#impassioned vice

[problematic-faves-appreciation]

Rampart and the bombardment of Tipoca City.

[teamstormbow]

Nothing sounds more romantic than the Italian past perfect tense. That golden, nostalgic feeling... undefeatable.

[pin-k-ink]

OMG AJABAJANAUABAJA I WANNA KNOW HOSHINA'S REACTION IF HE GOT U PREGNANT AND U GUYS ARE NOT READY FOR THE BABY YET!!! 🤭🤭🤭 (idk how u can add sum smut in it but pls do)

the sidelines // hoshina soshiro

tw ⇢ hoshina being extremely overprotective, mentions of marriage, unplanned pregnancy, hoshina is absolutely down bad, dry humping, grinding, making out, cunnilingus, cum-eating, unprotected sex, multiple rounds, dirty talk, daddy kink, manhandling

wc ⇢ 7.8k

a/n: did i do it right?? 😭

"I'm tellin' ya Captain, she called me a kumquat-headed skid mark!" Hoshina groaned, raking a hand through his already disheveled bob. "My own girl hittin' me with bizarre insults before I've even had my morning coffee."

Ashiro leveled him with a long-suffering look over the rim of her mug. "Is that so? And what prompted such...creative name-calling from your girlfriend this morning, pray tell?"

Hoshina opened his mouth to respond, but then his expression did an abrupt 180 as his mind seemed to drift elsewhere entirely. A slow, dopey grin spread across his face as his eyes went slightly unfocused in a way Ashiro recognized all too well.

"Actually, funny you should mention promptin'..." he began in a tone thick with suggestion. "Because just last night, [Y/N] was feelin' pretty prompt herself when I—"

"Nope!" Ashiro swiftly cut him off with a raised palm, having heard enough. "I'm going to stop you right there before you start oversharing details that will scar me for life again, Hoshina."

Hoshina blinked, the hazy reverie evaporating as he registered her irritation. He had the decency to look slightly abashed, the tips of his ears pinking.

"Err...right. My bad, Captain." Clearing his throat gruffly, he forcibly dragged his mind back on topic. "Anyway, like I was sayin' - for some reason [Y/N] was in a totally foul mood this morning. Snappin' at me, stormin' around, almost took my head off with a shoe when I asked if she was okay..."

Trailing off with a perplexed frown, Hoshina searched Ashiro's impassive features. "Ya don't think...I mean, she can't be, y'know..."

He made a vague gesture towards his midsection accompanied by an exaggerated widening of his eyes.

Ashiro's brows hiked upwards as she processed his insinuation. "You're wondering if she's expecting?"

She watched realization slowly bloom across Hoshina’s features, only for him to instantly dismiss it with an indignant shake of his head.

"What? No way, there's no chance of that!" he scoffed, a touch too emphatic to be completely convincing. "We're always super careful, if ya know what I mean."

Here he waggled his eyebrows in a ridiculous attempt at subtlety that made Ashiro want to down the rest of her coffee in one burning gulp.

"Trust me, Captain, she’s not pregnant. At least not yet..." Hoshina added with a wolfish grin. "But a guy can dream, am I right?"

Smothering the urge to drop her head into her hands, Ashiro simply gave a longsuffering sigh. "Then if not an incoming arrival, what does the esteemed Vice Captain believe is causing his girlfriend's...let's call it, mercurial morning temperament?"

Hoshina’s bravado dimmed slightly as he actually stopped to ponder the question, fingers drumming idly on the tabletop.

"Well, could be she's still pissed about me forgettin' to fill up her snack stash again," he mused, brow furrowed. "You know how [Y/N] gets when she runs low on munchies..."

Trailing off, a lightbulb seemed to blink on behind his eyes as the truth dawned on him.

"Oh damn, it's 'cause I turned the TV off durin' that romantic movie marathon last night!" Hoshina burst out with a groan, smacking his palm to his forehead dramatically. "She always gets bent out of shape when I ruin her 'stories' like that. Shoulda just stuck it out through the last five Mr. Darcy remakes instead of suggestin' we fu—"

"Not another word!" Ashiro hastily cut him off again, fighting off the burning creep of a blush. "I think I have enough of an idea what triggered your girlfriend's...mood without the graphic play-by-play, thank you."

Snatching up her emptied mug, she fixed Hoshina with a flat look over one shoulder. "My advice? Buy her some fresh snacks, rent a few cheesy romance movies, and do not try to distract or debate her until this blows over. Consider it an order from your commanding officer."

With that, she pivoted on her heel and strode off, leaving a mildly cowed Hoshina sipping his coffee in begrudging silence. Buying peace with treats and chick flicks it was then...at least until your mercurial spell passed for whatever incomprehensible reason.

Hoshiro wandered the halls of the Defense Force headquarters feeling vaguely unsettled after his chat with Ashiro over breakfast. Sure, he had joked and waved off her suggestion that your recent moodiness could be due to pregnancy. But a nagging little voice persisted in the back of his mind, whispering 'what if?'

Shaking his head firmly, he tried to dislodge the notion. No, there was absolutely no way you could be...in that condition without him realizing, right? He knew your body's cycles and patterns like the back of his hand after all this time together. If you were unexpectedly harboring a bun in the oven, Hoshina was confident he would have sensed it.

With a self-assured nod, he rounded the corner towards the usual sectors where he expected to find you catching up on training sims or combat prep. Except after poking his head into the third empty rec room, realization dawned that you must have already deployed for a mission while he was grabbing food.

"Dummy," Hoshina chided himself, spinning on his heel to trace his steps back towards the central operations hub. "Shoulda checked the boards first before wanderin' around aimlessly."

Sure enough, as soon as he entered the massive tech-walled nerve center, the main display showed a seemingly routine reconnaissance op already underway. There you were, rendered in a slightly grainy live feed from your combat suit's visual input - deftly scouting the rubbled outskirts of a kaiju-ravaged sector.

Despite himself, Hoshiro felt his lips quirking up in a fond smile as he watched your focused movements, the slight furrow in your brow as you signaled for your platoon to hold position. Even just the tiny visual was enough to settled him, the lingering worries from Ashiro's suggestion fading like bad static.

You looked alert, capable, radiating that intense air of quiet fortitude he had come to love and admire over the years. Ashiro had been way off base with her misguided theory - there was clearly nothing out of the ordinary with his girl as far as Hoshina could tell.

His attention drifted from the main visual feed to the peripheral unit showing the hard data and biometrics streaming in from each combat suit. It was there that Hoshina frowned, perplexed by the readout displayed next to your name. Unless he was misreading things, which seemed unlikely given his extensive field experience, the sensors appeared to be detecting...two separate life signatures?

A second heartbeat synced up alongside the expected readouts from your suit's internal monitoring array.

"Okonogi-chan, ya seein' this too?" he called out, tone laced with confusion as he angled towards the operations leader overseeing the various data streams. "These readings from [Y/N]'s suit can't be right..."

The girl frowned, fingers already flying across her haptic interface as she pored over the same readouts. There was a strange tension lingering around her brown eyes that immediately set off warning flares in the back of Hoshina’s mind.

"No, Vice Captain, I'm afraid the data isn't glitching or throwing false positives," she said at last, voice carefully measured in a way that did nothing to settle his growing disquiet. "Those two biorhythmic signatures are genuine."

She glanced back up, finding Hoshina's gaze laser-locked on her with sudden, undivided intensity boring straight through. For a long moment, the only sound was the filtered ambient noise of your voice calling out terse status updates over the open channel.

Then Okonogi cleared her throat slightly, realizing she would have to be the one to voice the breathtaking implication they were both rapidly arriving at despite his earlier dismissals.

"It seems Platoon Leader [Y/N] is...well, she's currently tracking with metabolic readings consistent with...with an active pregnancy."

Hoshina could only gape at Okonogi, her words rebounding inside his skull in a maddening loop as the undertones gradually sank in. An active pregnancy...metabolic readings...biorhythmic signatures...

For a suspended moment, every shred of the Vice Captain's renowned unflappability and combat poise deserted him entirely. He simply stared, dumbstruck, as the revelation washed over his consciousness in a cascading torrent.

His [Y/N] was…

Pregnant. With child. His child. Harboring new life within that deceptively sturdy frame he had mapped with fevered lips and calloused palms more times than he could count over their years together.

The very idea should have sparked euphoria, giddy elation, any number of transcendent emotional responses from the man who secretly harbored dreams about one day starting a family with you. And yet, as the implications filtered through Hoshiro's whirlwind thoughts, all he could latch onto was a single, fervent litany pounding through his psyche:

Danger.

You were in danger, even if the current mission objective read as relatively low-stakes recon. Hell, you, his beautiful, strong-willed warrior was unknowingly putting yourself in harm's way just by waking up and drawing breath each morning in that condition. Every cell in Hoshina’s body combusted with the compulsive drive to neutralize that threat immediately.

The realization of your undetected pregnancy catalyzed an instantaneous shift within Hoshina’s demeanor, as if someone had thrown an switch converting him to maximum combat-readiness in a nanosecond. Gone was the usual sly, irreverent banter - his features settled into an immutable mask of grim determination.

"Okonogi-chan, abort [Y/N]'s mission immediately and recall her back to base," he barked out in a tone broking zero disagreement. "Platoon Leader [L/N] is officially relieved of all active duty obligations until further notice."

The young operations leader started at his clipped order, eyes widening slightly before darting back towards the readouts in evident uncertainty. "Vice-Captain, this is merely a recon run through the city’s outskirts," she began carefully. "All environmental scans have confirmed no kaijus remaining in that area. [Y/N]'s platoon is at virtually zero risk carrying out their objective."

Hoshina’s jaw tightened fractionally, terse patience already fraying in the wake of her mild pushback. "Your data interpretation is duly noted, Okonogi-chan," he ground out through gritted teeth. "But I ain’t takin' any chances, no matter how small, where [Y/N]'s wellbein' is concerned right now. Not with..."

He trailed off, subtly inclining his head towards the secondary monitor displaying those two synced biorhythmic signatures. Okonogi's expression flickered with understanding, but she still looked torn about defying protocols over something so seemingly innocuous.

"Okonogi," Hoshiro growled out her name in low warning as the tense beat stretched. He took a single step forwards, unconsciously widening his stance in an unmistakable tell of escalating aggression. "I said abort the operation and recall [Y/N]. That's a direct order I expect ya to carry out immediately, do I make myself clear?"

The sudden spike in intensity made the younger woman flinch back reflexively, mahogany eyes going wide. For several charged seconds, she could only stare back at Hoshina’s stonefaced scowl, tension radiating off him in palpable waves. Then, seeming to wilt beneath the weight of his authority, Okonogi gave a tight nod of acquiescence.

Swallowing hard, she began executing a series of inputs on the holographic interface, opening a priority channel to feed directly into your active earpiece. Hoshina followed her motions peripherally, arms crossed over his chest and jaw still locked in a rictus line.

"Platoon Leader [L/N], this is Okonogi from the Operation Room," Okonogi spoke steadily into the comm pickups, keeping her tone officially neutral. "Your reconnaissance mission has been cancelled due to unspecified priority reassignment. Please confirm."

For a long stretch, there was only silence broken by faint audible static. Hoshina felt his heartrate kick up another notch as the delay stretched on, every instinct screaming at him to intervene and force your compliance through sheer verbal dominance if need be. Then your voice crackled back over the speakers, clear surprise and defiance laced through each clipped syllable.

"Say again? I must have had some interference, because I could have sworn you just recalled my team from a routine operation without explanation."

Okonogi darted a nervous glance towards Hoshiro, but received only a hard, expectant look in return. She wet her lips before repeating, "Affirmative, Platoon Leader. All Third Division assets currently in Sector Delta are to immediately abort their mission profile and return to—"

"The hell?!!" Your sharp retort crackled with enough force to make the operator flinch. "We're barely three klicks from the primary recon area and holding steady positions. I demand justification for this inexplicable overruling."

Your obstinance was to be expected, of course - Hoshina felt his lip twitch fondly even despite the urgency of the situation. But this was hardly the time to coddle your predictable prickliness. Not when such vast, unknowable dangers now surrounded your unwitting circumstances. Stepping up to the console, he brusquely took over the broadcast with a hand wave dismissing Okonogi.

"Sounds like ya didn't get the full meanin' the first time, Platoon Leader," he growled out in a tone dripping with iron authority. "So allow me to make this order explicitly clear - you and yer team are to disengage from yer current objective and report back to Tachikawa Base for immediate stand-down and reassignment under my direct supervision."

He paused a beat to allow the weight of his words to settle before continuing in an octave that brokered zero argument.

"Non-compliance will result in official charges of willful insubordination towards yer Vice Captain with all resulting disciplinary actions and demerits. Is that understood?"

There was another protracted silence over the open channel. Hoshina could vividly envision you practically sputtering with indignant rage at the brush-off, practically able to see the way your eyes would narrow to thin slits of mutiny while your jawline grew taut and unyielding. But behind it all lurked a deeper current of defiance fueled by something beyond mere wounded pride - the foundational belief in your own fortitude and unwavering capability. The self-same strengths he had always loved, even as they set you frustratingly at odds when he tried to implement protective measures.

When your response finally filtered through, it was clipped and frosty with clearly audible displeasure. "Orders received and understood, Vice Captain. We're heading back now."

But Hoshina already knew that wouldn't be the end of this particular confrontation...

The armored transport rumbled into the hangar bay, and Hoshina was right there waiting - arms folded and combat boots planted wide in an unmistakable stance of stern authority. The moment you stepped out, he could see the spark of defiance blazing in your eyes, lips already parted to let him have it.

Before you could unleash your tirade, Hoshina closed the gap in two long strides. He grabbed you by the shoulders and crushed his mouth against yours in a forceful, searing kiss that instantly doused the righteous flames licking at your tongue.

You went rigid initially, taken by surprise at his bold move to shut you up. But within moments, Hoshina felt the fight bleed out of your lithe frame as you melted against his solid bulk with a muffled whimper. Just as he knew you would.

Hoshina drank down the needy little noises spilling from your lips greedily, delving his tongue past the plush seam to explore the warm cavern of your mouth with slow, thorough sweeps. His large hands roamed down to palm the sloping curves of your waist and hips, pulling your lower body flush against the insistent bulge rapidly straining at the front of his fatigues.

Only once he had mapped every lush inch and left you a trembling, breathless mess did Hoshina finally tear his mouth away with a final nip at your swollen lower lip. He didn't even try to hide the smug satisfaction curling his lips as he took in your dazed, lust-blown expression.

"Save the bitching for later, baby girl," he rumbled in that low, gruff timbre that never failed to make your thighs clench. "We've got way more important things to discuss first..."

Without waiting for your inevitable objection, Hoshina snagged your wrist in one calloused hand and tugged you along behind him, leading you down the nearest unoccupied corridor. As soon as you rounded the corner into the vacant passage, he spun and pinned you against the wall with his solid weight, caging you in with tree-trunk forearms braced on either side of your head.

"Let's start with ya tellin' me why the fuck my girl thought it was okay to suit up for combat while keeping a pretty big secret from me," Hoshina ground out, eyes blazing with an intensity that made your breath catch in your throat.

You blinked up at him, utterly bewildered by the sudden accusation and possessive fervor radiating off him in palpable waves.

"Wh-what secret?" you managed after a moment, mind racing to figure out what had him so riled up. "Soshiro, I have no idea what you're talking abou—"

He cut you off with a low, rumbling growl that seemed to vibrate straight through your bones. Abruptly, his entire demeanor shifted from simmering anger into tightly leashed intensity. Hoshina leaned back just enough to allow his piercing stare to rake over your body in a heavy, lingering caress.

You squirmed self-consciously under the smoldering weight of his scrutiny until his gaze finally settled on your midsection with undisguised focus. One of his large, calloused hands drifted down to splay over the soft plane of your abdomen, fingers flexing almost...possessively against the material of your suit.

"You're pregnant, [Y/N]," he stated in a low rasp choked with barely restrained emotion. "Carrying my brat whether ya realized it or not."

The blunt words hung in the hushed air for a suspended beat, seeming to leech all oxygen from the cramped corridor. You could only gape up at him, speechless and reeling as the enormity of his revelation ricocheted through your consciousness.

Pregnant? You were pregnant? With...with Hoshina’s child?

A thousand different thoughts and responses clamored for attention in your mind as the reality slowly sank its razor-tipped hooks past the layers of shock. But before you could sort through the jumbled tangle of emotions, Hoshina pressed on in that same low, gravelly murmur.

"The readings from yer latest mission tripped the recognition protocols," he explained, hand still molding to the subtle swell of your abdomen with soul-searing tenderness. "Showed two distinct heartbeats synchronized together - yours..." He paused, swallowing hard as his throat worked convulsively. "And our baby's."

On the last two words, Hoshina’s voice cracked audibly with a hairline fracture of vulnerability he rarely allowed to breach his tough exterior. You saw his jaw ticking as he visibly struggled to regain his composure, thick lashes lowering to veil the maelstrom swirling in those indigo depths.

For several thumping heartbeats, the only sound was the hollow pounding of blood roaring in your ears as your mind attempted to catch up. Then you felt Hoshina shift fractionally, the first stirrings of tension re-entering the iron-carved lines of his shoulders and neck.

"The real question is..." he rumbled out after clearing his throat gruffly. "Did ya already know about this, and just neglected to tell me? Or are ya as oblivious as I was until a few goddamn minutes ago?"

The spark of anger reigniting in the graveled rasp made you flinch instinctively. You quickly shook your head in a frantic negative, still too overwhelmed to vocalize any response beyond the raw, visceral turmoil of emotions roiling in your gut.

For a fleeting moment, Hoshina’s expression wavered in what you could've sworn was disappointment before the fierce scowl slammed back into place. That split-second flicker was all the confirmation you needed to understand his meaning.

Just like that, your voice found itself again on a trembling exhalation edged with the first fissures of hurt and confusion cracking through the layered shock.

"You thought...you thought I would deliberately keep something like this from you?" you rasped out in a bare whisper. "That I would risk not just my own safety, but our...our child's life by..."

You broke off, throat constricting as a swell of tears blurred your vision unexpectedly. Swiping at them angrily, you leveled Hoshina with a wounded glare as a protective arm curled around your midsection.

"How could you even consider that I would—"

Before you could finish that accusatory question, Hoshina surged forward and silenced you with another fierce, claiming kiss. This time there was no initial surprise or hesitation on your part - you melted against him instantly with a low keen muffled between your joined mouths.

Hoshina wasted no time deepening the liplock, his questing tongue sweeping past your pliant defenses to map every velvet inch with ardent dedication. One hand cradled the back of your skull, thick fingers threading through your hair as he angled your faces for even deeper penetration. The other roamed down your side to palm your hip and grind your lower bodies flush together, ensuring you felt every rigid inch of his erection.

You arched helplessly against him with a whimpering exhalation, suddenly unbearably aware of Hoshina’s sheer size and virile strength engulfing you so completely. Tiny sparks of pleasure lanced straight to your core each time his hips rolled in a possessive grind, rekindling the deepest cravings he always stoked so easily within you.

Just as your lungs began burning with the need for air, Hoshina finally relented enough to tear his mouth from yours with a harsh inhalation. You panted harshly against each other's slick, swollen lips, gazes locked in a heated battle of wills as the world slowly reoriented around you.

"Ya know why I considered it, baby girl," he growled out at last, voice rendered even more gravel-rough from your passionate exchange. Hoshina shifted his stance infinitesimally, using his superior bulk to crowd you more thoroughly against the bulkhead. "Because ya have a nasty habit of puttin' everyone else's safety before yer own without hesitation. And I'll be damned if I stand by and let that selfless bullshit continue now that you've got precious cargo on board."

As if to punctuate his point, Hoshina dragged his palm from the flare of your hip down to cup your abdomen again in a shockingly tender caress completely at odds with his gruff demeanor. You felt your breath hitch in your throat as he stroked your skin reverently, eyelashes fluttering.

"This changes everything, [Y/N]," he murmured in a tone caught between wonder and quiet ferocity. "Our priorities, the risks we can’t allow, the future we need to start considering beyond just the next mission... Yer gonna be a mother to my child, ready or not. And I'll rip this entire base apart before I let ya jeopardize that role over some misguided sense of duty."

There was an edge of steel underscoring every word, daring you to defy the irrefutable truth he laid out. You could feel tension re-accumulating between your joined frames once more as the severity of the situation reasserted itself in the wake of Hoshiro's brief emotional lapse.

Drawing yourself up as much as his looming stance would allow, you opened your mouth to offer a retort - only to be silenced again as Hoshina’s palm flattened against the wall beside your head with a muted thump of emphasis.

"Don't even try arguin'," he cut you off with a low, impatient growl as your lips pursed mutinously. "I know you, [Y/N]. I know that stubborn defiance yer gearin' up to unleash because ya can't stand being sidelined or coddled for any reason. Well this time there's no goddamn debate - yer grounded."

