, not dripping as easily as they used to. You did your best to hide it, listening to the verses, worshiping like you were expected to.

Philip winked at you as he passed you on the way out. Creep.

Your eyes met Kate’s but you didn’t react and neither did she. It was like playing with fire - you were sure your parents wouldn’t find her company too agreeable.

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“He is your fiance,” your mother pointed out as you stared at the apples you were cutting up, trying to keep the scowl from your face,“I think a walk together near the lake would be a good idea. So you can get to know each other some more.”

“What if…” you didn’t know how to not express your already growing disdain for your future husband, “What if he wants to do something improper? Like, I don’t know, kiss?”

Your mother laughed, your father huffing from behind the local newspaper.

“Philip is a good man,” your mother said, patting your shoulder as she passed.

“I kissed your mother before marriage,” your father’s comment, calmly but with a hint of mischievousness, made your mother shriek.

“Edward! Don’t tell her that!”

“What? We did.”

The knife in your hand parted the piece of apple into two.

“That’s not proper,” you pointed out, the ever present reminders of what was improper and sinful and what was not that you learnt from the farm, the words you had to repeat, had to know, even in the middle of the night.

“It’s no sin,” your dad pointed out, “nothing wrong with a kiss or two.”

“Don’t kiss him if you don’t want to, darling girl,” your mother assured you, “besides, Philip would hardly ask you to do something like that.”

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“Kiss me?” Oh how you wished you still had the knife that you used to cut the apples, in the palm of your hand.

“Uhm, we really shouldn’t,” you pointed out, stepping back as he stepped forward, trying to keep some distance in between the two of you.

“C’mon baby, don’t be like that,” his hand shot out, grabbing your wrist. You tried twisting free instantly, fear overwhelming you as his smile slowly disappeared, his blue eyes seeming darker. You wanted to scream for help, but who would come to your rescue? You were almost halfway around the lake, away from most eyes, though it wouldn’t surprise you if there were some security cameras out here in the trees as well.

Before a loud enough sound could leave you, his hand was on your mouth and he was pushing you in between the bushes, up against a tree.

He touched you, like you had touched yourself that night in bed, thinking of Kate - but you weren’t crying out or fighting the pleasure now, instead it was the disgust that overwhelmed you, your lower half exposed as he had pulled your skirt up. Apparently he quickly grew bored of touching your cunt, unable to make you do anything but cry - but as he pulled out your cock, you truly panicked.

Hitting him in the chest, pulling his hand from your mouth. “nonononno, please -” “shut up-” “Phillip I can get pregnant-” He laughed, turning you so quickly you almost fell, pushing you against the tree, “Don’t worry baby, I’m not putting it in, just fucking your thighs–”

He did so, pressing your thighs together as you cried against the bark of the tree. As he grunted and moaned in your ear, you disappeared into your mind, back to the farm. Praying, bible reading, hard work, just like they had said, had filled your life for four years. Four terrible years, yet you would rather go back to the farm than this.

You wanted to feed the chickens and collect the eggs, you wanted to pet the sheep, making sure all of them returned in the evenings. You wanted to clean the wooden floors again, forced to do so while praying and singing hymns as a punishment for talking back.

You felt dirty afterwards, unsure of what really had happened but there was cum on your thighs as he pushed down the skirt.

“Don’t tell anyone, no? You tempted me, after all,” he pointed out as he fixed his shirt a second time, grinning as you sniffled.

You shook your head.

“Knew you were a smart girl, baby girl,” the words made you want to throw up and your eyes didn’t meet his, “Lemme get ya’ home.”

You didn’t tell your parents everything - and when your sister asked if you had kissed, you had shaken your head. Phillip is a good man, you had said, he will be a wonderful husband.

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A part of you wanted to leave the house and go directly to the priest, stare him in the eyes as you admitted that demons still hungered around your body, that you were still sick. That the homosexuality had never left your body, that only lies had dripped from your lips when you weren’t praying. Those four years had changed nothing but messed up your mind, not your sexuality.

Yet you refrained, instead going to the church early every day. Watching the church servant sleep, sitting on your pew, in the familiar spot, watching the altar. Wondering why God would do this to you. Why he would make you wrong in the eyes of the town, why he would send Phillip Graves to touch you against your will.

Almost every morning she would appear.

Sweet, beautiful Kate. Always kind and soft despite the world that surrounded the two of you. You dared to bring her a piece of cake at one point, one that you had baked yourself, loving how her face lit up at the sight. Basking in the praise she had given you in her whispers.

You would live, survive for those times with her in the church. Perhaps, that was why you didn’t admit to your sins, why you didn’t truly repent. Because, if they sent you away once more or locked you away inside a home, you wouldn’t be able to see Kate anymore.

Kate, who held your hand. Kate, who you dared to kiss on the cheek one morning two weeks later, as the church servant snored particularly loudly - who then framed your face with her wonderful hands and kissed you on the lips.

Every day that passed brought you closer to the day of the wedding, but also to Kate.

You didn’t need to ask to know that she was infected, just like you. That her organs were also rotten with sin, bones decaying from the want.

You dared to pull her to the bathroom of the church with you, listen to her whisper out oh God, taking the Lord’s name in vain as you ate her out, pride blossoming from it.

She came on your tongue, on your fingers. You came on hers too, on her thigh once.

Panties soaked the entire service that followed, the prayers and sermon barely understood, constantly reminded of how she had looked as you rode her thigh, muttering praises into your ear as you kept it down, as not to draw any attention.

The forbidden fruit had never tasted better, but you knew that it too would rot, given how close the wedding was.

You exchanged numbers but were too afraid to call or text, fearing being caught; you by your parents or by Phillip, her by her husband Shepherd.

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It wouldn’t last forever, that you knew, yet you had hoped it could.

“What were you doing in the church with Mrs. Shepherd?” your dad asked one day at the dinner table, giving you no time to figure out an answer or to truly understand how he would know.

“Praying,” you lied, the words feeling so familiar by now, despite the ashy taste, “We don’t talk together. We just pray.”

Your father was staring at you, eyes cold, anger possibly boiling just beneath his skin.

“Wilson said he never saw you two.” You could strangle the bloody church servant and his snoring body.

“Lies,” you merely answered, “Mr. Wilson sleeps every day in the back of the church. His snoring echoes, disturbing my prayers.”

He didn’t look convinced. You wanted to scream at him, to mind his own bloody business. To not judge you, to accept you and love you, despite what they deemed flaws.

“You can come with me yourself tomorrow - see how he sleeps in his chair, leant against the wall. Or hear it, I suppose - Mrs. Shepherd and I merely greet each other - nothing else.”

Somehow, the fact that you were willing to take him along - not really, but you wouldn’t mind proving your point, just to be able to continue your time with Kate - seemed good enough.

“Bloody always asleep, that man,” your father finally grumbled.

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There was a week until your wedding, the days having disappeared in between your fingers. You hadn’t been able to see Kate except during church service, not able to speak together or utter a word to each other - Shepherd's angry eyes would find you every time, staring you down. You did your best to ignore him, ignoring the judgment you were sure he had placed upon you and focused on the hymns. You tried worshiping the divine, in a desperate attempt to escape reality.

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The dress felt too tight. Modest, barely showing anything but you hands and head, nothing like you had dreamt of when you were a kid, nothing like you had seen in a magazine that you found when you were 13, buried in a book in the little library of the town.

“You look beautiful,” your mother whispered, voice wet, having cried all day. You felt hollowed out, watching yourself in a white dress as if you were a lamb, sent to slaughter.

“It’s tight,” you muttered, the seamstress removing a pin or two but not enough. Perhaps it wasn’t the size but merely the fact you didn’t want it.

Four days, then there would be nothing improper about all the things Graves had whispered that he wanted to do with you. Then your moments with Kate, excused by the lies of prayers and hymns, would stop. Then you couldn’t forget the world with the slightly older woman, who would tell you of the world outside. Of parades for sinners like you, where you could be accepted and loved for who you were. Of art and music, of books and poetry, of politics and of animals who weren’t kept merely for food.