You sucked in an outraged breath, fully prepared to vehemently protest such a unilateral decision curtailing your duties. But before you could unleash the torrent of objections burning in your larynx, Hoshina leaned in until his forehead was nearly touching yours and his next words emerged in a resonant, thrumming murmur.

"I don't give a fuck how indignant ya are, baby. You can rage and scream at me all ya want once we get back to my quarters. But while my child resides beneath yer heart..." Here he paused to splay his palm over the slight swell of your abdomen again with clear reverence. "Ya belong hidden away from any harm, understood? This isn't open for discussion."

The charged silence hung between you like a taut highwire after Hoshina’s implacable declaration. You could feel the sparks of defiance sizzling beneath your skin, that infamous stubborn streak demanding you not acquiesce so easily to being sidelined. And yet...when you parted your lips to unleash your objections, all that emerged was a soft, begrudging huff.

Some deep-rooted part of you instinctively understood the simple truth driving Hoshina’s hardline stance. He wasn't trying to control you out of some misplaced alpha male bluster. In that moment, with his palm reverently cupped over the slight swell harboring your shared offspring, Hoshina embodied the pure essence of an ancient protector archetype. His sole priority was safeguarding the new life taking root, no matter how it constrained either of your usual roles.

And truly, what objection could you muster against that? What retort could possibly overcome the blazing intensity of love and ferocious devotion burning in his eyes as they bored into yours?

So instead of spitting denials, you held Hoshina’s smoldering stare and gave a terse nod of reluctant acceptance. You wouldn't fight him on this, not now...not when the two of you were now defending much more than just your own lives.

The minuscule surrender had an instantaneous effect on Hoshina’s granite countenance. You saw the bands of tension framing his eyes and jaw loosen infinitesimally as the rigid line of his shoulders lost some of its coiled potential energy. Silently confirming he had emerged victorious in this pivotal round, if only for the moment.

Before you could ponder the implications of where this new dynamic shift might lead your relationship, Hoshina was ducking his head to capture your lips again. But where the previous kisses were fueled by scorching desire and unrelenting dominance, this one was almost...soft. Tender, even, as he took his time mapping the seam of your mouth with tender, coaxing sweeps of his tongue.

You melted against him with a shuddering exhalation, palms flattening against the solid contours of his chest as you instinctively pressed closer. Hoshina angled his head to deepen the intoxicating exchange, one hand cupping the back of your skull to hold you in place as he thoroughly ravaged your senses.

Just as you were teetering into a hazy, lust-drunk delirium, Hoshina abruptly broke away with a sharp inhalation. You blinked up at him, bemused by his sudden retreat, only to suck in a shaky gasp at the blazing heat now smoldering in those indigo depths.

Hoshina’s pupils were blown wide with naked hunger, his lips already reddened and slick from your passionate communion. You watched, utterly transfixed, as his tongue swept out to capture the lingering taste of you glossing his lower lip. The unconscious gesture punched straight through the core of your increasingly liqefied determination with devastating impact.

Then his gaze dropped to rake over your body in a molten caress, sweeping down from your flushed cheeks to linger on the swells of your breasts straining against your combat suit. Lower still, mapping the flare of your hips and the taut vee accentuated between your thighs from his muscular bulk pressing you into the unforgiving bulkhead.

"Shit, baby girl..." Hoshina ground out in a gravel-rough timbre laced with undisguised sin. "If I didn't know any better, I'd think you were tryna rile me up over here. Get me all worked up so I'd forget the little reminder waitin' at home for us..."

He punctuated the words by rocking his hips against you in a wicked grind, allowing you to feel every hardened inch of his cock outlined against your abdomen. A breathy whine slipped unbidden from your parted lips, nerves alight and sparking wildly at the delicious friction.

Shamelessly, Hoshina rutted against you again with a low, appreciative rumble stoked straight from the depths of his chest. His head dipped to nuzzle against the sloped column of your throat, lips skating across your thundering pulse point in a scorching brush of contact.

"That's it, pretty girl..." he growled against your oversensitized skin. "Let Daddy see how much his touch still affects ya, even with my spawn takin' root inside..."

The words were pure molten sin caressed over your psyche in Hoshina’s distinctive timbre. You felt your core liquidize in a heady rush, thighs reflexively parting to accommodate the insistent bulk pinning you against the unyielding steel at your back. Somewhere beneath the haze of awakening lust, you were dimly aware of the cloying reminder you shouldn't be indulging these rampant cravings while being in such a…delicate condition.

Yet every rational synapse in your consciousness whited out as Hoshina sealed his lips over the thundering pulse at the hollow of your throat. The glide of his tongue bathing your scorching skin in unhurried, sumptuous strokes obliterated any last vestiges of higher thought still clinging on.

"That's my good girl..." he purred against your straining tendons in graveled approval. "Soon as we get behind closed doors, Daddy's going to remind ya exactly who ya belong to while worshippin' every inch of this pretty little body..."

Hoshina didn't give you a chance to formulate any response before he was already moving. With a low, feral growl reverberating from his depths, he hitched you up against his powerful frame, calloused hands cupping beneath your thighs to anchor you in place.

You gasped out a breathy sound of surprise that morphed into a throaty whimper as he ground his clothed cock against your core with wicked intent. Hoshina rumbled an approving noise against the thundering pulse at your throat, lips blazing a scorching path along the vulnerable column bared to his questing mouth.

"That's it, pretty girl...let me hear how much ya need this," he rasped out between openmouthed kisses and teasing nips. "Need me to take ya home and make it official before this brat gets any bigger."

You shuddered hard at the blatant suggestion laced into his rough timbre, feeling a fresh gush of slick heat flood your core at the thought of being well and truly claimed by this wrecking ball of a man. There would be no more delaying or skirting around the inevitable anymore - not with ironclad proof of your union now taking root.

Ankles locking behind the sinewy V of Hoshina’s back, you arched shamelessly against the rigid bulge grinding against your clothed pussy. Chasing that delicious friction, that smoldering promise of being staked and bound to him permanently in the most primal way imaginable.

"Please..." you heard yourself whining out, beyond caring how desperate and needy you sounded. "Soshiro, I need...need you to—"

"Hush now, mama," he cut you off with a rasping growl, already stalking down the vacant corridor with you cradled snugly in his embrace. "Save it for when I've got ya laid out and beggin' properly."

The words punched straight through you with merciless impact, robbing you of breath. You could only cling to Hoshina with trembling limbs, knuckles whitening from your death grip on his shoulders as the world seemed to blur around you. All that existed was the scorching heat of his body surrounding yours, the rasp of his graveled tone thrumming through your very marrow, and the dizzying spiral of want hazed in your very bones.

Hoshina didn't bother with niceties or propriety as he carried you through the installation's winding passageways. He moved with liquid speed and purpose, not breaking stride or sparing a single glance to anyone you passed. At some point, you were vaguely aware of one young officer actually leaping out of his path with wide, panicked eyes - clearly recognizing the danger of crossing the Vice Captain in this state.

Nobody else dared hinder Hoshina’s determined strides as he bore you rapidly through the maze of corridors and security checkpoints towards the restricted command quarters. You felt your pulse kick up as the armored bulkhead to his private room finally loomed into view.

Then you were through the portal and ensconced in Hoshina’s familiar sanctum, alone at last. The instant the door cycled shut behind you, cutting off the outside world entirely, his mouth crashed back over yours in a searing, demanding kiss.

This time, there was no preamble or softness - only raw, unrestrained need fueled by emotion too volatile to contain any longer. Hoshina devoured you with lashing sweeps of his tongue and teasing nips from blunted teeth, robbing you of breath entirely with his merciless onslaught.

You hardly even registered the scorching path he carried you along, or when your back met the broad expanse of his bed. All that existed was the searing brand of Hoshina’s calloused palms skating over every available inch of bare skin as he started peeling away layers with frantic urgency.

Only once he had you stripped to just your underwear did he finally tear his lips from yours, leaving you gasping and squirming against the rumpled sheets. Hoshina reared up onto his knees, straddling your thighs as he drank in the sight of you splayed out before him - hair tousled, cheeks flushed, lips already rubied from his voracious attention.

More importantly, his gaze raked lower to linger on the subtle swell of your abdomen, pupils blowing even wider. His large hand drift down to map the gentle curve with soul-searing reverence.

"Perfect...fuckin' perfect," Hoshina ground out in a sandpaper rasp choked with too many conflicting emotions to parse. "And soon as this next round is over, I'm locking ya down for good as my wife. No more puttin' it off or dancin' around what ya are to me."

With that growled vow, he dipped his head to seal his mouth over your inner ankle, already working his way up your calf with a meandering path of scorching, openmouthed kisses and teasing sweeps of his tongue.

"Mine..." he purred against the quivering skin of your inner thigh between each sinuous lap of that wicked appendage. "My woman...my wife... gonna lock ya away and keep ya naked and dripping for me at all hours,"

You arched off the mattress with a keening cry as Hoshina reached the crease where thigh met groin, his hot breath ghosting across the thin lace separating him from his destination. Then he was latching his lips onto your swollen clit, suckling through the barrier with a low groan of satisfaction.

"Mmm, yeah, just like this..." Hoshina hummed his approval against your soaked core, drawing another helpless moan from your lips. "Keep ya ready and waiting on Daddy's cock so I can breed this tight little cunt whenever I want. That sound good, baby girl?"

A ragged whine was the only coherent response you could muster as Hoshina continued teasing you with languid laps of his tongue. You were already reduced to a writhing, trembling mess, the last shreds of your self-control fraying by the moment under his masterful attentions.

When he finally dragged your panties down your legs with a few quick tugs, you were already panting harshly and clutching the sheets in a white-knuckled death grip. But before you could beg him to hurry, to stop torturing you with his wicked ministrations, Hoshina was diving back between your thighs and sealing his lips around your clit again.

This time there was no lace barrier separating you - only the slick heat of his tongue lashing across your pulsing bundle of nerves and two thick fingers pumping into your dripping core.

"S-shiro, I-I'm..."

You couldn't even finish the plea, your words dissolving into a shattered moan as a fresh flood of wetness coated Hoshina's knuckles. He growled against your pussy in clear approval, the reverberations thrumming through your nerve endings.

"That's it, pretty girl, cream all over Daddy's fingers..."

He punctuated the order with a particularly sharp curl and twist of his digits, raking over that spongy patch of flesh just beyond the second knuckle. You saw stars and bucked against his face, riding the wave of ecstasy cresting through your senses.

Hoshina continued his assault, wringing you dry until you collapsed back onto the sheets, panting and shaking. Even then, he didn't relinquish his hold, still lazily sucking and lapping at your hypersensitive clit until you were twitching with overstimulation.

When he finally tore himself away from his favorite pastime, your mind was still so hazed with lust and pleasure you hardly noticed him stripping his fatigues. You didn't fully register the moment he crawled over you, his massive bulk caging you in with familiar warmth. Not until he was nudging your legs apart to nestle the broad crown of his cock against your drooling entrance.

Then his mouth crashed over yours, swallowing the needy keen as he surged forward in one forceful thrust. You felt the breath punch from your lungs as Hoshina immediately set a bruising pace, his hips pistoning back and forth with unrestrained fervor.

"Ah, f-fuck..." Hoshina hissed between gritted teeth as his entire body bowed above you, muscles straining and tendons popping out against his skin. ""Knew...knew you'd look so fuckin' gorgeous like this, breeding ya up nice an' deep..."

His hips snapped forward with each word, burying his cock to the hilt in your dripping channel. The filthy promises he was rasping against your ear only made the sensations more acute, spiraling your need higher.

"Mine...fuck, yer all mine now, sweet girl. My beautiful baby mama..."

Hoshina growled against the column of your throat as his hips continued pounding away between your thighs, every thrust driving him impossibly deeper. Your nails raked across his shoulders, his nape, his biceps - everywhere you could reach, anchoring yourself against the onslaught of pleasure threatening to consume you whole.

You were barely aware of the sounds pouring from your throat, the pleading, breathless moans and keens spilling from your parted lips. Then Hoshina angled his thrusts to grind against that spongy spot within, and your back arched off the mattress with a piercing wail of delight.

"Go 'head an' moan f'me, mama. Let the whole base hear who owns this pretty cunt..."

He punctuated the words with an especially forceful thrust, slamming his hips against yours and grinding his pubic bone against your swollen clit. Your thighs locked around his waist instinctively, clinging to him with every last scrap of strength in your trembling frame.

"Fuck, baby, don't get greedy now. Daddy's close, an' he needs to see ya cream all over his cock first. You can do that f'me, can't you?" He punctuated the request by rolling his hips in a filthy grind, raking the flared head over your g-spot with deliberate precision. "Don't hold back, gotta let it all out when I'm fuckin' ya deep. Need to hear my gorgeous mama squeal for Daddy's cum..."

His hands shifted to cradle the curve of your ass, angling your hips upward and tilting your pelvis just enough for him to grind even deeper. Your eyes rolled back and your jaw dropped, a breathy exhalation catching on a keening moan as he continued pummeling your pussy into the mattress.

"Shiro, please, I-I can't, I need..."

Your words trailed off into a whimpering keen as his thrusts became impossibly faster, rougher. Hoshina's entire frame was taut as a bowstring above you, every muscle flexing and straining with the effort of his punishing pace.

"So slick and swollen for me...fuck, yer pussy was made to grip Daddy's fat cock like this..." he snarled against your lips, his breath coming in harsh pants. "Now cum, baby, I need ya to milk me fuckin' dry..."

On cue, his hand slid between your writhing bodies, fingers circling and teasing your throbbing clit. It was the final shove over the edge.

You screamed his name, vision whiting out as a surge of rapture crashed over you. Waves of sensation wracked your entire body, leaving you shaking and shuddering as your walls clenched down around his pounding cock.

"Fuck, yes..." Hoshina groaned hoarsely as you came apart beneath him, his own rhythm becoming choppy and erratic. "Say my name, mama. Let me hear ya scream for yer husband's cum."

It was too much, the combination of his cock pistoning away between your thighs and his rough, possessive rasp filling your senses. You cried out incoherently as your release spiraled even higher, feeling the delicious burn of his girth stretching you to your limit.

"Soshiro! Yes, please, Daddy, cum in me...please!"

The words were little more than a keening sob, but they had the desired effect. With a feral snarl, Hoshina buried himself to the hilt and went rigid, his entire body bowing beneath the weight of his release. You felt him pulsing within your depths, coating your quivering walls with molten heat.

"Fuuuuck, baby girl...yeah, take it, take Daddy's cum...that's my good little wife, milkin' my cock dry with her sweet cunt." His hips were still rocking back and forth, though much more shallowly now. You moaned and squirmed beneath him, hypersensitive from the force of your shared orgasm.

Finally, he seemed to run dry, and collapsed forward onto his forearms, panting harshly against the sweat-slicked column of your throat. For a few moments, the only sound was the ragged rasp of your joined breaths.

Then Hoshina shifted his weight, hissing softly as he slowly withdrew from your still-fluttering depths. You shivered at the sensation, the sudden feeling of emptiness left behind by his absence.

He settled back on his haunches and nudged your thighs further apart, gaze lingering with palpable heat on the pearly mixture oozing from your entrance. With a low rumble of approval, Hoshina's thick fingers delved into the mess, pushing the cum-slickened digits back into your core.

You whimpered and tried to squirm away, oversensitive and sore from his thorough use. But he merely shot you a stern look and held you firmly in place, continuing to toy with your dripping entrance.

"Hold still," he ordered gruffly. "Need to get my mouth on that pretty pussy, baby. Let Daddy clean up his pregnant wife..."

Before you could offer any objection or protest, he was already ducking down to lap the mixture of both your fluids from your swollen folds. You moaned and arched against the bed, fingers twisting in his sweat-dampened locks.

Hoshina hummed his approval as his tongue dipped and swirled, collecting every drop from your quivering flesh. Each time his mouth latched onto your clit, you couldn't suppress a needy keen, still too sensitive from the force of your shared release.

When he finally reared back onto his knees again, the smug grin tugging at the corner of his lips was thoroughly satisfied. Hoshina swiped the back of his hand across his mouth, still eyeing the apex of your thighs as if contemplating diving right back in.

"There we go, baby girl. Nice and clean," he rumbled out after a beat. "But just 'cause I took care of the mess doesn't mean yer done getting fucked."

With that, Hoshina was already scooping you into his arms and shifting your positions so he was the one sprawled against the mattress, with you straddling his hips. You blinked down at him in wide-eyed shock, still too dazed and overwhelmed to formulate any words.

Not that you got the chance. Within seconds, he had already lifted you effortlessly and lowered you back onto his throbbing cock. You moaned, spine arching as he stretched you open again, feeling the thick length pulse within your depths.

Hoshina didn't wait for you to adjust before he was already guiding you into a smooth, rolling rhythm. His hands were clamped on your hips, lifting and dropping you on his cock in time with his own upward thrusts.

"Go ahead, wifey, ride Daddy's cock just like that..." he purred, pupils blown wide as he watched you bounce atop him with an expression caught somewhere between rapture and ferocity. "Gonna keep this pussy nice and wet and full, until my seed's drippin' down yer thighs again."

You didn't even try fighting the tide of ecstasy washing over you, letting Hoshina steer the tempo of your lovemaking. His hips bucked up off the bed to meet your downward plunge, burying himself as deep as possible in your quivering depths.

"So fuckin' gorgeous," he grunted, palms gliding up your sides to palm your breasts. "Look at these pretty tits, all swollen an' ready for when our brat arrives. Can't wait to see 'em all nice and full, baby..."

You keened in response, not trusting yourself to speak while lost in the sensations of him filling you over and over. Your hands splayed across his rippling abdomen, using the solid muscles for leverage as you rode him.

"That's it, mama, bounce on Daddy's fat cock like you were born for it. Such a perfect little cock-sleeve..." Hoshina punctuated the words with a sharp, upward thrust, his hips rising off the mattress. You gasped and rocked back against him, grinding down with needy intent.

"Fuck, yeah, just like that, sweet girl," he growled approvingly. "Take what ya need, go 'head an' use me to get yerself off."

Your eyelashes fluttered and a fresh surge of wetness flooded your core, leaving you gasping and trembling as his words hit you straight in the gut. He gave a rumbling laugh, the sound pure sex laced through his graveled voice.

"Shit, that does it for ya, baby? My greedy little mama, always so needy for her husband's cock..."

Hoshina surged upright suddenly, his mouth crashing over yours in a ravenous kiss. You melted into the embrace with a whimper, fingers tangling in his sweat-dampened locks. When his tongue thrust past your lips, you could taste the heady mixture of your combined flavors, and something within you sparked to life.

With a breathless groan, you ground down harder against him, chasing that elusive friction that would push you over the edge. Hoshina responded by wrapping his arm around your waist, crushing you against his chest as he helped guide the motion of your hips.

The two of you continued rocking and grinding, tongues tangling and breaths mingling. The heady combination was intoxicating, robbing you of all higher thought until nothing remained but the pleasure and need spiraling through your veins.

Hoshina was the first to succumb, his rhythm growing increasingly choppy and desperate. Finally, he broke away from your lips with a strangled curse and a shudder. Then he was hilting himself in your depths, cock pulsing and spilling deep within.

You followed suit instantly, keening out his name as your release slammed into you, a white-hot surge of ecstasy. Your head tipped back and your hips bucked against his, riding the crest of pleasure until you were spent and sagging bonelessly in his embrace.

Hoshina cradled you close, peppering kisses across the sweat-slicked column of your throat, his breath still coming in harsh pants. Neither of you moved for a long time, simply reveling in the afterglow and each other's presence.

At some point, Hoshina carefully shifted you to his side, rolling onto his back and taking you with him. You curled into his broad chest, sighing contentedly as he nuzzled against the crown of your head.

"Rest now, sweet girl," he murmured against your hair. "Daddy's got ya. We've got plenty of time before I'm ready to take ya again."

[thebestofoneshots]

No Sweeter Innocence than Our Gentle Sin Pt.2 | Remus Lupin x Reader

Read Pt.1

Pairing: Priest!Remus x reader

Word Count: 14 k

Prompt: You did not want to go to church that day, but your spirits are uplifted when you meet Father Remus, and your mind starts creating a mischievous scheme, to both retaliate over those years of being forced to go and take something from them.

Alternatively, R is really mad at the church and decides to steal one of their priests for it (but also kind of falls for him).

Warnings: SMUT, Non-apt for Christians(?). Reader is a little cynical (or maybe cynical Af). Suggestive talks, touching oneself, fingering,  oral (male and female receiving), dry humping, P in V. Reader seduces a Priest (so whatever you might expect from that), hierophiIia, corruption!kink, praise!kink (if you squint). Consent is sexy!

 Proofread by lovely @aremuslupinsimp

♡ NSFW: Smut under the cut

ACT VI: You shall not take the name of the LORD your God in vain

You quickly put the straps of your dress back on and wiped your hand on the inside lining of the skirt. You walked out of the door. You looked around, the church was as empty as it got, you smiled and knocked on his side. 

“You may come out, father,” you said, teasingly. 

You heard some adjusting, “I’m having a bit of an issue.” 