It was simple, modest like everyone expected it to be. Long loose sleeves, ankle long skirt with white lace trim. Fake white flowers on the headband with the veil, pearls that Philip had gifted you for around your neck.

You had the feeling that your parents wanted to show you off, prove that they were good Christians who had raised a child that wasn’t lost. Who had been sick but was cured. The Graves family wanted to prove what great people they were, showing that you could be saved by the church even if Satan tried to claim you.

Philip wanted to show you off before he ruined you.

You cried then, when the seamstress said she would be ready with it in two days. Your mother took it for tears of joy and you lied once more, as you had for years, saying it was.

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“They’re saying she is becoming mad,” you heard them whisper, your body freezing, barely breathing as you tried listening. Your mother had people over for bible study but it was rarely actual studying.

“She was mad even before he got her,” one of the neighbors whispered, “told Shepherd didn’t I? Why would he take an outsider?”

“I heard Stacy say it was a favor for her parents —“

“She is probably going to the farm.”

You felt your mind spiral, almost dropping the basket of laundry, before you recognised your mother saying your name.

“- don’t want her to know. She is cured and healthy, but I don’t want her to think there is anybody sick in this town.”

“Might infect her again,” another neighbor pointed out, making you feel like you could barely breathe.

“God forbid,” your mother mumbled, “she is finally getting married. A baby or two will do her well.”

You abandoned the laundry basket in the hallway to find your phone.

You had seen some of the better families in town had fancy phones, with touch screens and everything. When younger you might have been overcome with jealousy but by now, you just felt relieved you had a phone to contact Kate with, old as it was.

Women aren’t supposed to fall in love with other women, they had said the day your fate was sealed, damning you to years on the farm without your family, abandoned with animals and prayers, verses read to you about how wrong you were, you’re not supposed to lust after another woman.

Sure, you had been 19 and the fire inside of you had turned to embers - and Kate was older, wiser, but if she was sent to the farm, the two of you would surely never see each other again.

Your fingers felt numb as you wrote out the message, knowing you would be in trouble if anyone ever found out you had sent it.

>They’re going to send you to the farm

You waited for a reply, but it didn’t come immediately like you had hoped.

Seconds turned to minutes and minutes turned to hours - all while you pretended everything was fine. You were with your family, listening to your mother pointing out everything they needed to get ready for your wedding. Your father talking about the money, your sister about dresses she could wear, about what hairstyles you should have.

In many ways Alice seemed more excited about your wedding than yourself. A part of you wondered if she ever found what it was about you that everyone declared an illness - or if she lived blissfully unaware of it. If she would marry for the sake of the family like you were forced to or if a young man from church would shyly appear on your doorstep and ask to court her.

If she wanted babies - while you didn’t. At least not with Philip. Not with any man. You just wanted Kate.

Kate, Kate. Your saint, your light in the dark, your guiding star in the evil that surrounded you.

Kate who had whispered that you had a choice but it wasn’t an easy one.

You knew she had been right then - and you knew she was right now.

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The air was cold as you crawled out the window, your small backpack strapped to your back, nails digging into the sill as you almost slipped. You managed to get a footing on the roof, slowly lowering yourself. There was a scent of rotting apples in the air, the last fruits rotting beneath the tree, while your organs flowered and grew stronger inside your body.

Because maybe you weren’t the rotten, sick one - possibly they were. And even if you were wrong, even if it was truly demons having possessed your mind and making you sin… then you would rather sin and rot together with Kate.

You wanted to live a life where you didn’t have to worry about what was wrong with you, every minute of the day - but one with Kate where you could sin in peace, perhaps in a town that didn’t hate you for the feelings you had for each other. You wanted a life without prayers, without the constant urge to seek forgiveness from a God that never showed you any love.