You giggled. “Yeah, I’m gonna help you fix that,” you responded, opening the door yourself and taking his arm, pulling him towards you. He stood up and roughly accommodated his coat over his boner. You bit your lip as he did and he gave you a rather impassive look, as if telling you that whatever you might do, could be going overboard. “Do you have an office?” 

“No.” 

You hummed, dissatisfied at his answer. “A place where you guys give talks? like for people who are going to get married and stuff? I know I was in one of those when I was my cousin’s godmother.” 

Remus seemed to think about it. 

“We can’t go there.” 

“Why not? You don’t have the keys?” 

“I do! But it’s not safe, if someone walks in–” 

“Oh,” you said with a smile and looked down at his boner again. “I’m pretty sure it won’t take too long.” 

Remus huffed, still rather unconvinced. So you placed your hand on his shoulder and pulled him down slightly so you could whisper something in his ear. His eyes shone and he turned to you with a gulp. “Are– are you sure?” 

You simply nodded in response. 

He shut his eyes and sighed, “We shouldn’t be doing this.” 

“You’re probably right,” you agreed, condescendingly.

“That would be like crossing the line.” 

“I suppose it would.” 

“Let’s go,” he said. 

It was Remus, that looked preoccupied but determined, who led you to the back of the church. You walked right next to the altar, your gaze lingered over it for a second before you went into one of the smaller rooms beside it, and then into another one. You knew the church was huge, but you hadn’t quite dimensioned it entirely. 

He was quick to come in and he shut the door. Turning to you as he bit his lip, he was still hard, and you leaned closer to him. “Allow me,” you said with an innocent smile, dragging him closer to the centre of the room. You placed your hands on his shoulders. “Breathe.” 

He did as told, a deep long inhale, and then a soft exhale, his breath smelled of mint, and a little bit of cigarette smoke. Remus had long ago stopped smoking, but since you appeared, and told him all about the things that’d happened in your dream, he’d taken up that terrible vice again, one of the few things that calmed his nerves. 

“Listen to my voice, I mentioned there was a way to control it, right? That I would teach you?” 

“Please do.” 

“Well, It’s quite simple,” you said as you rubbed your hands over his strong-toned arms, reassuringly. You were not expecting Father Remus to be so solid under all the religious attire, but you thought it was a wonderful surprise. You leaned a little closer to him, enough for your bodies to touch. You felt his boner against your stomach and you’d swear you felt how you clenched around nothing. But it’s not time yet for that. You told yourself. 

You knew it was a long game when you started and you were not about to ruin it all due to the heat of the moment, you weren’t that idiotic. 

“If you want to control those impulses, then you must give in to them.” 

He opened his eyes surprised when you placed your hand on him, carefully, tentatively, and pleasantly subdued. Your hand was much softer and kinder than his own had ever been, much smaller too. He shut his eyes close, his breath was ragged and looked like he might have been in pain. 

“Too sore still?” He nodded. “May I?” you asked as you placed your hand on his belt. He swallowed, unsure, and you stopped moving your hands. “Do you want to?” 

“But it’s wrong,” he excused. 

“Remus I didn’t ask if it was. I said ‘Do you want to?’ Because I’m dying to touch you but if you don’t want to then we should end this here and now.” 

“No!” he said, almost too quickly. If he’d had the willpower, that might have been the one and only moment in which things could have turned around. The sharp crossroad of decisions that would have allowed you both to choose a different result. But he didn’t want you to stop, he wanted you to do it, like he hadn’t wanted anything in his life before. “I want to,” he said in a low breath. 

You smiled, innocently, and started to unfasten his belt. Then slowly you went for the buttons of his trousers and the zipper. There, straining against his boxers, you could see the outline of his cock. Your breath hitched in your throat, he was big. You had seen that already but you hadn’t dimensioned it, but now, right in front of you? It was easy to see just how big he was, how pretty, you thought as you carefully slid the band of his boxers underneath. 

Remus hissed as the cold air prickled his sensitive skin, and you slid one of your hands, carefully, tauntingly, from his stomach and down to his cock. You were careful and light, you slid one of your fingers along his shaft, and you could tell he was stifling a groan. You looked up to him, he was biting his bottom lip and closing his eyes like he was really trying to concentrate. You looked at him and smiled, wrapping your hand around him in a grip so gentle it was as if you weren’t quite touching him. 

“Does it still feel sore?” you asked. 

He turned to you and nodded, breath ragged, he refused to look at your hand wrapped around his cock, he was sure he wouldn’t be able to forget it if he did. 

“That’s okay then, I know how we can solve it,” you said and started to lean down. Remus looked at you with shock as you levelled your head with his hips. 

“What are you–” he started, panic rising in his voice. 

“Shhh,” you said gently. And then leaned closer, pressing a small kiss to his tip. 

“Will you–” 

You pressed another kiss and he let out a short, ragged breath. Then you wrapped your mouth around him, just at the very tip, and felt the slightly salty taste of him against your tongue. Precum, you realised. Remus was as responsive as it got, and you loved that in an almost deranged way.  First, you just lapped your tongue around him. Slow and steady, listening in to the moans he tried to suppress. 

Remus’ hand was tense beside him, he didn’t know where to touch, he didn’t know what to do with them either. He was too in awe at your actions. You looked like an angel as you peppered kisses along his shaft and then wrapped your mouth around him. Always so incredibly fucking soft, it was insane. He thought he’d seen heaven with you in the confessionary, but he had barely gotten a glimpse at the gates back then. 

Eventually, you pushed yourself deeper into his shaft and started to bob your head. The sound he made was music to your ears, and fueled your determination. You quickened your pace and allowed him to push further into your throat, bordering the line between uncomfortable, but it didn’t matter, not when Remus was moaning like that. You imagined yourself with that beautiful cock of his inside of you and the mere thought turned you on even further. He moaned and cursed and kept saying all kinds of things in between mutters and ragged breaths. 

“Oh, God!” he breathed, when you used your hand to jerk the section of him that you couldn’t reach with your mouth, “Oh my GOD!” 

That one was by far your favourite of all his curses. 

Forget about fuck, and shit, when he said ‘Oh God’ when he sinned for you, that was what you loved the most. 

At some point, he started inadvertently pushing his hips into your mouth, “I’m sorry,” he said as politely as he could when he heard you cough, “I didn’t mean to, I’m sorry.” 

You looked up at him and he swore he’d never seen something as delightful as your teary eyes and your mischievous little expression. Your lips, though wrapped around him, were almost curving into a somewhat smile and you winked at him as you went back to moving your head.

“Fucking hell,” he breathed, his head fell back, breath ragged and moans escaping almost indiscriminately now. Then there were steps outside, far enough but Remus had always had a keen hearing. “Someone’s coming,” he warned, as he leaned on, a slightly worried expression. 

You leaned back, a line of spin connected your mouth and his cock and he felt a surge of electricity go through him at the sight. “How close are you?” you asked, panting. 

He gave you an exasperated look and you smiled, “I can work with that,” you said before going back and bobbing your head and jerking your hand faster than you had previously. Remus used one of his hands to cover his mouth and you tried not to laugh when you realised it.

“I’m going to–” he started, as he tried to push you out of him, but you were reluctant and you kept bobbing your head. He was both filled with pleasure and with stress. “Angel, stop. I won’t be able to hold it,” he tried next. And then, you felt it, the first ribbon of cum crashing into your mouth. He thought you’d pull back, disgusted at what he’d done to your precious mouth. “I’m sorry,  angel. I’m sorry I’m–” 

He was at a loss of words, rather than stopping and looking at him with disgust –like he expected– you just kept going, sucking him off until he was empty. The steps had grown louder by now, and there seemed to be some shuffling just outside the door. 

He pulled out a napkin for you to spit on it while looking nervously at the door, you gave him a smile and swallowed. “Isn’t it the almighty that says you should never spill your seed?” you said with a mischievous smile and his mouth went dry. 

You pressed a kiss to his happy trail and helped him tuck back in. The knob had started to move now. “Place your hand on my head, now!” 

“What?” He asked, confused. 

“Say a blessing or something, whatever it is you guys do,” you added in a quick whisper. You leaned your head down, closed your eyes, and placed your hands in front of your chest as if you were praying. 

ACT VII: You shall not bear false witness against your neighbour

Remus started to mutter something, and you remained in your place, licking the bit of cum that had slid down the corner of your lips earlier. 

The door burst open, and surprisingly enough, Remus stayed focused on his blessing, rather than turning around startled like you had expected him to. Either your little ruse had tired him, or he was a lot more scheming than he seemed. Perhaps as much as you were. Remus opened one of his eyes and looked at the man at the door, giving him a short acknowledging nod.

“Oh, I’m sorry–” the man hurried. He had a thick, velvety voice, resonant but not loudly disagreeable. “I thought the place was empty,” he added, adjusting his belt. You were not looking at him, since your back was turned, but the urgency in his voice was evident. 

“I was just giving this child a blessing,” Remus said calmly. “I’m afraid her aunt is very ill, and her family is losing hope. Care to join us?” 

You tried not to look surprised when he said that, you’d never seen Father Remus lie through his teeth so seamlessly. But you weren’t one to complain. You stood up suddenly, a saddened expression filled your face, “That won’t be necessary, Father. I’ve already consumed enough of your time,” you said meekly, and then, throwing him a look, you added, “and your blessings…” 

He threw you a warning glance, and you just smiled, diverted, your back still turned to the other man. You leaned in and pressed a small kiss to Remus’ cheek, muttering a ‘Thank you’, just loud enough for the other man to hear. By the time you turned around, your face was solemn looking again. 

You nodded towards the other father as you passed by, he had long hair and was rather good-looking as well. He eyed you with amusement. Remus cleared his throat. “Will you come back? For another blessing… I mean.” 

You turned around, “Of course, Remus. However, could I go on without them?” 

He nodded in return, more reassuring himself than anything. And watched as your dress flowed out of his sight. 

“That’s a sweet little lamb you got there,” the long-haired man said with a mischievous smile. 

“I don’t know what you mean,” Remus said and walked towards the exit. “I’ll go fulfil my duties,” he added as he walked out. 

“Of course,” the other man replied, the amused smile still playing on his lips. “Have fun.” 

Remus gave him a tired sort of look, something close to an eye roll, and left. 

Remus had never lied as much as he had lied that week. It started with that simple lie and then it just went on and on and on. 

“Father Lupin, could you take care of the Church retreat next week?” 

“I’m sorry, I have a family thing on Saturday. I’m on grandma duty.” 

Remus was, in fact, not on grandma caring duty. There was no grandma caring duty whatsoever in his family. Mrs. Lupin was old but held strong, and she would never ask to be taken care of, she had always been stubborn like that.

Then another time, he had locked his room door, ready to feed his delusions with the thought of you when there was a sharp knock on his door. 

“Father Lupin!” an urgent voice said on the other side, “Father Lupin!” 

Remus half opened his door and tried not to look too annoyed when one of his deacons waited at the door. He had opened it slightly, only letting his head through as he looked at the boy. He was the small blond-haired kid who he sometimes found amusing because of how much trouble he managed to get into. Not today though, not when it distracted him from the thought of you. 

“What is it?” he asked, slightly impassive. “I was in the middle of a very important prayer.” 

Yeah, right! He was definitely going to say God’s name a good deal of time but not in the way it would be expected of him. 

The kid gulped, he had never seen Father Remus be so stony. He was always kind and good-natured, no matter what. Heck, he had accidentally walked in on him while changing and Father Remus –although he hated people seeing his scars– had only ushered him out with a light reprimand and instructions to always knock on the door before walking in. 

“I’m– I’m sorry,” the boy staggered. “It’s just that the bishop was looking for you.” 

Remus sighed, also annoyed that his plan was ruined, shut the door, put on his shoes and stepped out again, still looking cross as he followed the boy to the Bishop’s office. 

“How may I help, Your Grace?” 

“Ah, Remus,” the old man said when he spotted him. “I’ve been told how excellently you’ve been performing on Wednesdays lately.” 

Remus didn’t speak, but he looked at the man attentively, the bishop liked to speak, and it didn’t take long for him to continue.

“The head priest was telling me how brilliant you’ve been. He’s seen you confessing, and dedicating the confessions it’s due time which can be complicated, and even tiresome. And you’ve always proved to be a very responsible young man. As you know most of the church will be heading to the retreat starting next Monday. 

“Of course, the church must not be left alone. But since you are not going to the retreat, and I have not had the opportunity to attend one for some time, some of the head priests and I thought it would be a sensible idea to leave the church at your charge. I believe there are a few other priests who will stay, but you would act as my eyes and ears during the week we’re gone. How does that sound?” 

Remus drew in some air, completely inexpressive as he tried not to think of all the wonderful things that could happen with the church all to himself. 

“It would be an honour, Your Grace.” 

“I thought you’d say that,” the man replied with an affable smile. “Thank you for your time, Father Lupin. I’m sure the church will be in good hands.”

“Of course, Your Grace,” Remus replied as he nodded to the man politely and he exited the room. 

That Sunday you’d gone to mass with your grandma again, she’d come back to the city and she had insisted on going to the beautiful church with her. Of course, this time around, you hadn’t been as angry about having to go to the church as before, if anything, you were excited about it.

Remus was absolutely delighted when he spotted you and your grandma. He had been dying to tell you that he’d be in charge of the church, that you could stay for longer, and not worry so much about being seen with him next week. That’s how he realised he had, in fact, no way to contact you outside of the church. 

You had always been the one to come to him, like an angel, uninvited but always welcomed. 

When he saw you walking beside your grandma, at a very slow pace and holding her arm as you climbed up the stairs to the entrance of the church, he was quick to excuse himself from the boring conversation he’d been having with the old lady who insisted on telling him all about her rogue godson and walked straight your way. 

“Ma’am, allow me to help,” he said politely and took your Nan’s other arm. Your grandma looked at Father Remus and gulped. 

“To what do I owe the honour of being helped by a Father?” she asked. 

“Oh, it’s just very nice to see you, it’s been a while,” Remus replied. 

“She’s not from around,” you explained. The way your lips moved, he’d dreamed about kissing them before but the need for that now was consuming him like a burning fire. He’d never thought of mass as boring or dull, today it hadn’t even started and he already wanted it to be over with. To have you, and to have you alone. 

“Of course,” Remus said. “But seeing your granddaughter so often–” 

“So often?” your Nan asked, surprised, turning to the man.

“Well, she’s been coming to mass, Ma’am.” 

“You have?” she asked, turning to you with a surprise. “You never told me!” 

“I guess I’ve found my way back into faith,” you said. “Perhaps all I needed was a good enough incentive to come to church more often,” you added, throwing a knowing look at Remus. 

“Incentive, of what kind?” 

“Well, how beautiful mass is given here, of course,” you lied. “Didn’t you find it delightful? The way the priests here preach? Remus is especially good at it, you should hear him say god. It’s always so… heavenly when he does.” Remus threw you a warning look, and you gave him a small, almost imperceptible smirk, and then winked, just before turning to your Nan. “Unfortunately he does not preach on Sundays.” 

“What a shame,” she said. You were already all the way up the stairs and you helped her into her seat. “See you around, Remus.” 

“It’s Father Remus–” your Nan started her chiding but shut up the second Remus turned to you with a kind smile and said. 

“See you around, dove.” He didn’t think too much about it, not about the nickname or how softly he’d said it. How loving it had been. 

“Dove?” your Nan asked you, Remus had already taken off towards the back of the church to change into his alb. 

“Oh, it’s like Lamb, Remus says that all the time,” you said dismissively, although you really wanted to laugh. Your Nan wasn’t stupid, she might be able to catch on, and perhaps she would have, if she didn’t have such blinding faith in priests, and of course, in Remus in particular.

You weren’t sure you’d mind too much. Surely she wouldn’t talk about it for fear of becoming a scandal, and no matter how good she thought of you, she might take the church’s side and blame you for corrupting Remus –which was arguably right. In the end, she had already called you heathen once, it wouldn’t be that complicated for her to notice, and feel guilty about being the one to bring you into the church.

It had been, after all, her fault that you ended up meeting Remus.

But even if you didn’t mind it, you feared Remus might have, so you decided to gaslight her into believing you were the innocent angel that Remus insisted on alluding to when referring to you. It was better that way, it would be easier to continue that way. And of course, you wanted to go all the way with Remus. you wouldn’t be done until it was done. And at this point, petty revenge wasn’t the only thing driving you. You liked Remus, how innocent and forthcoming he was, you thought he was absolutely charming. 

When the mass was done, you walked your Nan down the huge steps and helped her to the taxi. The church was pretty full still, but the desperate glances that Remus had thrown your way several times were enough for you to know that he wanted to talk to you. Especially that one reproachful look when you licked your lips as he gave you the host. 

You walked up the long steps again and spotted him being flooded by some ladies. Three older women who were all talking at the same time and he seemed to have trouble following, a girl younger than you looking at him like he was  Robert Redford –Remus was prettier than that–, and babbling something about her first communion along with one of the older ladies who shared her hair colour. And a smaller girl running around his feet and pulling on his pants aggressively every now and then while saying ‘Look at me, Father! I can twirl now’. 

You gave him a short look with a diverted smile and walked towards one of the seats. He looked at you with a pleading glance, his eyes opening wider as he clearly said ‘Help me out of this’. Remus knew you were clever enough to have all the people around him scatter, but instead, you sat down, pulled a book from your bag and read while you waited. 

You felt someone sitting next to you, “How’s your aunt?” 

You turned around with a frown, it was the long-haired priest who had almost caught you and Remus. He had beautiful grey eyes. Now that you actually paid attention to him: he was regal. If you had seen him before Remus, things might have gone an awful lot different. 

“She’s better,” you said, closing the book and turning to him attentively. 

“Are you here for another blessing?” He asked, he had a shrewd, very fox-like look on his soft and elegant features, as if he knew something and he wanted you to know he did. 

“Well, yes and no.” 

“I could help,” he said and placed a hand on your leg. On your bare leg that is. You had worn a skirt that day as well. You looked at his hand and then back at him. If he expected you to blush, he was surprised to see the way you smiled, averted your gaze and rolled your tongue over your teeth. You would have been more than welcome to accept this man’s advances if it wasn’t for the fact that you already had another one in sight. Who was, coincidentally, walking towards you right now. 

“I’m afraid you couldn’t,” you said as you cocked your head to the side. 

“No?” 

“I’m about to hire Remus for a hospital visit, my aunt is very fond of him.” 

When Remus reached the two of you, he gave the grey-eyed Father a murderous look. You smiled and gave him a small wink. “I was just telling Father, uh…” 

“Black,” the man said with a smile. 

“Black, right? I was just telling Father Black that I’m here to talk to you about the thing we discussed earlier. About visiting my aunt?” 

“Of course,” Remus said. The little girl had trailed behind him and was stopped by her mother right before she clung to his leg again. 

Father Black laughed and waved the little girl goodbye in a rather charming way. Remus threw a look at him which he returned in an equally taxing manner, then Remus nodded to his hand on your leg. He hadn’t even gotten close to touching your velvety legs and here Sirius had his hands all over them, he was livid, although he hid it pretty well. 

“Didn’t you have something to do?” 

Sirius sighed, “I’ve got to visit the convent.” He didn’t seem too eager to go. 

“I’m sure the Nuns will love to see you there, Father Black.” 

He turned to you with a small smirk, there was mirth in his eyes, “You think?” 

“Oh, I’m certain,” you said with a smile, and placed your hand on his wrist to drag his hand away from your thigh.  You stood up, Father Black looked at your legs for a second before he got another murderous look from Remus and stood up himself. 

“I guess this is where our paths diverge,” he said, with a slight dramatic air. 

“Perhaps,” you replied. “Good luck at the convent.” 

“Good luck with your aunt,” he said, with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes and a side look at Remus, who, in turn, just stared down at him. 

“Thank you, hopefully, she’ll get better,” you said, and waved at him politely. 

The second the father stepped out of the way, you felt Remus take a step closer to you, enough for you to feel his heat radiating on your back. You turned to him with a smile and tilted your head to the side, he looked adorable while jealous, “Are you taking confessions, Father?” 

“Didn’t you say you wanted me to visit your aunt at the hospital?” 

You raised an eyebrow, “Don’t you need special permits to leave the church and so on?” 

“Oh, no,” he said with a smile. “We’re not going to leave yet, first we have to make the arrangements at the office.”

ACT VIII: You shall make no idols 

Remus walked you towards a set of stairs, claiming there were old offices on some of the towers that were rarely visited.  As you walked up one of the towers, he lingered only a second while looking down at the stairs behind him, as if he was trying to make sure he had been followed by no one and then continued walking right behind you. It’s here, he said as he pulled out a big, old-looking key and opened one of the doors. 

You expected whatever you found inside to be dirty and filled with spiderwebs and whatnot from lack of use, but it was clean. In fact, it was like a small church museum, with all sorts of church memorabilia, some even hanging from the ceiling. The walls were plastered, and white, as if they had been taken care of not long ago, and there was a desk right in the middle of the room. 