Or at the very least, you wanted a death with Kate. One where your rotten bodies could disappear together, melt into the ground and disappear, away from the people who had hated you for so long.

Despite the fear and the sweet, rotten scent of the apples, you felt the strongest you ever had as you crawled down the roof and jumped to the ground - even as you fell rather clumsily, making more noise than you had planned.

A window snapped open and you looked up, staring up at Alice. Neither of you spoke, merely staring up at her.

You wordlessly begged her, no, screamed at her to not tell, to not call out for your parents. Even in the vague light of the moon you could see her drown.

Young and confused, a good girl, who reminded you terribly of your mother. Whom you loved but didn’t trust - not anymore.

Finally, your sister moved her hands - quickly motioning for you to keep moving, not to come inside. You hoped she could see the thankful smile you sent her as you got up from the grass and moved towards the garden gate. Tomorrow they would find your letter on the pillow of your neatly done bed, written with your favorite pen, on heavy paper. On top of it, the engagement ring would rest, abandoned to be worn by somebody else who would have the misfortune of marrying Phillip Graves.

Your room would seem the same except for a few missing pieces. Pictures, phone, passport and the little money you had, would be gone. Pressed into that little backpack of yours, that was currently crossing the street, wary to not be seen by anyone.

There weren’t many words on the letter, you didn’t want to leave much behind, you didn’t want them to think you would forgive them.

You are the sick ones. I am sorry. Goodbye.

Your mother would cry in the morning, clutching the paper, while your sister would have laid there and expected it all night, knowing you had run away. Your father would perhaps be able to shed a tear. If not, you didn’t care. You wouldn’t be around to find out either way.

Guilt tried following you as you crossed another street, slipping in between houses to keep in the shadows, working your way towards the Shepherd’s house. Further than that you hadn’t planned but you couldn’t return now - you would rather try and fail, than to never have tried at all. The church loomed above you, letting you walk in the shadows of it, the bells not ringing and calling out your deed.

As if the church allowed you to pass, allowed you to continue your mission, whispering encouraging words for once instead of judgemental once. Blessing your decision to abandon everything, to abandon Christ, God.

You stopped outside of the Shepherd residence, your courage shaking for just a moment, unsure of how to get in - how to get in contact with Kate. By now your plans dried up, but you doubted you would ever have a possibility like this. Kate was worth the fear that burned inside you.

The door was locked - it shouldn’t come as a surprise, but it wasn’t uncommon to leave the door unlocked in your town, merely because you rarely dealt with crimes in that way- then it was outsiders who broke in. Checking several windows, doing your best to move silently around. However, you hadn’t learnt a lot from the last couple of years, other than taking care of animals, saying prayers, and singing hymns to cleanse your soul.

You found a half open window into what looked like a living room. You wished you could have crawled in discreetly, barely making a sound, like a ghost seeping into a new house to haunt.

Instead you fell onto a little table, which tipped over, a potted plant falling over, the pot shattering. The soil, barely visible in the dark, stained the floor with your fear.

However, silence still ruled the dark house, keeping you safe for now. For a moment, you wondered if there truly was a God who cared, just a little, for your broken soul.

That was until the lights turned on suddenly and the first thing you saw was a barrel pointed towards your head.

Herschel Shepherd had never seemed like a kind man to you, but a spiteful man, filled with greed and hatred. He was a respected man in the town, sure, and when he became a widower you were sure many of the other widowers dreamt of a marriage with him. He was rich, involved with the church and traveled with his company, that you didn’t even know what did. Especially after returning from the farm, seeing Kate next to him, never smiling despite having whom you considered a saint as a wife. The two of you had never talked about it but you suspected that he wasn’t a good husband. That perhaps he was open to the idea of sending away his wife, forcing her to manual labor in an isolated area for years in an attempt to control her even more.

You were willing to die for Kate, just so she shouldn’t see the room in which you had suffered. The painting of Jesus Christ who would be judging her day and night, the crucifix next to her bed, the never ending fields of loneliness, the constant repeating of the ashtasting verses and prayers, the dying hymns about love for a God that had never loved you.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” He snarled, not lowering the shotgun despite seeing it was only you, an unarmed member of the church.