“Well, this is… interesting,” you said as you leaned over the desk and looked around the room.

“It used to be a museum, got shut down a couple of months ago due to lack of visits. Now it’s a place we use to meditate and pray.” 

“And confess, I suppose,” you added with a small, teasing smirk.

Remus stepped towards you, hesitant but not stopping, he was close now. Close enough for you to feel his body heat. “He touched you,” he said as his hand hovered over your leg. 

You gave him a look, cocking your head to the side, “Father Black?”

“Yes,” he said, voice colder than he intended. 

You tried not to laugh at his childish display of jealousness and had to remind yourself how starved for love Remus had been when you first showed up at his confessionary. How you’d had to tell him to touch himself for him to even dare do it under his clothes and how out of practice he’d been. Even then, you couldn’t help but tease him, he looked lovely when he was being teased. 

“Does it bother you?” 

“What right does he have? He didn’t even ask for permission, he placed his dirty hands on–” 

“Right,” you interrupted. “I guess it was certainly unexpected.” 

“But not unwelcomed?” he retorted.

“Not” –he looked at you as if you’d betrayed him– “if I imagined they were your hands instead.” He swallowed thickly, the place was so quiet that the sound he made, combined with the bobbing of his throat, made it beyond evident. You smiled and bit your bottom lip as you looked at him. “Jealousy suits you, Father Remus, with the slight tint of your cheeks, you look delightful.” 

His gaze intensified on yours as if he was trying to look past your flirting and into your soul. Did you really think he was that handsome? With you being as beautiful as you were, he’d expect to see you with someone like Sirius, handsome, strong, pretty. Not with someone as rugged up as he was, not with someone that had scars on his entire body. “More than him?” 

“Than Father Black, you mean?” you teased again, he tensed, and you placed a hand on his arm. But rather than responding, you thought of showing him. “How about–” you started, your hand sliding down his arm until you had your hand in his and pulled it towards you, “How about you touch me like he did and see how I react to you?” 

Remus gulped again as if he couldn’t quite process what you’d said, “You– you want me to touch you?”

“Like in my dream,” you said as you leaned on your hands and sat on the desk better, your legs only slightly parted, not enough for him to realise you’d been wearing no underwear –again– but enough for it to be enticing, your skirt had ridden up just a little bit more, almost as much as Sirius had pulled it earlier with his hand.

Remus was hesitant as he looked at you, eyes blown as he stared but his hand still held firmly on the side. Up until then, it had been you the one to speak, you the one to tell, you the one to touch him however you wanted, he had never been the one to do it. Not even as you blew him had he dared to lay a hand on you. He wasn’t sure if he could debase the holiness of your body with his unworthy hands. 

You, upon seeing his hesitance, spread your legs a little wider for him, tantalising him. Remus was dithering as he leaned closer, you’d expected him to go straight for your leg, after all, you had purposefully laid them out for him, and you couldn’t help but be left breathless when he reached up and brushed his fingers on your face. “You’re so beautiful,” he said, almost in a whisper. The raw honesty he used sent a shiver down your spine, you had been called beautiful before, plenty of times, but none of them had felt as genuine as Remus’ words. As deep-rooted and meaningful. “Like an angel,” he added. 

Your breath was already heavier, and he had only grazed the pads of his fingers over your cheek. He brushed his thumb over your lips for a second before he moved it to the side and dragged it under your chin. One of his fingers behind your ear, and the rest accommodating along your neck while his thumb placed circles over your throat. “And so soft,” he said then. “I’m scared to break you. Like you really are one of those beautiful saint ikons we have all over the church.” 

“I’m far from being a saint,” you said in a whisper, your eyes were as blown as his. The way Remus touched you, how soft and careful he was, how reverential as if each of his fingers was laced with devotion was making you go insane. You weren’t sure anyone had ever touched you like that before, and it made you both crave more and relish in the little he gave. 

“Are you?” he asked. “I always feel like I’m floating when you’re around.” 

You bit your lips as you looked at him, his other hand had travelled to your arm, and he was holding it firmly, but not strongly, as if he was using it as a reassurance that you were real, that you wanted him. 

You bit your lip at that, looking at his, but not leaning into them, “Remus?” You said softly. 

“Yeah?” he breathed. He was enjoying the way your cheeks felt warm under his touch and the way the hair on your arm would stand on end as he traced his feather-light fingers over the back of your hand. 

“Remember my dream?” Remus wanted to respond that he could never forget your dream, that he had it every night, all the different variations of it that had gone through his head were so sinful he should have gone to hell just for desiring you with that vigour. He merely nodded. “Remember what I did after that?” Remus’ eyes lost in his hands, rushed back to your face. 

He hesitated, “You want me to touch you there?” 

You looked down at his hands, your gaze lingering over his broad chest, and the way the tight-fitted cassock looked on him, “Please,” you sighed.

Remus, who had never touched a woman like that in his entire life, was beyond nervous as you guided one of his hands to your leg. He was hesitant, playing with the soft skin of your thigh first, softly closing his hands around them and then letting go, each time, his hand reaching deeper in, closer to your core. You were looking at him with a gaze so lustful you might have as well been possessed by one of the seven deadIy sins. 

Or perhaps, it was him the one possessed. He wasn’t any better as he stared at you, gulping as he touched you, his cock straining against his pants in a way that should have been uncomfortable, but just with the sight of you embracing his inexpert touch became beyond pleasurable.

He’d become a debauchee, he wanted more of you, all of you. And here you were, giving yourself into all his lecherous thoughts, into all of yours. He was drowning in the idea of having you for himself, of making you his, vows be damned, he wanted you more than anything he’d ever wanted before. 

More than God? His mind asked him. Remus stopped moving for a second, and then you placed your hand on his chest, gripped the fabric covering it, and dragged him closer to you, the question was forgotten in an instant, and his hand, almost as in instinct, went right over your slit. But he pulled it back in an instant and looked at you in shock. 

“You’re not wearing any underwear.” 

You took his hand and dragged it back into your thighs, “I never do when I come to see you.”

His breath was slow and ragged, a part of him was furious over Father Black touching you earlier, of you knowingly letting him touch your thigh and ride your skirt up with his unclean hands, of you feeling any pleasure at all from his attention, from knowing that under the skirt there was nothing to stop him from touching you.

But Father Black wasn’t here, Father Black didn’t get to touch you in the way he did, and you had dismissed him with a kind smile, but had never looked at him with the licentious expression you were giving him now. You were not Father Black’s, and you had never been Father Black’s. From the moment you entered that confessionary, you knew what you wanted. And you wanted him. 

Remus’ hand closed the distance between it and your core. And as light as he had been earlier, he traced his fingers over your slit: Steady, kind, supple. Most men had rushed in, desperate to have you, but Remus did it with a patience reminiscent of a wolf stalking his prey. You opened your legs a little wider for him, and shuddered when his knuckle brushed against your clit.

He swallowed and placed one of his hands next to yours as he leaned a little closer to you, his forehead against yours, “Is this okay?” he asked as he repeated the action, his knuckle finding its way between your folds and brushing over your clit again. 

“Yeah,” you sighed. “That’s incredible,” you reassured. 

He did it again and felt his heart start to hammer against his chest when your sighs became soft, almost imperceptible moans. But he heard them, he was the one who got to hear all of those beautiful sounds of yours, and he loved it. 

Eventually, Remus changed his knuckle for his thumb, figuring out a more precise pace made your moans a little louder, as he touched you, as he heard you, he stared at your lips longingly, of what he’d do to kiss your lips, to become his own breath and feel the way they shivered under his touch. But Remus wouldn’t dare to kiss you without you doing it first, he thought you allowing him to touch you in the way you did, was already so much, that he didn’t deserve to also have your lips. 

If only he knew the only reason you hadn’t leaned in to kiss him was because you thought you’d scare him away, he would have closed the gap between the two ages ago. 

“Remus– Rem, Rem,” you said as you placed a hand on his shoulder. The way his name had fallen from your lips, so lascivious, was overwhelming all of his senses, almost making him short-circuit just from your voice. 

“Yeah?” he asked breathily. 

“You can,” you closed your eyes and attempted to focus on your words. “You can put your finger inside if you want.” 

He looked at you with a confused raise of the eyebrows. And then he mustered enough courage to ask for something he had only dreamed of since he saw you touching yourself in the confessionary. “How about my tongue?” 

His bold question was enough to pull you back into reality, his fingers now tracing slow circles over your clit, slow and steady, as if he was trying to keep you warm as you thought about it. He’d paid attention to the way you touched yourself, he’d always been good at learning, and this was no different.

“You–” you hesitated, trying to regain focus. This was him taking control of the situation, and he was brilliant at it. Your breath was heavy as you asked,  “You want to?” 

“I’ve wanted to since that day you gave me your handkerchief,” he admitted. You let out a breathy laugh and used your hands to push further back into the desk, so it was easier for him to bend over you, but instead, he took both of your legs and pulled them to the edge as he kneeled on the floor, levelling himself to your core. His hot breath against you sent a shiver down your spine.

Remus Lupin had never kneeled for anyone other than God or his saints. He had never kneeled for anyone that wasn’t already a spirit in the sky or a very important church figure. And he had certainly never kneeled for a woman. 

But you weren’t just any woman, you were an angel, you were his new saint, the one whose name he would repeat like a prayer over and over every night, the one he couldn’t and didn’t want to stop thinking about. So when he kneeled down for you, he didn’t repent for it. No, he adored the idea of surrendering himself to you, of giving you anything and everything you wanted. 

His angel, if he could, then he’d also bring you to heaven.

Remus looked at your juicy slit before leaning in a little closer and placing a soft kiss on your plush inner thigh. You shivered as he slowly, kiss by kiss, got closer to your core. You almost unwantedly clenched over nothing. He could see your movements, your hips bending just slightly up and your back arching at the mere idea of having him where you needed, and he smiled. Positioning himself right over your slit, but not closing the gap yet.

“Are you ready, angel?” 

“Yes,” you breathed, and Remus didn’t waste a second after that. He leaned down and his tongue traced your slit in the same gentle manner in which he had touched you earlier, he allowed his tongue to explore the outside, licking away all of the juices that had coated you when he used his hands to please you. He moaned when he first got a taste of you. 

Remus became desperate for more soon, his hands pulling you closer to his face and then carefully pushing your legs open wider, looking up at you to make sure you were comfortable in the new position, but without taking his mouth away from your cunt. Your face, leaning down on the desk was one of pure, unabashed bliss. He was doing that, he was taking you to heaven, and he loved every single stroke. 

Your soft moans when he licked, the gasping when he sucked and kissed your clit with a little more forcefulness, the whimpers you made when he brought his hand to your core, both to use his elbow to keep your legs widened and to trace circles over your clit when he distracted himself with licking some other part of you. With kissing or softly nipping at your slit. 

Remus might have not been an expert, but every single sound you made was his guidance, and when you sounded the most pleased,  then he knew that’s where he should stay, that he should keep going at it until you were a moaning mess, until you were pushing your hips onto him and he had to hold you back to continue doing it, since he figured you enjoyed it more than when you rocked your hips onto his face. Not that he minded it, he loved that just as much as the fact that he could touch you. 

“Fuck Remus,” you breathed, “I think I’m gonna…” 

Remus didn’t know much about women getting their climax, only really what his friends had mentioned to him before, and how much harder it was for them. It didn’t seem like that though, it hadn’t been all that hard to get you there, not when he had enjoyed every single second of it thoroughly. 

Remus knew though, that you would need a little extra stimulation to get there, so he switched his fingers from your clit towards your entrance, and his mouth back at your clit. He was soft and slow at first, only teasing the area as if to find it. And then he remembered the way you had done it inside the confessionary and dug his finger in. You gasped, and he did just the same. He didn’t know what the hell to expect it to feel, but it was tight, and soft, and slippery and he couldn’t help but imagine his cock inside, and how the warmth and the pleasure would feel. Divine, you were beyond fucking divine. 

You moaned his name and he curled his finger inside of you, causing you to gasp as he continued to suck at your clit, and then he massaged, softly but purposefully, curling and sliding his finger until you were trembling, one hand gripping at his shoulder and the other one curling on the side of the table, your nails scratching onto the soft varnish coating of the wood. As he looked at you, he realised just how turned on he was himself. He was throbbing behind his trousers, rocking his hips into nothing as he kept kissing you, the slight friction from his underwear was enough to make him want to tremble as well.

Eventually, you stopped trembling, your breath short and eyes closed as you panted. Your legs, which had been tense with clenching muscles, had relaxed into suppleness. He slowed down his movements when you did, easing you out of your high in the most tender way you had ever seen anyone do. Massaging your tights until your panting turned into a softer and more toned down breath, and just when he was sure you were relaxed, he pressed a soft kiss to your slit, as if he was thanking it for letting him touch you in the way he had. Like you would kiss a saint ikon or the feet of the Jesus statue themselves. 

Then he leaned his head on your thigh, and pulled a handkerchief from his trousers, passing it slowly over all the areas he had licked and sucked. Being careful when he got to your slit and noting how much more sensitive you were than at the beginning. When he was done, he pressed another soft kiss, this time to your inner thigh, and then closed his eyes as he enjoyed your warm soft skin pressed onto his cheek. 

You pushed yourself up by your elbows, and your heart fluttered at the tenderness of his expression. It was like a spell had been cast on him, where he looked so soft, like the pure, holy man he was and not like the lust-driven one you had turned him into. 

After looking at him for a minute, you pushed yourself into a sitting position and placed your hand over his head, he looked up at you like you were the most divine thing he’d ever experienced. Almost purring into your hand as you allowed it to brush over his head and neck. “Let me help you finish,” you said softly and slid from the desk, you were right in the middle of him and the piece of furniture, so close to him you could feel his breath on your face. 

“Don’t worry about it,” he said. 

You frowned as you pressed your hand to his lower abdomen, you thought he said it out of shame because he wanted to make you the one blessed today. But you knew that the poor man, starved from touch and probably love, deserved to come more than you who had touched yourself whenever you felt like it for years now. 

So you dug your hand in his trousers, but he was soft, and there was something sticky all over your hand. You pulled your hand out of them and stared at it in shock. “You came?” 

He was looking at you, neck and ears red with shame. Breathing in before nodding. He couldn’t quite decipher your gaze, but he knew enough about sex to know that when a man came early, it meant he was precocious, overly eager and childlike. Remus despised the idea of not being good enough for you, “I’m sorry.” 

“God, don’t be!” you replied. “Did you– were you touching yourself while you…” 

“No,” he said a little too fast. 

“So this” –you moved your hand, looking at his glistening cum on it– “this was just from giving me pleasure?” 

“Well, I’d never–” he started, trying to find an excuse that would make him feel less shameful. 

You just smiled and pulled him into a reassuring hug, leaning your head on his shoulder as you rubbed your hands over his back. “That’s okay, darling… It’s just, I never thought a man would feel such pleasure from doing that to me that he came without further stimulation. If anything, I’m flattered. You must not be ashamed.” 

“But didn’t you want more?” 

“Oh, Remus,” you said as you pulled your head up and leaned close to his ear, enough for your lips to brush against his still-red tips, “I always want more.” 

The way you were wrapped around him, the soft way you spoke, it was strangely reminiscent of the serpent tempting Eve. Wanting him to bite onto the forbidden fruit, the fruit that would be having you in the way he so intensely wanted –needed– to have you. 

Atonement, penitence…. Could he even have one when he didn’t regret any of his sins? When rather than feeling remorseful, he wanted more, more of anything you’d give him, more of you. You were delightful, stunning, and warm and perfect all over, he wanted to kiss you so bad, but he didn’t know if he was allowed. The image of your lips against him might have been more tantalising than the image of his cock inside you.

Satisfying his carnal needs wasn’t enough anymore, he wanted to appease his mind too, and the only thing that had that ability was you. You felt like peace and tranquillity. Like you were his sacred place, more holy than the very walls surrounding the both of you. But above all, he wanted more, he wanted to be able to touch you again, to feel you so close to him again that he could almost touch your very soul. 

“I’m gonna be in charge of the Church during the retreat,” he blurted out.

“Congratulations, Father Remus,” you said with a bit of a smirk, still hugging him as you did. 

“What I mean is– the Church, it’s going to be lonely. Probably just me and a few others who will be too busy studying the scriptures for the Pope’s visit next month.” 

That’s when you pulled back to look at him, a mischievous expression on your face, “Are you inviting me over for the night, Father Remus?” 

“I thought,” he started, and then smirked. “I thought you might want to confess again.” 

ACT IX: I am the LORD your God; you shall not have strange gods before me.

The priests were meant to leave by midday. At 9 in the evening, by the time you were set to arrive, the church looked almost deserted. The people from de Diose that would always be walking around in their robes were nowhere to be seen. In the chairs, there was nothing more than dust. You had seen the last person walk out as you walked inside.

She stood right at the entrance when you were walking up the stairs and then did the sign of the cross as she looked up at the altar. You looked at it as well, the altar at Saint Gryffin was beautiful. Made of marble and carved with a design so intricate it could have belonged to a museum. It had golden touches, that you suspected were not made of paint but rather real gold, and right behind it, a little on the higher side, there was a stunning round, stained-glass window that reflected its colours all over the church when the light hit it a certain way, or so you’d heard a woman claim.

You took a deep breath as you looked at it, outside of the church being the oppressive organism that you disagreed with, there was still beauty to be appreciated. But that was the thing about the world, there was something to appreciate even in the most wretched of things, even the most wicked being in creation, had something to be said for him. They had a huge painting of god casting Lucifer down to Earth near one of the walls, and there always seemed to be people who insisted on drawing the Devil as the most beautiful of men. That had been described in the bible of course, but it was very Wildean of the bible to have a man so corrupted be as delightful. 

Or perhaps it was very biblical of Wilde to write a book where a beautiful man became corrupted, gave in to every single lewd wish they had, and yet, remained as beautiful as an angel.

As your steps echoed on the empty church, you walked straight towards the confessionary. Since both you and Remus thought it was the best place to hide while he was closing it all down. You heard the big doors of the church being closed, and Remus dismissing one of his older deacons, the one who was studying to become a priest, with the characteristic solemnity of a man of the church. 

The same solemnity that seemed to leave him the minute he felt you, standing behind him. You had leaned onto him while he finished up with the locks and whispered in his ear. “Nice to see you again, Father. Will you take my confession?” 

He swallowed, he knew it was your little game, and he decided to play along. “Pray tell child, what have you done this time?” 

“I was walking on the street,” you said. “On a little one of those stores where they sell elegant underwear for women, or well, I suppose they really sell them for men, so they enjoy their women… I saw a little set.” 

“What kind of set?” he asked, his gaze fixed on the wooden door, he pretended to busy himself with the locks, although they were all done by now, he just kept touching them with an air of nervousness that he tried to contain as he spoke. 

“Well, it had a bra, one of those really nice push-up bras that make women’s breasts look delightful, and a small little thing for underwear that’s so transparent I might as well be naked while wearing it. But the best part, Rem, oh, the best part is the matching transparent little robe that came with it.” His breath got stuck in his throat, he resisted the urge to turn around as you pressed your body to his back, leaning so close he could feel your lips touching his earlobe. “Would you like to know the colour?” 

Remus gulped, so loud it almost made an echo in the church. “Yes.” 

“Then turn around and see it for yourself.” 

He did, and there you stood, wearing the exact clothes you had described. He imagined the colour you’d chosen had been forest green, like the girl from his magazine, but he never imagined how absolutely enchanting you’d look in such an outfit. 

“Your little story inspired me, thought you’d like it,” you said with a smile, and then you looked down at the visible bulge in his pants. “I gather you did?” 

Remus was speechless as he stared at you, he was never expecting anyone, let alone you to put such an effort for him, to dress in such a scanty little outfit just to please him. A part of him was dying to take it off, like he’d dreamed with that girl from the magazine, the other part of him, wanted to let you keep it, to have you like that forever. And then, there was the desperate part of him, the one that he couldn’t keep under control as he leaned down and kissed you. His mouth was in yours when he realised he hadn’t even asked if he could. 

“I’m sorry,” he said as he pulled apart. “I’m sorry I didn’t–”

You smiled and placed your hands around his neck, “I thought you’d never do that,” you breathed, and pushed him back into the kiss. His lips were soft, and gentle, and it was you the one to press your tongue against them. He complied with your wish, and suddenly your tongues were dancing with each other, deepening the kiss. 

Remus’ hands found their way to your waist, and he pulled you closer to him, your stomach pressed against his boner, and he almost flinched when he realised and tried to pull his hips back, but you didn’t let him. “I want to feel it, Rem,” you whispered in between kisses. “I like to feel how good I make you feel.” 

“You make me feel better than anything and anyone has ever made me feel,” he retorted. “That’s nothing, that’s just collateral.” 

You could have drowned in his words. But instead, you decided to drown in his lips, returning to kiss him with an even more ardent fervour. You somehow got Remus to sit on one of the benches and he pushed his head to look up at you while you kissed him. His hands had gotten just venturous enough to touch thighs, and the idea that he could was only making him harder. The strain of his cock on his trousers was almost painful at this point. You figured when he had to move one of his hands to adjust himself and hissed at the contact. 

That was enough for you to climb on top of him. “Sweet thing, what are you–” he tried to ask in between a kiss, but you were already rocking your hips against him before he continued, and his words were interrupted by a moan. 

You pulled back and smiled, “Helping you with that tension.” 

He stared at you, the way your swollen lips moved and turned upwards into that very like you smile, and he tried not to eagerly jerk against you the next time you leaned your clothed sex closer to him.  

“This is the first time I ever– fuck…” Teasing you was hard when you were so damn incredible at making him feel in heaven. “I ever see you wearing knickers.” 

“Perhaps your goodness is rubbing off on me,” you replied with an equal smirk. 

“That’s not the thing that’s rubbing onto you,” he somehow managed to joke, and you laughed. A laugh so angelical it might have as well come from heaven altogether, it echoed against the vaulted ceiling of the place and then came back to him in a lower, softer tone that made him smile, and drag you back into a kiss. He was clearly much more confident –or perhaps just more eager– today. 

“Father Remus,” you said as you pushed your hips on him, he struggled to get a grip on reality as he focused on what you were saying. 

“Mhm?” 

“I want to confess.” 

“Right now?” 

“It’s a very sinful thought I’ve had.” 

Remus arched an eyebrow and then moaned when you rolled your hips against him again, making sure he was turned on enough to comply with your, actually very sinful little wish.

“Then tell me, dove. I’ll absolve you. I’d absolve you from anything.” 

“But I don’t want absolution, Father,” you said and let out a shaky breath. “I want you to sin with me.” 

Remus laughed, “Anything you want.” 

“You haven’t even heard my request.” 

“My answer remains the same,” he said solemnly.

You smiled and leaned closer to him, making sure to lean your hips on his, feeling how hard he was on your core making you so wet you were sure your new knickers were already stained. You whispered what you wanted in his ear. Low, steady, as if you weren’t alone in the church. Then you pulled back to look at him, “So?” 

He gulped and looked behind you as if considering your request, there was a nervous gaze on him, a small frown, and you worried your request had been out of line, “I’m sorry,” you said quickly, and pulled from him, leaning on his thighs instead of his hips. A worried expression plastered your features, terrified you might have killed the mood. “If you don’t want to then we don’t have to, we–” 

He pulled you into a kiss, he thought it was lovely how quickly you had changed your mind for him, but his words carried meaning, and when he said ‘anything you want’, he really meant it. He pulled his lips from your and pressed kisses all the way to your ear and then whispered “I was just thinking how to get us there.” 

You were thrumming with excitement by the time he dragged his hands to your thighs and pulled himself up with you wrapped around him. 

“I won’t let you fall,” he said as he noticed you steadying yourself. 

“I know,” you said with a smile and pressed a kiss to his neck that made him falter. “I may have my doubts now.” 

“I would never let you fall, darling, not without going along with you,” he whispered and started walking towards the chancel. He looked at the Bishop’s chair and imagined having you there, but that wasn’t what you’d asked for.  

When he reached the altar, it was easy enough to lean on it and let you sit, the height was just about perfect for him, with how tall he was, your faces were levelled with each other. Remus had been taught to care for the altar, to kiss it, to worship it since it was the symbol of sacrifice, the symbol of God, the cynosure of all eyes during any Eucharistic celebration. He thought it rather proper to place you there, since to him, you were the real cynosure.

And he would treat you like such, he would kiss you, and worship you, like you were God yourself. Because at this point, you might as well have been. 

The altar was bare except for a few candles that he hastily pushed to the side as he stared at you, sitting there with your profane little clothes while still looking as holy as an angel. He had been behind the altar perhaps thousands of times, yet he had never felt nearly as illuminated as he had that moment.

“What?” you asked as you tilted your head to the side, a small smile playing on your lips. 

“Just admiring how incredibly stunning you look,” he said. And then he tilted his head, his tone changed, “I think I need to confess.” 

You smiled, you loved it when Remus joined your little game, you bit your lip and placed your hands on each side of his flushed cheeks. “Speak, dear one, I will absolve you with a kiss.” 

“I want to sullen this sacred table by worshipping a different god on it.” 

“Different? To him?” you asked as you nodded towards the cross in the back. “A better one?” 

“A much more tangible one,” he said. “One that dresses in beautiful lingerie and steals his priests.” 

“Just one,” you corrected. “I only want one of his priests.” 

He chuckled, “Just one then.”

“Come, I’ll absolve you,” you said and leaned closer to him, pressing your lips on his again.

There were warning signs all around Remus’ head. Red flags telling him to stop, voices calling him a harlot, weak of mind and body, a heathen and a pagan. His reproaching father telling him how much of a disappointment he was, the elder being disappointed at his lewd actions, and the part of him that was still a priest telling him to stop before it was too late, before he wouldn’t be able to do it, but that line had long ago been crossed, and all of those thoughts were the easiest thing to ignore when your sweet lips were in his.

You had to be an angel, there was no other way you could make him feel as incredible as you did. And if not an angel, then you really were a god, his Goddess. And so he would venerate you and worship you on the altar like he’d learned to worship his previous god.

ACT X: You shall not kill

Remus stopped kissing your mouth and started placing soft, feather-like kisses all over your face until he got to your neck, gently moving the thin, translucent fabric of the little robe to the side so he could kiss the skin of your collarbone. Open-mouthed kisses and soft licks that felt desperate filled your senses as he pressed his face to your skin and breathed in your smell.

The slight scent of rose he particularly enjoyed when the church was filled with them for a wedding that the soap you’d specifically bought for today had tainted your skin with, the smell of the city air where you had commuted, and the ridiculously delicious natural smell of your skin. He kissed again and again, slowly letting his hands wander through your body, digging them down to the robe until the small bow that tied it was undone and he pushed it off your shoulders and allowed it to pool down on your hips. 

He pulled back to look at you again, lips swollen and red from how much he’d kissed you, lustful gaze lost on you, pupils blown out and softly panting as he regained his breath from the previous kisses. He bit his lips as he stared at your breasts. He’d seen them, but he’d never touched them, you weren’t even sure if he’d ever actually touched a pair in his life, and he had been purposefully avoiding them altogether as he kissed your neck. 

You smiled, “You want to take it off, or do you want me to do it?” 

He swallowed thickly at that, looking up at your eyes as if trying to make sure you were serious about your words, you raised your eyebrows at that. 

“It might be tricky, but I’m sure you’d manage, you’re a clever man, after all.” 

He wrapped his hands around you after that, first on your shoulders, and then he got closer, slotting himself even deeper between your legs as he allowed his fingers to delicately brush over your shoulder blades as his eyes were focused on your neck. You looked at him while he did, your own breath nervous and as slow as you could make it. The way he touched you, the way he revered you with every brush of his fingers against skin was almost overwhelming. 

You bit your lip as his fingers found the clasp, and tightened your grip on the edge of the altar as the anticipation ate you up, his hands were slow, as if he was trying to figure out what the mechanism was before actually undoing it. But once he did, he didn’t take long, with one hand he pressed one side to your back and with the other he undid the clasp. After that, he placed his hand flat on your back and allowed you to rest there for a second before travelling back to your shoulders and playing with the straps. 

He gave a questioning look and you nodded, he didn’t waste time as he slid them down your arms, while carefully removing the green item from your breasts. He saw the way they bounced slightly down and stared at them solely as he removed the rest of the garment and threw it backwards. He got to see the way they perked with the chill air of the night and he stared as if it was the first time he ever looked at them. Perhaps it felt like that since the last time it had been through the confessionary, and he hadn’t even had the time to touch them.

His hands hovered over your breasts before you gave him an approving nod and he leaned close enough to touch them. He went back to kissing your neck as he brushed his thumb over your lower breast and only after he’d felt how soft, and sensitive they were –due to your reaction to his soft touch– did he dare to cup them in his hands. 

“Is that okay?” he asked as he tightened his grip on the one he was holding. “I’m not hurting you, am I?” 

“Not at all,” you responded and leaned closer to him, your other breast brushing against his cassock. “Can I take this off?” you asked as you gripped his shirt.

“You may do as you please to me,” he said honestly. You allowed your hands to travel to his white necktie and pulled it off as you too found a way to kiss his neck. He was pressing kisses to your hair as he delicately brushed his thumb over your nipple and moaned your name from the way you kissed him. It was a little complicated to find the buttons of his shirt at first, but when you did you were quick to undo them and shrug his shirt off. Above it all, you wanted to feel his skin against yours. 

You allowed your hands to brush over his scars, you hoped one day he’d tell you why they were there, but for now you did nothing more than admire them as you kissed from his neck all the way to his shoulder. He sighed your name as he delicately pinched your nipples, and then he allowed his hands to travel to your back and push forward, holding you as gravity pushed you down, allowing your back to rest against the cold marble of the altar. 

“You’re the prettiest thing my eyes have ever laid upon, you know that?” he asked as he looked at you. At your breasts, at your hands, at the curve of your neck and at the way your hair had sprawled all over the marble. The place had been designed so that the light from the stained glass window fell over the altar at certain moments of the night and day, and at that precise moment, it was reflecting all over you, tinting your skin with infinite colours. The light from it was casting a halo around your head.

If Remus hadn’t realised by then that he would not only break his vows for you but do anything you asked, be it eat from the forbidden fruit or kill a man, he knew it when he saw the way you leaned over your elbows and cocked your head to the side, looking at the way he stared curiously. Remus had already forgone his god for you, and he was ready to forgo himself if you asked. 

“Will you kiss me again?” You asked, voice soft, almost innocent. 

“I’d do anything you wanted,” he said honestly and leaned into you, pressing kisses to your neck. You felt his skin against yours, rough and soft and you sighed at the blissful feeling his kisses gave you. His kisses went from your neck to your collarbone and then he tentatively brushed his nose over the valley of your breasts, looking up at your reaction before pressing a kiss to one of them. A  soft and innocent sort of kiss, before he actually opened his mouth and sucked on one of your nipples, nibbling on it when he realised you shivered at the grazing of his teeth. 

Then he continued going down, and slotted himself between your legs, feeling how wet you were over your thin lingerie. He teased you by pulling on the elastic of the knickers, and slid them down your legs before he pressed a kiss to your thigh; and while you were dying to feel his lips on your clit again, there was something else you wanted, something neither of you had dared to try with each other, and if things went anything like they had done the previous time he’d gone down on you, he would have been too spent to do it. 

“Not–” you breathed. “I want to do something else today.” 

He looked up at you curiously, his hot breath against your core sending shivers down your spine, “Yeah?” he asked, he was clearly as much in a haze as you were, absolutely and irrevocably drunk on you. 

“I want you inside me,” you breathed out. He looked at you as if your request was alarming. “Please.” 

There was nothing, not in heaven, not on earth, and certainly not in hell that would have made him deny you. He pressed another kiss over your thigh and then he moved you a little further up into the altar, climbing up himself so he had at least a little more leverage. “I’ve never–” he hesitated. “You’ll have to teach me, angel.” The smile you gave him was the most devilish one you’d ever given anyone, but to him it was nothing short of angelical. “Will you?” 

“With pleasure,” you retorted, pushed yourself up and turned the two of you around, now his back was on the altar. “It’s quite simple Father Remus, I’m sure you’ll master it in no time like you’ve done with everything else I’ve taught you.” 

He just stared at you, eyes filled with lust as he nodded in acknowledgement. You tilted your head forward and let out a soft sigh, lips curved into that same smile as before. You placed your fingers on his collarbone, “I assume you already know the way it works,” you said as you allowed your hand to lay flat against his toned chest, and then dragged it down. “Should I teach you that as well?” 

“If it pleases you,” he answered. 

You looked at him with a teasing grin and then pushed yourself up to straddle him, knees on either side of his thighs as you slowly undid his trousers and pulled them down. Once they were out of the way you went for his boxers, allowing your hands to brush over his thick-length just to hear his reaction, the groan he tried to suppress was nothing short of thrilling. You didn’t waste much more time before you too pulled them off. His cock sprang up, thick and proud. You bit your lip and dug your nails in your tight before you reached for it. 

Remus was sensitive, and you did not want him to come before he was inside of you, so instead of teasing him further with your hands, you accommodated yourself right on top of him and pressed yourself over his cock. Your folds wrapping themselves around it as you rocked your hips back and forth to coat him with your juices. You heard him curse and groan, and you were trying really hard to hold yourself together, but you couldn’t help the mellowing sounds that escaped your mouth as his cock brushed against your clit. He thought it was heavenly, he thought nirvana was at his reach and he wasn’t even from that religion. 

“So what you have to do,” you breathed.

“That wasn’t it?” he teased as he saw you attempt to raise yourself from his cock and fail, he placed his hands on your waist to help, but when he figured how good that particular position made you feel, instead of raise he pushed you down on him again, moaning at the way your folds made the skin of his cock pull back. 

“Well, that’s great for me,” you said as you leaned towards him and rocked your hips again, your lips so close to his that they brushed each other as you spoke again. “But I can make it better for you.” 

Remus wasn’t sure that was possible, but he had thought there was nothing better than touching himself with the thought of you and you had proved him wrong with your sweet lips around his cock. “I wouldn’t mind it if we stayed like this.” 

You rolled your hips again and he moaned, “Bet you wouldn’t,” you laughed. And then raised your hips again, his cock sprang up again, and you bit your lip as you looked down and reached for it, accommodating it towards your entrance. You brushed his tip against your clit a couple of times and moaned his name before slowly letting it find your entrance. His breath got caught in his throat as his tip entered you, “Is that okay?” you asked softly. 

“Fuck– yes…” he let out. You smiled, and continued with your task, slowly sinking in deeper. Remus was moaning your name as he felt your walls stretch around him. “It’s… really fucking tight.” 

“If it’s too much I–” 

“Don’t dare stop!” He rushed out. You smiled and continued your careful descent until he was completely inside you. Your head was laying on his chest as the two of you panted, getting used to the intoxicating feeling the other brought. He was filling you up and making you feel things without even having to move.

“How’s that?” You asked as you clenched around him. 

“My god, did you just–?” You clenched again and he groaned. 

“Gather you liked it?” He gave you a look. “Tell me when you’re ready for more.” 

“More?” he asked confused, and you rocked your hips forward, he moaned and felt himself throb inside you, “Okay,” he breathed. “May I?” 

You nodded, he placed his hands on your waist again, helping you move your hips on him, and cursed, eyes closing shot as he got used to feeling so overwhelmingly good. You smiled and rolled your hips as you pushed yourself up, resting both of your hands on his chest and using them as leverage for rolling your hips even more. 

He accidentally pushed his hips into you, “M’sorry,” he muttered. 

“No, that’s good,” you encouraged, and he did it again. “You feel incredible,” he said, almost to himself. “You look incredible,” he added, looking at your face, brows slightly furrowed as you bit your bottom lip and rocked your hips on his, at the way your breasts bounced with the rolling of your hips. 

You would be lying if you said you didn’t love his praises. He was always so adamant with them, and they always made your stomach flutter, even now, as he was inside you. His thrust got more desperate, and you realised your weight was making it harder for him to move freely.

“Let’s– Let’s switch,” you stammered. “Take the top so you can move better.” 

“You sure?” he asked hesitantly and you nodded. He placed his hands on your back and carefully flipped the two around without disconnecting your bodies and started pounding into you with a little more urgency.

You smiled, and allowed him to rut into you, as he leaned closer to kiss you. “I like this position too,” he said with a smile.

“Mhm?” you asked as you looked into his eyes.

“I can kiss you as much as I please like this,” he said and closed the gap between your lips, biting on the bottom one as he pulled back to look at you again. You clenched around him in retort and he moaned. “When you do that…” he breathed, his forehead pressed into yours.

His thrusts started to pick up the pace as if he was losing control over himself, you instantly knew he was close and dragged your hand down to your clit to rush your own climax. 

“What are you?” He asked and lost his trail of thought after you touched your clit and let out a soft mellow moan. Your knuckles brushed against his cock with each rut and he was quick to drag his own hand down –the one he wasn’t using to hold himself above you– and push yours out of the way to draw circles over your clit. “Good?” 

 “Mhm…” you moaned, eyes shut and completely lost in the feeling of his hands on you. He pounded against you again and somehow reached that spot inside that made you squirm. Your panting increased, and your heartbeat quickened even further. Remus, who was adamant on seeing every single reaction his touch made you feel, decided he had to do it again to hear that sweet sound of yours and soon enough he had you melting for him. 

Now he had been the one to take you to heaven, so perhaps he had, in a way, converted you back, since you once again believed such a place existed, even if it was just for a second. 

“I think I’m going to–” he cut himself off when he felt cum shut out right inside you. “Fuck. I’m sorry,” he said as he tried to get out. But you were faster, gripping onto his neck and dragging him to a kiss. 

“It’s okay,” you clenched around him, feeling yet another ribbon of his warm cum inside you. “Please do it inside.” 

Remus tried not to moan at your request and hid his blushed face in your neck as he continued to thrust inside you, movement erratic as he milked the rest of himself on you. 

When he was done, he fell on top of you, his head beside yours as he breathed thickly, his weight crushing you in a way that you thought was insanely pleasurable. After a few minutes, you tilted your head to the side and reached your hand up to play with his hair as leaned your lips close to his ear. “So, how was it?” 

He scoffed at your question, you definitely knew how insanely good it had been for him. “As if it weren’t obvious.” 

“I’d still like to hear you say it,” you said with a wicked smile. 

“Insane,” he said and turned to look at you. “Absolutely, and undeniably mental.” 

“Yeah?” 

“I thought I was in heaven.” 

“Maybe we both were,” you said honestly. He pulled from you and allowed himself to lay beside you, not missing the way his cum slid down your folds. You slotted yourself in between his arm and his chest, and brushed your hands over his toned chest. 

“Father?” you started. 

He turned to you,  “Don’t call me that anymore. I’ve broken my vows, I’ve killed him.”

You looked at him with a sort of forlorn expression, “I’m sorry,” you said honestly. You had wanted him so much, that you hadn’t thought of how your wishes would affect him. 

“Don’t be,” he said with a smile, “I am not.” 

Even if he had shattered his vows, even if he had broken most of the church’s rules, he’d had seen heaven, and he did not want, and wouldn’t want to go back from it. Remus recognized every single thing he’d done wrong, he’d seen his vileness, but he decided he’d go on with it. 

Because how could it possibly be wrong to kiss you? How could it be wrong to touch you and to feel himself inside you when it felt so good? There were no righteous men and no catholic god that could have convinced him that what’d he’d done with you was wicked, not when he saw your smile, and not when he looked into your hypnotising eyes. Every single thing about you was perfect, and he wouldn’t have changed a thing of what he’d done. 

Remus had decided to switch religions, he’d decided to get a new creed, he now fervently believed that you were his everything. 

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Read more Marauders Fiction

[moonlitdesertdreams]

Of Ghouls and Drugs

Request: "ok so I'm absolutely obsessed with that coop fic you did where reader helps him when he's injured and it's super domestic and fluffy....could you maybe do something where the roles are reversed and he helps the reader who's injured? maybe she's a little shaken up over it too and he calms her down and it's just very sweet and soft. thank you i adore your writing so much 💖" A/N: First of all, the reception of my Fallout content has been amazing. If you're one of the people who have liked/reblogged/replied/shared/saved/etc, I am eternally grateful to you. Second, thank you once again to the anon who sent this request! It's a bit of a switcharoo from Stuck Like Glue, so if you need some more Cooper content, check that out or take a peek at my Fallout Masterlist! Tags: Fallout, Cooper Howard, Cooper Howard x F!Reader, Cooper Howard x You, Ghoul x Reader WARNINGS: Canon-Typical language and violence Summary: Injured and scared, you can always count on your Cowboy to save the day.

Word Count: 1.7k+

(Gif Credit to @victoryrifle)

You don’t know why you’re hyperventilating. 

Sure, you’d been in countless fights and been scared more times than you can remember. In the Wasteland, if you’re not scared every now and again, you’re dead. But today, cornered in a decrepit open-air shopping mall store while a hoard of feral ghouls claw at the rusty security gate, you’re frozen with fear. 

It was an old clothing store, picked apart by scavengers and ravaged by time. Everything was covered in a thick blanket of dust, from the old checkout counter to the racks of high heels that sit untouched. Unfortunately for you, it hadn’t been a department store you ducked into where there could be some hope of escape. This one was a small boutique-type outlet with one way in and one impassable way out. Furthermore, the roll-down security door currently saving your life had been pure luck on your part. The lever for it was broken off and mounted on the side of the entrance; you’d only found it after the damn thing had torn your upper arm to shreds in your haste to get away. 