Like a monster stepping out from a fairytale book, or a demon, ready to stop the noble Christian knight from his goal. You barely managed to speak before he did so again.

“Bloody roach,” he hissed, venom spitting from his mouth, “they should have abandoned you at the farm, let you stay mad and broken out there”

“Fuck you.” You were proud of how your voice barely shook as you blurted it out, how you got to your feet, staring at the only man in between the one you were ready to love forever.

“Shooting you will be—“ You hadn’t seen Kate come up behind him before the lamp collided with his head.

As blood splattered, you found yourself even more in love than before. Like embers filled up every bone in your body, your heart ringing its own church bells, declaring it true love. Perhaps you shouldn’t be turned on by her committing a violent act like that, yet it did, because Kate did it for you.

Kate was a savior, a knight in shining armor, even if she merely wore nightdress and a gown, her sword nothing but a wooden lamp that had blood stains on it now.

Her blue eyes staring down at the dragon that had kept her captive for years, in her own kind of hell - before your eyes finally met.

The lamp was abandoned on the floor next to Shepherd and you met halfway in the living room, embracing each other for only a short moment, before pressing your lips against each other’s.

Starved for the acceptance you had found in a woman in church, who you fell in love with, even when you knew it could end horrendously for the both of you.

Foreheads pressed against each other as you both breathed hard, fingers running over the other’s hair, face shoulders. As if to make sure it wasn’t a dream or hallucination, that you were actually both standing there in the room.

“You ok?” You whispered and her eyes flickered to the man on the floor before she answered, voice strong and steady, “yeah, better than I’ve been for years.”

You finally dared to look down at Sherpherd.

“Is he dead?” You asked, as if you only realized what she had done.

Sin sin sin sin sin sin

Killing was a sin. It was a big sin, or was one of the worst, it was— he was breathing, you realized. Chest moving up and down, even as blood from the wound from where the lamp had connected, sept into the carpet beneath him, staining it. Shotgun next to him. You could kill him. It would be an easy kill even, you would just have to take the gun, point it to his head and pull the —

“No - he will wake in a couple of hours with a headache,” Kate confirmed, hand then grabbing yours, “we can’t stay here, sweetheart.”

Sweetheart. You liked that nickname.

“I know, I mean, I’m here to get you out-“ your words stumbled from your mouth as you followed her, only to be quieted down by a kiss. It was deeper than before even if it wasn’t long, a small whine escaping you as she pulled away again once more.

It was water after thirst, it was sun warming your skin after freezing in the snow.

“My hero,” she whispered, touching your cheek, her blue eyes watering just a little, even as she clearly tried keeping them back, continuing,“and I know where the car keys are.”

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

Leaving the town felt wrong on so many levels. By escaping its clutches, painful and sharp, you also abandoned what you considered your home and the safety of the church. The community it had given you throughout the years, the promises of a better afterlife, without eternal suffering.

You wanted to throw up, beg her to stop the car, fear crawling inside your throat and filling your lungs, making sobs escape as you shook. You wanted to run back, let Kate escape.

She kept driving, constantly looking over at you, as you curled together in the passenger seat next to her; she touched your shoulder, held your hand, petted your hair. Whispering sweet words, that weren’t prayers, that weren’t promises of a God who would look over the two of you. But of how the two of you would be alright, how you would figure things out.

How she could get you out of the country, how the two of you could start somewhere new, somewhere safe.

Create your own paradise. Together.

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

The two of you didn’t stop driving for hours - only stopping at a gas station to get more gas and some food. If the two of you looked weird, you in an oddly modest long blue dress, soil on it, with red and puffy eyes, Kate in a morning gown pulled tight around her waist, well then the cashier was nice enough to keep his mouth shut.

You watched the world pass by, watched nature change, the endless fields, the cows, different kinds of cars you had never seen before began to pass.