And now you’re ducked behind the checkout counter, old patterned men’s tie wrapped tightly around your bicep in a poor excuse of a tourniquet. You were out of ammo, banking on the security gate holding until the ghouls got bored or forgot about you. But there was something about today, about how they’d come charging from the darkness the second Cooper had left to turn in your latest bounty, that terrified you. Feral ghouls were shells of people with no logic or sense left in them, but the attack had felt calculated, planned. You argued with yourself, knowing they had basic instinct and probably just singled you out after another of their kind left.

Then again, maybe you’re conflating your fear of Cooper becoming one of them one day with the looming fear of death. 

Unable to do anything about it, you sit behind the counter and shake. Your breath comes in quick punches, inhales cutting off the exhales and vice versa. The iron smell of your own blood is overwhelming. Despite the tourniquet, warm liquid leaks down your arm and drips into a thick crimson puddle beneath you. Your backpack, full of stimpaks and every chem known to man, is abandoned just outside the gate. The damn thing had been torn away when you’d got caught on the jagged lever, beyond your reach and unable to be saved. 

The ghouls wail and groan while clawing at the gate, the sound of rattling metal echoing around the store’s walls. It’s deafening to the point where you cover your ears, accepting the fact that you’re screwed either way. Blood loss or ghoul attack, it doesn’t matter. Cooper’s long gone towards the last town, and you’re cursing the apparently lackluster job the two of you did making sure your camp was secure. 

“Take a look around.” He’d told you, “Getch’yu some new clothes if you need ‘em.”

Cooper’s voice and kiss goodbye lingers in your thoughts as you hold your hands over your ears. It’s a more pleasant thought than the ghouls outside. Your ghoul always keeps you safe. 

“Darlin’.” 

You almost smile to yourself, probably delusional from blood loss. 

“Hey!”

Your name slipping out of Cooper’s mouth dances across your foggy mind. 

“Goddamn it woman, open your eyes.” 

Something shakes your whole body, and your eyes snap open. 

At first it’s too dark for you to recognize any solid features, and you scramble away. The missing nose and scarred flesh blend together in your mind. You swing your injured arm in blind panic, which has the tourniquet breaking loose and bright arterial blood spattering the floor.

But you hear a voice calling through the haze. Soft and slow, like it’s calling to a wounded animal. “Ay, ay ay. Calm down now, sweetheart.”

You squint through the darkness, fighting dizziness. A familiar silhouette makes itself apparent. 

“Cooper?”

His face, weathered by radiation and pain, is usually twisted into a dramatic scowl. But right now it’s concerned, brow furrowed into worry that you’d never seen. The sounds of ghouls and impending doom have vanished. 

“It’s me, babydoll.” He almost coos at you, reaching out a hand. “C’mere.”

Your emotions rage, and tears burn at your eyes. You reach out a hand and brush the one he’s holding out, but your fingertips barely catch on the seam of his gloves.  You squeeze to make sure he’s real. He wraps strong fingers around your wrist and pulls you in. 

It’s easy to give in as his familiar scent and feel washes over you. Gunpowder and smoke are the main notes, but you catch the leather of his duster and the unavoidable grime provided by the Wasteland. The tears flow easily out the corner of your eyes and drip down your cheek.

“I-I don’t know where they came from.” You clutch at his coat, “Scared the hell out of me.”

Cooper is still moving despite you being all but wrapped around him where he’s knelt down. You feel his hands near your injured arm and instinctively cower. 

“Came from somewhere in that back parking lot, it looks like.” Cooper grits in his usual gruff tone, “Must’a got ‘em goin’ when they heard us. Waited ‘til you were alone.”

You sniffle pathetically into his coat, and it morphs into a strangled cry as he wraps the tie back around your arm. His other hand holds a broken piece of wood that he uses to knot into the fabric and twist. 

“Ah! Fucking hell, Coop!” Your protest is little more than a whine as your arm starts to go numb. 

“Sorry, sweetheart.” He murmurs, tipping his head back so he’s able to look in your eyes. “Don’t want ya to bleed out here.” 

You hold his gaze for a moment. “Why’d you come back?”

He helps you stand, giving you a moment to lean back against the counter and acclimate to the dizziness. Your eyes hold steady on him, watching lashless eyelids blink above gaunt cheeks.

“Vials.” He hooks an arm around your shoulders and the other behind your knees and lifts you up, “I wanted to have enough in case I got caught up.”

The slow cadence of Cooper’s walk almost lulls you into closing your eyes and he trudges silently to the shop’s entrance. You see gore splattered on the walls and floor, headless ghouls lying motionless at his feet. The top handle of your backpack is sticking out of the mess, and Cooper snatches it up. 

He walks for some distance, away from the pile of dispatched ghouls. He doesn’t stop until you come up on a store a ways away, advertising furniture and televisions. It seemed relatively untouched considering an atomic war and a two-hundred year wait. The Ghoul moves near the door, and you hear him clanking about with the lock. It takes a few tries and muttered curses, but Cooper jimmies it enough so he can get a toe nudged in the door. You attempt to help by grabbing the door, but he moves your hand back to his shoulder and pushes in on his own.

Cooper sets you gently on a shockingly clean and padded couch. The Ghoul is quiet, but gets to work cleaning the long gash in your arm. He gives you his inhaler, but there’s a strange canister clicked into the mechanism rather than his vial. You take a huff, and gag at the strong taste. 

“H-Holy Shit.” You cough, and it almost distracts you from the pain of a stimpak being stabbed into your wound. “What is that?”

Cooper unties the tourniquet when he’s satisfied, and sets the stimpak off to the side. “Med-X. Inhalin' it works faster.”

You nod and huff on his inhaler again. The Med-X is potent as all hell, and it feels like it’s shooting straight to your brain. You’re more willing, desperate for more as the effects set in. Cooper settles himself on the cushions beside you, watching carefully and taking away the inhaler before you overdose yourself. 

“I’m sorry for bein’ stupid.” You murmur. “I shoulda ran anywhere but there.”

Cooper leans in, ungloved hand cupping the side of your neck and tilting back. “Never apologize for survivin’, sugar.”

The drugs swirling about in your brain make it hard to form normal sentences. “I wouldn’t have without you… I hurt my arm and lost my cool.”

He tries to talk, but you  shush him.

“I couldn’t quit thinkin’ about those ghouls… about you.” 

Cooper sighs and wraps an arm around your shoulders. He pulls you in close and shushes the soft cries that creep up your throat, fueled by a drug-induced haze. 

“Y’know… There’s always somethin’ that’s gonna make us lose it.” Cooper drums his fingers on your forearms. “No matter how tough we might be.”

You feel his lips in your hair and lean into it. “Guess I gotta trust that, ‘cause you’re pretty tough.”

Unbeknownst to you, your words are already comically slurred. Cooper chuckles into the bird’s nest on your head. 

“Feelin’ that Med-X, honey?” 

You swear to god, it’s gotta be that drawl that’s honey, not the drugs.

“Jus-Just a little.” You slump further into his side, head dropping onto his chest. He uses the tip of his boot to drag a nearby footrest closer and prop his feet up. 

“Good. Time for a nap.” Cooper tilts his hat down over his eyes. 

You hum, unable to argue. A nap sounds rather splendid, especially with the amount of drugs circulating your body. You glance up just as the Ghouls huffs down the rest of the Med-X himself. 

“Coop!” You try to chastise him, but it comes out as more of a laugh. “That’s not safe. You don’t need that right now.”

The Ghoul grumbles something that sure sounds like ‘goody two-shoes’, but reigns in the hostility, 

“Sure I do.” His hand rubs up and down your arm before finding its way to your waist. “I’m an old fuckin’ man. Joint pain.”

“Joint pain, schmoint pain.” You mock, eyes falling shut and staying that way. “Fuckin’ old man.”

Cooper actually chuffs at your remark and ducks to press a kiss to your forehead. It’s unexpected and sweet to feel such affection from him, and combines with the euphoric feeling of opioids pulsing through your brain.

“Go to bed, darlin’. Before I knock you out myself.”

thanks for reading, much love ❤

Read More: Fallout Masterlist

[deliciousangelfestival]

The Imperfect Couple - 6

Character: politician!Bucky x ex-wife!reader

Summary: A separated couple must pretend to be happily married while the husband runs for Vice President, dealing with old issues and political pressures during his election campaign.

Warning: The couple's arguments could be triggering.

Chapter 1 , Chapter 2 , Chapter 3 , Chapter 4 , Chapter 5 , Chapter 6 , Chapter 7 , -

Main Masterlist || If you enjoy my work, please consider buying me a coffee on Ko-fi 🙏🏻

Thank you to everyone who has read this chapter. Leave a comment and Reblog, please. I'd love to hear your thoughts. ❤️

“How long have you known him?” Bucky’s voice was calm, but his eyes were sharp, watching every reaction.

“Five years,” you answered, keeping your tone steady. You didn’t want him to pick up on any hint of tension.

Bucky frowned, a strange sense of familiarity tugging at him. Ian seemed like a typical journalist, but something else about him gnawed at Bucky's instincts.

He rarely interacted with foreign reporters, so why did Ian’s presence feel… off? He was sure he'd figure out why this feeling wouldn't leave him.

Before either of you could say more, Greg appeared, clipboard in hand, and gave you both a pointed look. “Alright, you two, time to get ready. The event’s about to start. Let’s make sure everything runs smoothly.”

You nodded, feeling the butterflies in your stomach begin to stir. You’d been on stages before, but not like this. Not with Bucky, not under the gaze of an entire country.

Bucky noticed your hesitation and moved closer, placing a firm hand on your lower back. “It’s going to be fine,” he whispered, his voice low and reassuring. “I’ve got you.”

You looked up at him, trying to read his eyes. Was he just saying that for the cameras? Or was there something deeper there? It was getting harder to tell. You nodded anyway, more for yourself than for him, and straightened up. You had to play your part, just as you always did.

At the Convention

The large venue buzzed with excitement, lights shining down on the stage like spotlights in an arena. When Steve Rogers walked up to the podium, the room went silent, all eyes on him. He was the golden candidate—charismatic, confident, the embodiment of what the people wanted.

The room buzzed with anticipation as Steve Rogers approached the podium, every eye in the venue locked onto him. He stood tall, his presence commanding, radiating the quiet strength he was known for. After a brief moment, he began speaking, his voice steady but filled with passion.

"Ladies and gentlemen, fellow Americans," Steve’s voice echoed with gravitas, "Today, we stand at the threshold of a new era. We face challenges that require not just strong leadership, but leadership rooted in integrity, honor, and the unyielding belief in the power of the people."

The crowd quieted further, hanging on his every word.

"For too long, we’ve watched division grow. But I believe in the strength of unity, the strength of standing together—one nation, bound by a shared responsibility to protect our freedom, our families, and our future. And I pledge to lead with the same unwavering commitment that I’ve given to this country my entire life."

He took a brief pause, allowing his words to sink in, then continued, his tone growing more impassioned.

"I am not just here as a candidate, but as a father, a husband, and a son," he said, gesturing toward his wife, Peggy, and their children standing nearby, his parents behind them. "I want a better world for my family—just as I want a better world for yours. A world where opportunity isn’t reserved for the few but shared by the many. A world where every child grows up in safety, with access to education, health, and the opportunity to pursue their dreams."

The applause began to rise, but Steve held his hand up gently, signaling for quiet once more.

"This is not just my campaign. This is our campaign. Together, we will fight for a future that respects the dignity of every individual. We will build an America where justice is not selective but a right for all. Where leadership is about service—not power."

His voice crescendoed, igniting the room.

"Because I believe in us. I believe in the promise of America, and I believe in the strength of the American people. Together, we will rise to meet the challenges of today, and together, we will create a brighter, fairer, and stronger tomorrow."

The room erupted into thunderous applause as Steve’s words settled over the crowd. He stepped back, waving, as Peggy and their children joined him at the front of the stage, a living testament to the family values he championed.

With that, Steve Rogers sealed the moment—an electrifying speech that echoed far beyond the walls of the convention hall.

The crowd erupted into applause as Steve stepped aside, making way for Bucky.

Now it was his turn.

You watched as Bucky walked to the podium with the practiced ease of a man who was born for this. His dark suit was perfectly tailored, the overhead lights catching the sharp angles of his face. As soon as he began speaking, the room hushed again.

“I want to thank everyone for being here today,” Bucky started, his voice strong, yet warm. “Serving alongside Steve has been the honor of my life, and I am proud to stand here as the candidate for Vice President. My family—my parents Julius and Caroline, my siblings Shawn and Hazel, my nephew Nate, and my brother-in-law Tim—are with me today.” He motioned to the side, where they all stood. Caroline’s expression was as rigid as ever, while Julius offered a rare smile.

Then Bucky’s eyes found you.

“And of course, my wife. She’s been my rock. She’s stood by me through the hardest times, and I can’t imagine being here without her.” His voice softened, but the sincerity in his words cut through the noise in your head.

You smiled on cue, the kind of smile you’d perfected over years of practice. But inside, everything felt muddled. Bucky spoke as though you were his whole world, but you knew the truth. This was a performance. A calculated move to protect his image.

The applause was thunderous, but it sounded far away as you fought the emotions swirling inside you. Bucky looked the part—strong, dependable, built for this kind of role. He was doing everything right.

But you? You were pretending. The smile you wore for the cameras wasn’t for him; it was for the part of you that wanted to see Caroline suffer, to see her envy every look Bucky gave you on that stage. But underneath the spite, you felt something deeper, something far more complicated.

'Can I really keep doing this?' The question lodged itself in your mind as the applause rang out again.

You watched Bucky continue his speech, looking every bit the man of the moment. He thrived in this atmosphere, while you felt like you were drowning in a sea of lies. Every glance from the audience, every flash from the cameras, reminded you that none of this was real.

When he finished, the room erupted in applause again. Bucky turned to you, offering his hand. The warmth of his palm against yours was meant to be reassuring, but it only deepened your confusion.

As you both exited the stage, his grip tightened slightly, just enough for you to notice. He leaned down, voice low in your ear. “You did great,” he whispered. His words were laced with a strange tenderness that made your stomach flip.

You nodded, but deep down, the weight of this act was crushing you.

🌸🌸🌸🌸

As the convention wrapped up and the crowd began to disperse, you and Bucky maneuvered Tim’s wheelchair carefully. The excitement of the day was still buzzing in the air, but you could sense the underlying tension between Bucky and Ian as Ian approached you and Tim.

Ian greeted you with a friendly smile. “Hey, I’m working on a piece about the election from the perspective of the candidates’ families. What’s it like for you and your family during all this?”

Bucky, standing beside you, made a subtle move to place himself between you and Ian, a protective gesture that didn't go unnoticed. “I’m not sure if that’s appropriate,” Bucky began, but Tim cut him off.

“Of course! I’ve never been interviewed before. It’ll be good to share my side,” Tim said eagerly, his eyes bright with enthusiasm.

Bucky looked at Tim, then at you, his frustration evident in the tightness of his jaw. He sighed and stepped aside, unable to argue with Tim’s excitement or your reluctance to refuse a friend’s request.

Ian turned to you, his expression curious. “You never mentioned your brother before. It’s clear you two have a strong bond.”

“She’s a private person,” Tim interjected with a hint of pride.

Ian raised an eyebrow, glancing back at you. “You really seem to know her well.”

“We may not always show it, but we’re very close. She’s been like a second mother to me, especially after I lost my leg,” Tim said, his voice carrying an unusual warmth.

You felt a blush rise to your cheeks at the unexpected praise from your brother. It was rare to hear him speak so openly about his feelings.

Ian smiled as he jotted down notes. “This story is going to resonate with a lot of people.”

After a while, Tim excused himself, leaving you and Ian alone. Ian’s demeanor shifted subtly, becoming more serious.

“Thanks for giving him the chance to speak,” you said with a slight edge. “You know, it feels like you just handed him a chance to embarrass me.”

Ian chuckled softly, his eyes glinting with a hint of mischief. “Isn’t that what siblings do? Cherish these moments of difference before it’s too late.”

You raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean,-?”

Before you could ask, Ian pulled you aside, his face set with determination. “I heard there’s a divorce in your marriage.”

You stiffened, your eyes widening in surprise. “How did you find out?”

Ian’s smirk was almost smug. “Don’t underestimate my skills. You vanished, then reappeared, acting like everything’s perfect. I pieced it together from the campaign.”

He leaned closer, his frustration evident. “Not once did you mention him. And now, suddenly, you’re playing the loving wife. It’s irritating.”

You crossed your arms, feeling a wave of anger and discomfort. “Are you planning to use this information?”

Ian’s expression softened, though his eyes were intense. “I don’t know yet. But a few people already know.”

You flinched at his words, a shiver running down your spine.

Ian’s voice dropped to a reassuring whisper. “Don’t worry. They’ve only heard rumors. No one has solid evidence. I could protect you. Because you deserve someone better.”

You gulped, unable to speak. Ian’s concern seemed genuine, but you couldn’t shake off the pain from your marriage with Bucky. Your emotions were still tangled, and you didn’t want to get involved with Ian’s feelings, especially now.

You glanced up and saw Bucky watching you from across the room. His eyes were locked on you, his gaze sharp and intense. It felt like he was assessing every movement, every word. The tension in his stare made your heart race, and you could almost feel his frustration and jealousy from afar.

🌸🌸🌸🌸

As the car sped through the night, the backseat felt increasingly cramped, the air thick with unspoken tension. You stared out the window, trying to avoid Bucky’s piercing gaze. The city lights flickered past, a blur of neon and shadows, as you stewed over the conversation with Ian and the unresolved questions it left.

Bucky's silence was more oppressive than any words. His jaw was set tight, and the muscles in his neck were rigid. When he finally spoke, his voice was cold, laced with an edge of command. “Don’t meet Ian anymore.”

You continued to look out the window, your reflection a ghostly image against the darkened glass. “He knew about the divorce,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

Bucky’s breath hitched, his grip on the seat tightening. He was silent for a moment, the weight of your revelation settling in. Then, unexpectedly, he chuckled, a dark, humorless sound. “Well, that means I’m on the right track. Every politician has skeletons in their closet.”

You turned your head sharply to face him, eyes narrowing. “You’re not afraid if the rumor leaks out?”

Bucky’s gaze remained steady, but his jaw tightened slightly. “I’m not gonna lie, I am afraid. But I’m more worried about how it’ll affect you.” He paused “But look at the bright side. It narrows down the list of people who knew about our marriage.”

You turned to him, eyes narrowing in frustration. “You’re playing with fire, Bucky.”

He leaned closer, the space between you shrinking rapidly. His expression softened into a smirk, but his eyes held a dangerous glint. “I’ll win this for you. I still remember that moment when you wished me to win, just to spite my mother. I need that brave Y/N.”

You could feel the heat from his body, his breath mingling with yours as he drew nearer. The car’s dim lighting accentuated the intensity in his eyes, a smoldering gaze that made your pulse quicken. “Don’t make this about me,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady.

Bucky’s smirk deepened, and he moved even closer, his face inches from yours. “But babe, this is all for you,” he murmured, his voice a low, seductive growl.

His proximity was overwhelming, and you could feel the heat radiating from his body. You swallowed hard, the line between anger and something else entirely blurring as his lips almost brushed against yours.

Your breath hitched, and for a moment, you were caught between the anger at his manipulation and the undeniable pull of the unresolved feelings you still harbored for him. The confined space of the car seemed to shrink around you, the air charged with a mix of frustration and unspoken desire.

Bucky’s gaze locked onto yours, his smirk fading into an expression of intense focus. His hand reached out, fingertips grazing your cheek in a feather-light touch that made your skin tingle. “I need you to trust me,” he said softly, his voice carrying an almost desperate edge.

You hated him for the pain he’d caused, but his touch betrayed your emotions, making it hard to stay firm. And he knew it. You wanted to wipe that smug look off his face.only the charged, almost unbearable closeness between you.

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[giamee]

🌺 ᯓ★୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ

𝐒𝐀𝐕𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐓𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐒 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐃𝐀𝐘!

STARRING. ノ dan heng

request. ノ anon: helloo if it's right up your alley, could you do a danheng x reader hanahaki au? one where the reader thinks he and someone else have something going on given how caring danheng is through that stoic face of his! but really, danheng is just too kind and you're much too caught up with your own feelings

word count. ノ 3.4k

contains. ノ hanahaki!reader, u and dan heng r both kinda dumb, angst pertaining to the hanahaki trope, you can tell how old this fic is because it's set during the jarilo-vi story quest, some unfounded jealousy of march 7th?, mentions of death and injury and some graphic descriptions of blood and illness

gia's notes. ノ this was the very first request that i ever received on this blog. over a year ago. i drafted this fic and wrote out about 70% of it then let it rot at the bottom of my drafts. anon, you have the patience of a saint if you're still here.

THE MOMENT THAT YOU STEPPED FOOT ONTO THE ASTRAL EXPRESS, you had the sneaking suspicion that you were doomed. Your fate was set in stone as soon as you felt the hard encasing of a seed clutch the walls of your heart in a vice grip when you first laid eyes upon him.

Dan Heng was elusive. The others had been warm in their welcome, but it took the combined efforts of yourself and March 7th to find him hidden in the recesses of the train’s records room. His greeting was a mere nod in your direction before Welt required your presence again, but that’s all you needed.

His eyes were cool, practically piercing through your skin as March 7th ushered you pack to the parlour car, and you felt yourself shiver as his intense stare burned itself into the back of your head.

And while he’s intimidating, sure, that’s not why you stayed away from Dan Heng. He had a cold and callous exterior that you had never seen crack, yet all the same you had felt the start of a crush start to take root.

And this may not have been a problem at all if it weren’t for two details that were like a slap to the face for you.

One, you were fairly certain that Dan Heng had his eyes for March 7th.

And two, if your crush didn’t return your feelings, you would die.

It wasn’t a case of exaggeration, either. You had been aware of the fact that to develop feelings for someone was dangerous, as it had been drilled into you from a young age by your parents. They had gripped your hands, steering you away from other children with little more explanation than that, always chastised you for wanting to forge a human connection, keeping you isolated from the world around you, better safe than sorry.

And you had felt so alone.

Being forced to live a life in confinement was not an easy one, and despite your parents’ wishes, you had told them of your plan to to finally go out into the world, to live a life from experience and not watching it unfold as an impassive reader of a book or on your phone screen, danger be damned.

So it wasn’t really your fault that you had been so quick to develop those feelings that had been so often described in the books you read, as an explosion of butterflies erupted within you upon meeting someone else, another person for the first time.

And yet you found yourself in the same predicament- a watcher from afar. The heart wants what it wants was a bitter mantra that seemed to enjoy your misery as you watched March 7th excitedly chatter with Dan Heng, and you could have sworn the man even cracked the smallest of smiles at whatever she was saying. And really, could you blame him for it? March was kind, bubbly, outgoing- a perfect match for the stoic and seeming immovable Dan Heng.

It was more common sense than pessimism that had you concluding that you didn’t really stand a chance for his affections against someone like her. You doubt that Dan Heng even looked at you more than he had to. You, so secretive and elusive that you gave him a run for his money; and two similar poles never attracted each other. It was a funny hand that fate had dealt you, but you had to play with those cards regardless.

As if to mock you, you ducked away from the outskirts of the room, feeling a coughing fit coming. You had barely made it to your room before you doubled over, feeling your insides run ragged by the prickly thorns of the rose bush that grew inside you.

A single bloodstained petal fell into your palm.

Besides the quickly growing issue that you refused to acknowledge, life on the Astral Express wasn’t awful. You hadn’t yet confided in anyone about your condition, so to speak, and not entirely because you didn’t want to. To be completely honest with yourself, there was much that you didn’t know about it.

And so you timed it well- you waited for the subject of your affliction- for Dan Heng to leave his unofficial bedroom before you slipped through the door into the records room, desperate to find any sort of information that might help you find some sort of cure.

There was a small computer in the corner that you quickly typed your symptoms into- flower. unrequited love. coughing fits. You didn’t know if the single digit of entries was a cause for concern or not, but your brows furrowed as you began to scan through them. The number of obituary entries that were listed on this one document alone was making you shiver. You clicked out of it, about to open the next one before the door sliding open had you starting like a frightened animal.

Dan Heng strolled in, eyebrows shooting up to his hairline as he registered that you were in the room, in his room. He spoke your name, softly, as if trying not to scare you further. You would have said something, honestly, if it weren’t for the sudden explosive coughing fit that came on a lot quicker than usual.

You could barely get a word out before you were bent over from the force of your coughs, tears pricking your eyes from the newfound intensity of the pain coming from inside you. Despite your hands clasped over your mouth, a couple of petals escaped and fluttered down to the floor, some distance between you and the horrified Dan Heng.

He was frozen in place, fingers itching to reach out to you and comfort you, but with the way you practically flinched away from him, he wasn’t sure if his presence was wanted. He barely caught a glimpse of your pained face before you darted around him and back to your own room on the train.

Dan Heng scrubbed a hand over his face in frustration at his inability to act, before his attention diverted once again to the bloody petals on the floor, and the files on the record searcher that you hadn’t completely closed. He cast one last guilty glance back in your direction before heading closer to the screen and beginning to read.

The Trailblazers’ journey must progress, and your heart hammered for another reason other than a sighting of the raven-haired male who you still harboured feelings for. You had ultimately left your home to explore the world, and with the Express finally stopping at the planet Belobog- your promise to yourself was a step closer to being fulfilled. You disembarked alongside Stelle and March, doing your best to avoid Dan Heng like the plague ever since that fated day. You didn’t know how much he exactly knew, but you had no intentions of finding out.

Your plans of peaceful exploration, however, were short lived with the arrival of Silvermane guards to greet you. In the chaos of the smoke, it was not lost on you that Dan Heng had instinctively protected March, practically shielding her with his body. As Stelle dragged you along some backway path in pursuit of some mystery saviour, you felt the excruciating addition of a new thorn in your heart.

The adrenaline of the escape had worn off by now, and you could feel your secret threatening to spill over any second now. You could barely warn Stelle to let you move off to the side before you were keeled over, closer to gagging than coughing as a large ball of petals and dark, dark blood forced its way through your throat. You felt faint, barely registering the panicked calls of your name as you felt your world turn sideways, Stelle’s face and voice being quickly replaced by another deeper one, with fear in their eyes and a certain desperate edge as you felt yourself slip into unconsciousness.

It's a dreamless sleep, yet it isn't restful, judging by how you feel like you've been hit by a bus when you sit up. Every fibre of your being aches, and there's a harsh overhead light that dazzles you as you blink awake.

As your eyes grow accustomed to it, there's a surge of panic as you don't recognise your surroundings. It looks like a clinic of some sorts- and there was the cloying smell of chemicals that invaded your nostrils. You struggled to sit up, until you felt a hand place itself gently against your chest.

A dark-haired woman with a doctor's coat smiles down at you warmly, and you eye her warily.

"Who are you?"

"My name's Natasha, I'm a doctor in the Underworld. Try not to move around too much, dear. You've been unconscious for quite some time and your condition is unstable, you still need rest."

"Where's the people that I was with?"

"They've all awoken a few hours before you." She casts a quick glance at the clipboard in her hands, as if to fact check herself, giving herself a quick satisfactory nod. "Don't worry, you haven't been abandoned. They should be just outside. The young man sat by your bedside while you were unconscious only left a few minutes ago- he got whisked away by one of my... colleagues."

Your mind's racing now, wondering who she could be talking about. Hoping that it was who you thought it was. But she reiterates her request to lie back down, and you comply begrudgingly. You start to settle down, until you catch a glimpse of the mess lying atop your blankets. A visceral combination of blood and crumpled petals rest upon the fabric, and you watch the doctor's expression become grave.

"That is the unstable part of your condition that I wanted to discuss." She pulls up a chair besides you, settling neatly, hands folded in her lap. "How long have these symptoms been ailing you?"

You furrow your brows, recalling how they started a mere month or two ago, after you joined the Astral Express. After you met him.

"A couple of months." Natasha nods, a frown forming on her face again.

"Considering how quickly it has developed, I imagine that your case is rather severe." You shrug, a humourless smile on your face.

"There's not much that I can do about it, Doc."

"I'm sure that you're aware of the risks that come with a confession, but as a bystander rather than a doctor, I think that you should talk to him."

"Who?"

"The man who refused to leave your side for all of these hours."

You hoped that Natasha was right. Deciding to ignore her advice of continued bed rest, you force yourself up, walking out of the clinic in search of him. Welt was no young man, and there wasn't anyone else that came to mind based off of Natasha's description. It couldn't be anyone else than him, right?

You stumble out onto the streets of the Underworld, garnering a few odd looks from passerbys as you wander around, looking for not just Dan Heng but anyone that you recognised.

You round a corner, seeing the back of a head and clothing that looks an awful lot like him. Who you're planning to confess to. You call his name, out loud, voice a little hoarse.

And he turns, beautiful crystalline eyes meeting yours. Call it a trick of the light, but you could have sworn that they shone a tad lighter when he saw you. But your gaze drifted past him, and all bubbling hope was quelled once again in your heart as you recognised the figure of March 7th stood with him.

Of course he would be with her.

If you looked closer at the pair of them, all signs indicated an intimacy to them that made you feel sick. There was a serious look on her face, one of her hands rested against his arm, but she soon recognised you too, her face instantly perking up as she began to ran towards you, calling your name.

"You're finally awake, you're OK!" she calls out in delight, her arms wrapping around you as she practically barrels into you, threatening to knock you off balance. You stumble, returning the hug, the nausea turning to guilt as you remember how the girl has been nothing but good to you. Of course Dan Heng would harbour feelings for her, not you.

The Doctor's order was wrong.

You sigh to yourself in defeat, unwinding your arms and shooting March 7th the best smile that you could muster in the moment.

"I feel better, but I'm still feeling weak so I might go back to the clinic."

March 7th frowns, eyes scanning your figure in concern.

"Are you OK, Y/N?"

"Do you want me to walk you back?" You twitched, not even realising that Dan Heng had caught up to the pair of you. He was also looking at you with concern, and you could feel an onslaught of petals coming.

"No, it's fine, I'll go back on my own." You don't really give either of them the chance to respond, spinning on your heel and trying not to run back from where you came.

You felt... worse. Before, you had at least been able to function, but now you felt so much limper, and weaker. You cursed at yourself for allowing false hope to be instilled, just as the coughing begins. It wracks through you, so hard that you almost dry heave as you keel over, and you watch in horror as you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand and see it come back crimson.

At least the clinic was around the corner.

You barely make it inside, unable to stand up straight by this point. Natasha springs to action, helping you back into a bed, helping you through the worst of the coughing. It's so much more draining than before, and you're quick to fall into a fitful sleep.

Even unconscious, you don't get a reprieve. Even in your dreams, he's all you can think of. There's a spitting image of him stood before you, eyes soft and voice like honey as he calls out to you, hands outstretched. And you try to join him, fingers straining to touch his before you watch them turn into branches and flower before your very eyes. You look down, and it hurts, with brambles wrapping themselves around your middle. And just as fast as they grow, your new floral appendages wilt before your very eyes. Branches drooping, flowers losing their hue, and you feel yourself start to fade, his name one last desperate cry from your lips.

You wake up, tears staining your cheeks and you trembling. For a few panicked seconds, you think you're still dreaming because he is here, sat by your bed, and as he stands up to wipe your tears you shrink back in fear of turning back to branches again.

But his warm palm cups your face, solid against your trembling state, deft thumbs wiping away your tears, an uncharacteristically soft hushing and cooing coming from Dan Heng as he promises you that everything is okay now.

It's easy to believe him, with the way he moves even closer to hold you, cradle your form against his warmth, patting your hair and letting you cry until you can't any more amidst the petals on your bedsheets.

You don't know how long the pair of you stay like this, your face pressed into his chest, his heartbeat leading yours back into the range of one at rest rather than its prior pounding against your ribcage. You would stay there for the rest of time, if you had a choice, but you had to admit that the oxidation of blood and its drying against your skin was making you feel ever so slightly uncomfortable.

You clear your throat, as best as you can in your hoarse state, and Dan Heng picks up on your withdrawal as he all but flinches away from you, returning the distance that usually lies between your two bodies. But his eyes still scour your figure, your face, for any and all signs of discomfort. Like a lover would. The thought melds with the already-bitter taste of blood residing against your tongue, and you frown down at your lap. At the petals. At your pathetic form lying beneath the blanket, obscured from view.

“How long has this been happening for?” Dan Heng sounds so timid, as if he were walking on glass sheets around you. Ever since that fateful day in the records room, it felt like he had done nothing but tiptoe and tread around you, a careful dance of avoidance that you were forced to be his partner in. You sigh deeply, a hand gingerly beginning to gather the gorey sight of such beautiful pink marred by the visceral crimson that remained, not yet dried.

“I’ve had it all my life, apparently, but it only started making itself known once I joined the Astral Express.” Once I met you.

“I, um- I looked into it more. In the records.” His admission made you snap your head up to face him, cautious of his next words, whatever they may be. He looked nervous himself, with eyes that refused to meet yours and fingers that twisted into his clothes, toying with the hem of his jacket.

“I read of many such cases where people were able to make a full recovery.” He sounds so hopeful, even daring to meet your eyes, that you almost feel bad for him. It was like looking back at a past version of yourself, so hopeful for a happy ending that once sparkled in your eyes, now a dull flicker you can see when the lighting is just right.

“It’s not that simple, Dan Heng.”

“What do you mean, it said that there weren’t any later cases of symptoms returning-”

“That’s because it’s not an illness from the body.” You’re snappier than you intend to be, you see it in the way his mouth snaps shut and his throat bobs against his collar, as he sits up straighter, waiting for you to continue. “The only cure is to confess to the person that I love.”

“And why haven’t you?” His voice is barely above a murmur, and even from his place in the seat next to our bed, you hear him just fine.

“Because I’m sure that he has eyes for another.” You’ve collected all the petals in your palm by now, observing them with a dry humour as you notice that they’ve begun to wither, much like yourself. You doubt that you could go on much longer after this conversation. Part of you urges to get it over with, to confess now and let yourself bloom with one last glance upon his face.

Dan Heng must have scoured each and every record, because you didn’t need to offer an explanation of what would happen with such unrequited feelings. He’s silent again, an awkward and palpable tension as you can feel his confliction from here.

He finally manages a lame “you never know” that has you laughing, a brief reprieve before you dissolve into another coughing fit. It’s hardly something to worry about, but Dan Heng is by your side again, palm smoothing over your shoulder blades as you are wracked with coughs. You appreciate it nonetheless.

“What would happen if someone else confesses to you?” You shoot him a sideways glance, confusion written all over your features, urging him to elaborate. “What if you held no feelings for them, but they confessed to you all the same. Would that cure you?” He’s earnest now, hands scooping up your dirtied ones, clasping them in his grasp as he looked at you with stars in his eyes.

Your shrivelled heart begins to beat again.

“What- what do you mean?” Play dumb. Don’t mistake curiosity for what you desire most.

“What if I told you right here and now that I love you?” His eyes are searching yours, pleading with you for an answer that you’ve been screaming at him for so long. One that he does not have to search for, because it’s been laid there at his feet this whole time.

“I would tell you, Dan Heng, that such a confession is not unrequited.” You’re grinning now, the smile on your face growing wider and wider as you watch recognition flood his features.

And then he’s smiling too, laughing, holding you ever closer to him before he pulls away again, just to cup your face now. It’s only natural to close the distance between the two of you, lips touching his for a kiss that quickly becomes searing, welcoming a new season of heat into your body.

The thorns in your heart reside. Spring begins to bloom.

➤ IF YOU LIKED THIS, TRY ... enjoy the silence

roommate!dan heng x reader

➤ alternatively, you can find my hsr masterlist here!

[satoruxx]

PARACOSM OF THE GODS. (THE CANON AU)

✧ SUMMARY : a collection of oneshots about your life as a part of the 2006 gang. this series follows the canon path of jjk, except with a whole lot more angsty romance involved. while these are all standalone installments, they are semi connected and often refer to each other. additionally, these fics almost always involve satoru and suguru having feelings for reader, and vice versa—but they're all their canon emotionally reserved selves.

✧ INCLUDES : gojo satoru x f!reader, geto suguru x f!reader, canon au, angst, fluff, best friends being in love but cannot express it, timeskips, canon typical violence, death, longing, mutual pining, bittersweet, emotionally stunted teenagers, unresolved feelings, banter, literally just very canon !!

INSTALLMENTS :: the steps that led us down this road.

i. PARACOSM OF THE GODS :: YOU THINK YOU WILL ALWAYS FIND COMFORT IN THE SHADOWS OF THE STRONGEST.

the orginal fic. focuses on how your relationship with satoru and suguru changes throughout the years, and how the three of you end up walking different paths. goes through many canon events of jjk and how you deal with each one of them.

ii. SAUDADE :: YOU ARE MORE BITTER THAN SWEET.

in the span of a few years, you've realized that you have changed how you celebrate valentine's day. somehow, the blame always falls on the two of them.

iii. DEAD RECKONING :: MORE TROUBLED THAN I COULD'VE EXPECTED.

(coming soon...!)

EXTRAS :: on another page.

i. ANGEL ON MY SHOULDER :: TILL DEATH DO WE PART?

satoru isn't crazy. he's had time to recognize the events that have unfolded. he stood at your funeral with an impassive look on his face, hands shoved deep into his pockets. he'd put a bouquet at your grave every afternoon since that day. you're dead and he knows it. and yet somehow you're right in front of him, translucent and opaque, and yet so pretty. suddenly he doesn't know what's real anymore, but he doesn't want to question it. not when you've come back to him. not when he's missed you so much. (aka ... how the au would change if you died in high school.)

[wroteclassicaly]

A/N: Just something that came to me and wouldn’t leave me alone. I promise I’m still working on inbox requests & other things! ❤️❤️

Warnings: Hurt/comfort, angst with a happy ending, insecure reader, insecure Steve, mentions virginity/ loss, best-friends to lovers, self-esteem issues on both sides, and fluff!

Pairings: Steve Harrington x Female Reader

Wordcount: 1,988

“No, no. It’s okay, Steve. I promise. I understand.” You force a smile so wide that you internally cringe.

You hope he won’t notice, but he does - of course he does. It’s you. And as Steve watches you busy yourself with organizing the countertop snacks you had just unpacked together, slowly turning your back on him - he’s wishing someone taught him better communication skills.

It was a shocking conversation to have. Well, the ending anyways. You’d start off asking about dates and if he had any, he would ask you about that one guy who keeps coming in to rent Risky Business, all because you’d mentioned liking it his first time here. Whatever, that was yours and Steve’s movie, this guy could get lost. But then, you surprised Steve.

To the point, short and sweet… or crude? Steve nearly felt his teeth go through his tongue at your shyness entangled tone, as it wrapped around such a heavily sensual request.

“Do you wanna have sex tonight?”

At first Steve just shook his head, clearing all those fogs from previous head injuries, sure he hadn’t heard you correctly. You were probably asking him if he wanted to find someone to do it with. But you continued, “I do.”

That’s when it became a little alarming for him. Were you going somewhere else with this? To someone else? Or the other option that had his heart rate kicking him the ribs, dusting his bones to ash, making everything tighten, flood his body with heated flush. He’d managed to speak, voice trying to remain impassive.

“You’re a virgin though.” He deadpanned.

You couldn’t help but to roll your eyes. “Thanks, Captain Obvious. But I can still be horny. Probably hornier than you get.”

Jesus. That glaring stare you fixed him with as your manicured nails wrapped around a box of M and M’s. His jugular constricted around a painful vice. The images, ones he can’t deny picturing when he shouldn’t. Why would you want to be with him?

Your sigh at his lack of conversational participation, got him to snap out of it, following you to the candy rack and pressing his knuckles into the countertop to rest upon. He knocked them a few times, opening his line into the topic. “So, you’re sayin’ you really wanna do it tonight with this guy?”

It was causing anxiety to fester in both of you. He wasn’t getting it. You know him like the back of your hand, of course he thinks you want to be with the video renter dude. But that guy is the last person you would ever think about. You’ve learned to be the one with confidence when it comes to Steve in the last two years.

That was different before you’d gone through things together, became best-friends. King Steve and shy girl you. Cliche, only to evolve. You had jutted your hip, forcing a bravado to shield you as you looked into those sparkling amber eyes. His highlights reflect under the cheap lighting in here, making you nearly lose yourself - but you catch it.

“I’m asking if you’d like to come over tonight, have a meal with me, share a piece of cake, and then I want to know if you’ll…” Okay, you lost your train, fumbling into the winds.

Steve was too close, smelling of laundry detergent and cigarettes, his cinnamon gum lingering on his breath, his aftershave and cologne combo. When you had faced his intense gaze, you knew that he was awaiting your words with a reserved patience. As for Steve? He could barely catch his breath, fingertips down to his toes prickling with a nervous energy.

And then you say it… you ask him.

“Will you be with me tonight, Steve?”

You were asking him to be the first person inside of your body, like you didn’t just change his entire world. It’s not that he’d never been with virgins, especially Nancy. Her, even the others entrusting him in his King era - he always felt honored, wanted to make it good for them. But she was special, and you - you’re a different kind of important to him at this stage in his life. Someone he sees, the only person he sees with full certainty in his future.

His heart caved in the moment that his negative thoughts took center stage. You had never asked him out, never made a move. Sex. That’s what you want him for. He loves you and you expected him to have actual sex with you, guide you through painful, pleasurable, unfamiliar, intense sensations, knowing he’s the first and only to do so, and then carry on normally. It’s out of his mouth before he even has a chance to think through other options.

“I can’t, honey.” And once it starts, it just keeps coming. “We’re friends, and sex… the first time should be with someone you love, trust me.”

He was so caught up that he missed your crestfallen features, the way your bottom lip wobbled, and you began to fill in invisible blanks of your own trick-filled mind. Your body was light, feet heavy. You couldn’t do anything, say another word, so you made up something to do while you collected yourself. Boxes that were already unpacked and placed.