It was at the second stop at a gas station that you dared to stop for good. Car pulled to the side, Kate’s hand shaking as she took your phone and pressed a number. Then she waited, your hand holding her free hand.

The two of you sat in the backseat of the fancy car that Shepherd always rode. Hours had passed since you abandoned the town, the church, your family, your God, everything. You wondered if they had found your letter by now, if they were trying to call your phone, only to realize you had blocked them.

You wondered who they would blame; the two of you or God.

“Price,” you heard a gruff voice say.

“John,” Kate could barely say the name, voice almost trembling and you wanted to hold her tight, crawl into her lap and embrace her into a hug she couldn’t escape.

“Kate?” The sound of disbelief, as if he had never expected to hear her voice again; as if she had been considered dead, had risen again. You were pretty sure you could hear a British accent to his voice, one you had only heard in movies, “Is that really you?”

“It is - I, John – fuck - we need you and the boys’ help. If your offer still stands.”

“Always Kate,” the certainty in his voice made you want to cry, “no matter where you are.”

—--

You abandoned the car in a random town and took a bus to the next town over, that would be close to where they would pick you up, Kate explained.

That night you slept in a motel together, close, breathing in each other’s air. Kissing each other, watching the other’s chest, just to make sure the other was alive. You listened to her heart before falling asleep, your head resting on her chest. A part of you wished that you could crawl inside her ribcage, in an attempt to get closer to her heart, to make sure she would never stop living

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

You had never seen an actual helicopter this close. Once one had passed over the farm, but that was years ago and it had barely been visible. You stood next to her, your fingers intertwined with Kate’s, just like you wanted your ribs to be. You weren’t necessarily proud of how you hid halfways behind her, but she seemed so calm around the machine - which meant she had probably been around some before. Both of your clothes were moving wildly due to the air from the wings, the grass laying down as if it was a divine figure who appeared from the sky, to offer you a way to safety.

You wanted to kiss her, as you had the night before in the motel, not caring if the sins would swallow you whole, drag you to hell and let you burn for all eternity. You would eat all forbidden fruits, if it meant another minute with her - no matter how scared you were of the world outside.

No matter how much the sight of five men stepping out from the helicopter, with the engine slowly stopping, walking towards you scared you, you stayed right there with Kate. The men who stepped out seemed like divine symbols of sins, of fallen angels, ready to welcome you into the damned eternity. No verses or prayers could save you now.

One of the angels wore a skull mask, a clear representation of death and while you trusted Kate with your life, wanted to trust these men too, since she said they were close friends, you wondered what life she had lived before coming to the town, before becoming Shepherd's wife.

Before meeting you.

She let go of your hand when they got close and you almost wanted to cry, wanted to beg her not to abandon you. But then she stepped forward to embrace the man who reached them first. He wore some sort of hat you hadn’t seen before, an oddly shaped beard too – a military uniform of some sort, they all did.

“Kate,” he said, before embracing her hard and you watched how his fingers fisted in the night gown, as if afraid she would disappear in front of you. Then his eyes found yours; while you had escaped some sort of anger, some sort of judgment or perhaps a facial expression that proved that you shouldn’t trust it, there was none. Instead his eyes and face softened at the sight of you, not looking away until he and Kate broke the embrace, his eyes almost seeming shiny as he held her face in his hands, saying it was good to see her again. Then he turned to you, while Kate turned to the next man, greeting somebody called Nikolai, who twirled her around, but you were busy fearing the other man.

He offered you his hand, movement slow, as if he could see that you were like a skittish deer, ready to bolt at the sign of any danger.

“I’m John Price,” he said as he gently shook your hand, “An old military friend of Kate.”

You told him your name, even as it tasted a little foreign on your tongue, like you had to admit who you were, to a stranger for the first time. An outsider.

“I’m…”

What were you? Somebody who had fallen in love the moment you saw Kate, who had spent years being told you were wrong, who was supposed to be married today but who had instead run off with the woman that made your heart beat.

“My girlfriend,” Kate said, “She is my girlfriend.”

Warmth enveloped your entire body and Price didn’t look upset instead he smiled. Looking happy for you, for Kate, a reaction so alien to you that you barely believed it.

The others introduced themselves. Nikolai - who also spun you around, saying you were already loved by him, much to your confusion - then the demon-looking man who introduced himself as Simon or Ghost, as if you could decide what kind of danger you wanted him to be. Then Kyle - or Gaz - who thanked you for taking care of Kate, even if he knew nothing about what happened, why the hell Kate Laswell was out in the middle of a field, wearing only a night dress and gown, why a messy looking woman in a long dressed stood next to her, looking like she was ready to run. Then Soap - or Johnny, he had added with a grin, who said he didn’t know Kate, but that his team trusted her, so he did too - as well as you. But during the whole thing, your thoughts rummaged around the word girlfriend.

You were Kate’s girlfriend. She took your hand afterwards and you smiled at her, as if you saw her for the first time once more, hoping to wordlessly tell her how much you loved her, even if you didn’t dare to whisper the words out loud.

You curled up next to her in the helicopter, afraid of the sounds, the feeling of flying, of everything. She kept her arm around you, offering you safety once more, from the overwhelming world you had never been in before.

“What the ‘ell happened, Kate?” Simon or the grim reaper looking man asked, an accent that you suspected to be some kind of British, voice rough through the microphone. You didn’t look at Kate, weren’t sure how she would even explain this. You weren’t even sure how to explain it. It had been your entire life after all.

“It’s a long story,” Kate said, giving your shoulder a squeeze, “I’ll tell you later. When we’re safe somewhere.”

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

The UK was gray most of the time, but you didn’t really care, had grown accustomed to it as time passed.

Kate was still the light of your life. She was often busy, but you didn’t mind, knowing her burning passion for her work. You worked in a library a couple of hours a week, even if she had enough money to let you do whatever you wanted and never work another hour of your life. You went to therapy, a lot in the beginning but less and less as the years passed and you got better.

You were slowly forgetting the words of the hymns you had grown up with, and the verses forced upon you. It had taken years, but you felt like a good person. Not a sick, sinful one, even though the urge to repent made its ugly return once and again - it was easier to dismiss now, easier to talk about.

Reborn into a human being who made her own choices. Who could love who she wanted.

You had brought a house in the suburbs, big enough that you were able to have some chickens in the garden and two cats. They kept you company and kept you busy, the chickens following you around the garden, the cats sleeping in your laps and on you stomach whenever Kate was at work.

You were forever grateful for Kate’s friends, who helped you assimilate to the world, to Britain, their partners' close friends too by now. You liked looking after John’s and Kyle’s son, Johnny’s, Simon’s and their girlfriend’s dogs. Like drinking coffee or eating together with their partners or family members - you had managed to get friends through the library, who introduced you to so much literature and media that you had never even dreamt of existed.

Though, it was always Kate who brought you the most joy. You had married her, a year after you escaped together, which was a little over a decade ago. It wasn’t anything like what was planned up to the wedding you were supposed to have had with Phillip. A marriage that apparently wouldn’t even be official and recognised by the government, since the town wouldn’t tell anyone about it. Kate’s marriage wasn’t even valid, so nothing stopped the two of you from marrying.

It was nothing wild, no church, nothing you had to live up to. Your rings were simple, so were your clothes. It was at town hall, it was small and simple, John, Simon, Johnny and Kyle your witnesses - their partners, more of Kate’s friends and the few others you had met outside, ready to celebrate you. It reminded you more of a birthday party or barbeque, something like that, nothing formal. Casual clothes, food made on the grill and in the kitchen, eaten in the garden. Games played, alcohol drunk, music that you never listened to before playing softly. It was happy, simple, with Kate kissing your hand and pulling you away to kiss your lips, making you whine happily.

You finally felt happy, cured. Not from the love you had for Kate, but from the hatred and pain that had been forced on you all of your life. A life that you were ready to spend with Kate.

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