Steve kept going, “You understand, right? I’m sorry if I —“

You had cut him off.

Humiliation washes over you, your voice is unsteady. “No, no. It’s okay, Steve. I promise. I understand.”

Sounds stupid to you. You both know you’re lying. And you’re about three seconds away from crying, so you bend down and scoop some spare boxes into your arms. “M’ gonna toss these so Keith doesn’t have a lot to bitch about tonight.”

There’s a lot of things that Steve can do. He can deal with his miscommunication regrets, or he can try to explain things to you in the best way he knows how. Because if there’s anything he’s learned living in Hawkins - every single day is a damn miracle here, considering what people don’t know the truth about. And when he thinks about those vines being wrapped around your throat, he finds his own air supply cutting itself off. He’s out the back door and catching you around the elbow, just as you finish tossing in the last of the boxes.

You won’t look at him, a tell-tale sign that you’re crying and ashamed about it. His stomach feels sucker punched, his fingers reaching out to gently brush beneath your chin, bringing your head into a tilt. Yup. Your eyes are flooded over, soaking your cheeks. You go into immediate overtime, doing exactly what Steve is constantly doing - apologizing.

“I’m sorry for putting you in that position. I was being creepy and unfair. I know we’re friends, I know you aren’t attracted to me, I know that —“

He halts your hyperactive breathing, pressing his forehead to yours as a grounding technique. “Hey, hey. You always tell me to stop apologizing, and I need you to do it too.”

You’re breathless at this action, but it helps soothe your rising panic.

You find yourself incapable of anything more, leaving Steve room to tell his truth. There’s a shaking in his voice, a vulnerability he’s not felt since he falsely thought he loved Nancy still and told her (Nostalgia, it faded fast. He's pretty sure he realized he clung to that to save him from his fears of falling in love… with you. It didn’t work). Your breathing slows and he presses a kiss to your forehead, nose bumping yours as he breaks away. Here goes nothing… but everything.

“I said I can’t because I want you to be in love with the person you’re having sex with. That’s… “ he taps his fingers against his sides, nose wrinkling, and then he finishes. “That’s the most important thing. That he is someone you won’t regret. It’s a lot to handle when it’s your first time. It’s intense when there’s feelings involved, sometimes, even when there’s not.” He’s rambling, all the while you’re watching him practically pace, folding into himself, looking frustrated to put words together. “And I, honey… I just want you to have that. I want you to love the person that gets to experience being your first, because… I think that he would want you to love him, too.”

It hits you like a fucking freight train. Your heart explodes into your chest cavity, a painful ache lashing across your entire torso and sending off alarms into your brain. He said no because he’s scared… He is terrified that you’ll hurt him. So he doesn’t know? All this time and he still can’t tell the looks you give him are your forevers? That the babies he told Nancy he wants - you dream about carrying them someday?

You smile through your tears, wiping them away with the back of your hand, and it’s you that reaches for his massive palm. He squeezes back, wet lashes darting back and forth, trying to gauge what you’re going to say. Your spare hand finds his cheek, brushing along those marks, marveling at how wonderful he is and how he doesn’t know it. He’s so perfect, so beautiful. He’s your Steve.

This next part comes as natural to you as breathing.

Your voice is damp, words gliding right off, eyes wide to receive his reaction. “Why do you think I asked you, Steve?”

You can’t help the sob that escapes you at his free flowing tears. He isn’t hiding it, he’s shocked. He looks like he thinks you’re lying, that this is a dream. His irises dart back and forth at rapid paces, his hands holding onto you as if you’ll float away. “Are you sure that you want me? Because that means that you… It means you’re saying how you… feel a certain way.” He looks as if he can barely swallow.

You’re smiling softly, lifting onto your toes to nearly meet his mouth. Your statement tickles his lips, making his tongue glide across them, grazing you. It sets you both ablaze.

“It means that I’m feeling exactly what you said I should feel, Steve. And it means that I want you. I want to give this to you, if you want it?”

Steve answers without pause given.

“I want it,” His mouth is open, his breaths choppy, words trying to accumulate. His fingers trace behind your ear, resting there, his remaining hand cradling your jaw bone. “You don’t know how much I need it, how much I need… just you.” He says with certainty.

There’s a notion that’s settled within your chest cavity, a build-up fire starting between your legs, stirring flutters in your belly. You edge in closer, lips on his Cupid’s bow. “Show me tonight. What you’re like, what you feel like.”

Never in a million years could you have predicted that your first kiss with Steve Harrington would be by the dumpsters, in the back of Family Video. But as he leans down to dip his nose into your cheek, his lips capture your top lip — it’s all over for you both. That breathless, engulfing inferno drowns you, carries you into a place you won’t go back to, can’t come back from. He pulls you into his arms with a passionate embrace, just as your lips separate with a slick smack, your mouth trailing down his chin to his throat, before you bury your face into the surface of his chest, declaration mumbled right against where his heart races for you.

“Everything that comes with me, it’s always been yours, Steve. I promise.” He’s panting with pure, raw, need. A tightness in his chest and in his damn jeans.

His voice vibrates across your ears, rumbles through his chest when he speaks. “Everything I’ve got to give, you can have it, honey. M’ yours.”

[heich0e]

suguru's throat feels tight.

not in the nice way—like when someone pays you a compliment you aren't expecting, or you're given a thoughtful gift.

his airway is a vice; sticky and closing in on itself like a boobytrap in those terrible action movies that satoru always makes him watch, where the walls are slowly crushing inwards on the hero, leaving no obvious way to escape.

his face feels hot—too hot for the meagre amount of alcohol he's had to drink that evening. hot enough that he's sure his cheeks are flushed a vicious red. he looks down at his hands, still wrapped around the half-drained drink between them, and when he pulls one away from the circumference of the glass he sees the way his fingers tremble, moved by a force only he can feel.

he sets his cup down on whatever surface is within reach and looks for the nearest exit.

the bar is crowded, and every body that jostles him on his odyssey to the door makes him feel even more sick to his stomach—makes him acutely, and uncomfortably aware of just how many people are jammed into such a confined space. with every step he takes towards the fire exit (the one which at this point he just has to pray isn't connected to some kind of alarm) it seems to be growing further away, like his steps are a paradox he's trapped in.

finally, finally, his hands press down against the push bar of the door, and cold winter air hits his burning cheeks like a slap.

he's on his knees retching into the grimy snowbank that lines the back alley before the door has even fully swung closed.

"oh, wow,—"

suguru can barely hear you over the sound of his pulse in his ears. it was too noisy in the bar to make it out this clearly, lost in the thrum of the bass-heavy music and the spiral of his thoughts, but now it's unmistakable. it pounds in his head, under his tongue, trapped in the walls of his throat.

he lifts his head, his eyes bleary from the tears his exertion had sprung to them, and he sees a figure a few paces away from him with a cigarette lifted to their lips.

he blinks hard, willing the world to come back into focus. as it does (painfully slowly,) he can see you better. the first thing he can clearly make out is the oversized jacket you have wrapped around your frame (big enough that it can't possibly be your own.) his eyes flicker next to the bare legs that peek out from underneath it, and trail all the way up to the lines of your face as you watch him. but it's your eyes that make him falter for a moment: curious but strangely impassive at the same time.

"—rough night?" you ask, but you make no move to come any closer to him.

he's grateful for at least that small mercy, he can't help but think.

"sorry," he chokes out, spitting into the sludgy grey snowbank one last time just to try and get the terrible taste out of his mouth. he stands unsteadily, his hands braced against the brick wall of the bar to keep himself balanced. "i didn't even drink that much."

he's not sure why he feels the need to say it, or make any effort to save face when you've just seen him at what's surely one of the lowest points of his life. you're a stranger, after all. what does it matter, anyway?

you hum a bit, taking another drag from your cigarette. the sound is halfhearted, and it upsets him unjustly.

"i really didn't," he insists, wiping at his mouth with the back of his knuckles and turning to you properly. "i-i'm on these new meds and they've got me all fucked up."

your eyes widen a bit, and he watches the way the smoke slips out of your lips—painted a rich, ruby colour for the evening.

"no shit?" you ask him. "you shouldn't be out partying if you're sick, y'know. alcohol can really fuck up scripts."

"i'm not sick," he replies quickly. too quickly. too ardently to possibly be true. and the silence that follows is too heavy for such a cold, still night. he looks away, fixing his eyes on the road at the end of the alley.

"oh," you drag out the word, an understanding lilt in your tone. "those kinda meds."

suguru glances back to you.

"so," you take a step towards him, and it sets his teeth on edge. "what's your poison of choice then? paroxetine? fluvoxamine? good ol' fashioned escitalopram?"

suguru's head is still spinning from the liquor, but his pulse has died down a bit. now his mouth feels uncomfortably dry.

you keep going.

"are you taking it neat or did they give you a little chaser with it too for a bit more"—you make a little flourishing gesture with your hand—"oomph."

you're right in front of him now. close enough that the smell of your cigarette has finally reached him. suguru can't help but eye it covetously, longing for the pack in his own coat pocket, left somewhere in the bar. you follow his eyes and laugh a little, holding the half-smoked cigarette out to him. it has a lipstick mark on the filter, but he takes it anyway.

he sucks in a greedy, needy inhale.

the rush of nicotine hits him right away, comforting and familiar. his exhale feels almost rapturous.

he takes another little puff, then extends the cigarette back out to you.

"don't worry about it,"—you wave the gesture off—"you can keep that one on account of the whole... y'know..." your eyes flicker down to the snowbank where geto had just been retching.

oh, right.

"thanks," he mumbles appreciatively, wasting no time before he takes another drag.

the two of you stand side by side in the dingy alley while geto finishes off your cigarette. he crushes it under the heel of his boot, grinding it down into the cracked asphalt, once it's done.

"how'd you know?" he asks after a few more moments of silence. the cold is starting to get to him now—registering in a way that didn't when he first made it outside. the chill bites at his cheeks and his nose, stinging in its frigidity.

"know what?" you feign coyness, tilting your head a little to the side. he sees a flicker of something behind your eyes again that slips through the facade of composure—something mirthful, and maybe a little mean.

he swallows, and tastes tobacco on his tongue. "about the anti-depressants."

you laugh a bit to yourself, but the sound is strained like you're almost trying to bite it back. "don't take this the wrong way, but you just sort of look like the type."

he looks at you—really looks at you—then.

you're pretty.

he supposes he recognized that already, even if he didn't process it properly at the time. your lips look soft, your eyes draw him in, and in any other circumstance he thinks you might have been the type of girl he sidled up alongside in a bar just like the one he just fled and tried to start a conversation with.

but these aren't any other circumstances. you just watched him puke his guts up in a filthy alley and then guessed his SSRI prescription like the world's worst game show. and to make matters worse, his dick hasn't even been working right lately since he started these new pills.

as though life wasn't already cruel enough.

the fire exit flies open again, and all attention turns to it.

"there you are," shoko is standing in the doorway, half-in and half-out of the bar, cringing against the cool evening air. she frowns in suguru's direction. "we've been looking everywhere for you."

suguru watches as she ducks her head back through the doorway, but whatever she calls over her shoulder is lost to the music that's bleeding out into the alley from inside the bar. gojo appears behind her in an instant, his displeased expression brightening immediately upon seeing his friend. he pushes his sunglasses up atop his head, his white hair pinned back underneath them.

"suguru!" he cheers. "we lost you."

"i was just getting some air," suguru smiles blithely, in the way that he's perfected.

gojo shoulders his way out the door towards suguru, dragging him back towards the door with an arm slung around his neck. shoko's eyes flicker over to you.

"oh, hey," she says, nodding in greeting.

"shoko-senpai," you return her greeting politely.

"are you coming back in too?" she asks.

gojo and geto both pause in the doorway, turning to glance back at you.

"no, i'm heading home," you say with an easy smile, not unlike the expression geto had just shown. "you three have a nice night."

"get home safe," she calls after you, a lilt of curiosity in her tone. you lift a hand over your shoulder as you walk away, waggling your fingers in a lazy wave.

"who was that?" gojo asks as the door swings shut behind shoko. he leans in front of suguru so his voice can be heard over the loud music.

"she's a junior in my department at school," shoko explains, "don't you recognize her?"

gojo purses his lips as he contemplates it and then shakes his head definitively. it's not unusual for satoru not to recognize someone, especially a pre-med student instead of a physics student like himself, but suguru is a bit surprised that he can't recall meeting you previously.

satoru tugs suguru's arm back towards the thick of the crowd, and he braces himself for the oncoming barrage of stimulation. he freezes just before he takes his first step, whipping back around to the door.

"what's wrong?" satoru asks him, leaning over his shoulder. he's got his sunglasses on again, and now suguru can't through the lenses in the dim light of the bar, but he knows satoru well enough to picture the wide-eyed look of curiosity that must be behind them.

suguru's brow pinches in a bewildered furrow.

"was she wearing my coat?"

[fanaticsnail]

She Was Mine

Masterlist Here

Word Count: 3,000+

Synopsis: A new transfer is tasked with guarding Doflamingo as he visits the world government headquarters. Doflamingo becomes intoxicated and reminisces about the love of his life to this new transfer, confessing he still loves her and wants to be with her.

Themes: Doflamingo x f!reader, drinking, intoxication, confessions of love, injury, talks of death, assassination, canon divergence, Lourdes Jordi is an OC (and an unfortunate venting target), Doflamingo is a sloppy drunk.

Notes: @feral-artistry said Doflamingo is a sloppy drunk who dials his exes and shows up on their doorstep. I needed to see it, so here is my little take on it. Image is a screen grab from one piece.

Tag list: @sordidmusings @since-im-already-here @writingmysanity @gingernut1314 @i-am-vita @indydonuts @carrotsunshine @mfreedomstuff @daydreamer-in-training

The newest transfer in the world government center did not truly know what he was expecting while on the infamous ‘Warlord Watchdog' shift. Many marines shied away from signing up for such a feat, opting to remain fixed on their assigned tasks and not put forth their names for extra credit.

Jordi didn't know. He truly had no idea what exactly he had placed his name at the top of the sign up list. A pay rise? Certainly. The month off from night shift? Absolutely. Babysitting an inebriated violent blonde man in a pink, feathered coat as he cried into the twelfth wineglass in a row, babbling about a love once forgotten to all that heard him? Not exactly what he was hoping for.

Donquixote Doflamingo had been drinking all day, lazing about and perching on the round table in the center of the meeting space. He had flirted with both Sir Crocodile, and Vice-Admiral Tsuru in the same sentence, reaching for Mihawk’s red wine glass and taking a lengthy swig and winking at him once draining it dry.

All of the guards in the room were on edge, but Jordi remained steadfast and strong. He did not want to be placed on Donquixote duty, and instead had hardened his resolve to ask Tsuru to be assigned to Mihawk or Kuma. Instead, Tsuru took his competency and stoicism as a sign that he could handle Doflamingo for the remainder of his time at the world government headquarters.

As Doflamingo reached for lucky number thirteen for the afternoon, he halted his soft sob and sniffed back a solemn smile.

“She was mine,” he whispered, his fingers shaking as he finally made his eyes focus on the glass, “You know? She was all mine. I had her, if you catch my meaning.” Jordi gulped back his fear, darting his eyes over Doflamingo's face and attempting to understand where he was coming from.

“Name, officer,” the tall blonde barked at him, prompting the young man to jolt back in his stance.

“Jordi, sir,” the younger man stated, his nerves no longer born on his features. “Lourdes Jordi of the Fourth Flight, reporting to Vice-Admiral Tsuru, sir.” Doflamingo clicked his tongue, lulling lazily in a drunken stupor as he hung the wineglass off to the side.

“And you're, what? Eighteen? Nineteen, even?” Doflamingo slurred, his glasses falling askew on his features as he looked the young man over.

“I'm twenty-two, sir,” Jordi nodded to Doflamingo with a deep furrow in his brow. Doflamingo cackled, his eyes puffy from his earlier depletion of emotion.

“Ah, then join me, Mister Lourdes.” The king of Dressrosa gestured to the seat in front of him, “Share in one of these piss-poor excuses of a rosé with me. It's sweet, dry and absolutely disgusting. She would never approve.”

Jordi was at an impasse. On the one hand, he was on duty serving the world government in babysitting the messy, drunk warlord. On the other, he needed something to numb the pain of babysitting the aforementioned messy drunk warlord.

Glancing at the time, he noticed it finally ticked over to six in the evening, which meant his guard shift had ended for the day. Sighing out, he slowly retracted the empty bar stool from its position tucked beneath the table and took his seat. Doflamingo chuckled, topping up his wine glass and pouring one for the bronze-skinned younger man.

“Have you ever been in love, Mister Lourdes?” Doflamingo asked him, flailing the rose bottle as he spoke, spilling a small trickle from the top and dampening the mahogany table. Without waiting for an answer from the younger man, he continued.

“She was… everything to me. My whole world, my northern star shining in the night and bringing me hope in the dark. My angel, my darling,” the Donquixote king of Dressrosa trailed off a series of pet names in both Dressrosian and Marijoan, leaving Jordi feeling far more out of his depths as he initially felt embarking on such a feat.

“My sun bringing my warmth in the deepest winters, my moon rising the tides of passion in my soul,” Doflamingo again began to sniff back his glassy tears, prompting him to raise his hand to his face and remove his ruby glasses. Placing them on the table, he pinched his brow and began to sob against his fingertips.

Jordi thought on his feet, raising his wine glass outwards and upwards in a gesture of good will. He offered a small sentiment in his speech, his lips curling in a sympathetic smile.

“Shall we toast to her memory, king Donquixote?” the younger man suggested, prompting Doflamingo to look through his fingers up at him curiously. Jordi pressed on, “You are mourning her passing, yes? Should we not toast for her?”

“She's not dead,” Doflamingo snarled, releasing his eyes from his hands and reaching forward and brushing his wine glass against Jordi’s with a sarcastic grin, “She just tossed me aside, ruining me for any other potential partner because she destroyed my soul and shattered my heart like porcelain on concrete.”

“Oh,” was all Jordi offered in response, sheepishly biting back his empathetic grin and raising his glass to his lips. The liquid touched his tongue, the sweetness spreading over his palate and igniting the follicles on the back of his neck in response to the tart tang. He grimaced at the flavor, prompting Doflamingo to laugh in a low snicker.

“Tastes like piss, doesn't it?” Doflamingo teetered off his laughter and drained his glass in one fell swig, “Drink up, boy. You need to get on my level here.” Jordi groaned quietly, knocking back the sweet liquid and hissing as soon as it impacted his stomach.

Doflamingo poured himself another glass, pouring Jordi’s one second and placing the empty bottle on its side against the table before giving it a small spin. Watching the glass rotate, Jordi shook his head and formed a question in his mind about it.

“You seem awfully upset, sir. What exactly did she do?” Doflamingo sighed forlornly in response, his heart pooling in his eyes and glazing them over with glassy emotion.

He hastily drew his shirt open and pointed to a small mark in his chest. Jordi leaned forward, examining the divot and noticing the precision in the mark and how the raised welt healed in a soft silver.

“She stabbed me in the chest with her favorite blade,” Doflamingo smiled proudly before the tear that threatened to spill finally teetered over the edge, “Do you know what that means?”

Jordi sat back in his seat, his eyes widening as he took in the information that someone was close enough to Doflamingo to land a single blow. The divot in his chest was enough of an indication of the intimacy of such a heinous act on someone so dangerous.

“What does that mean, sir?” Jordi whispered, his eyes darting between the unadulterated gaze given to him from the warlord. Doflamingo sobbed, raising his glass to his lips and taking a lengthy gulp.

“It means,” he grunted back the bile rising in response to the hasty drainage of the alcohol, “She loved me. She truly loved me.” Jordi’s eyes widened at such a deranged conclusion, prompting him to raise his glass to his lips.

“What brings you to that end, sir?” Jordi tested him with his voice even and unwavering, “A blade to the chest would hardly mean such an expression, surely?” Doflamingo leaned forward, his motions slowed by the alcohol and slurred in each action.

“Because, Mister Lourdes,” Doflamingo snarled at him, leaning in closer before his lips curled into an unfamiliar and highly expressive pout, “If she wanted me maimed, she would've aimed for my face.” He leaned closer, gesturing to his cheeks before gesturing to his throat, “And if she wanted me dead, she would've aimed for my jugular.”

Doflamingo sat back in his seat and spread his knees wide, relaxing into his chair with a prideful smile.

“No, Mister Lourdes,” he continued, sniffing a lengthy inhale through his nose and smiling a true grin, “No, she loved me so much. She was mine, sh-she loves me.” Jordi nodded along politely, fearing the delusion that was expelling from the blonde warlord.

“Who was she, sir?” Jordi’s curiosity peaked, his eyes never leaving the lengthy blonde eyelashes or ruby tint of the warlords irises, “A pirate, a marine, a princess?”

Doflamingo slurred a name familiar in reputation enough to him that had Jordi's glass drop from his palm and shatter on the ground beside him. His lips parted in shock, his eyes widening and staring in shock and disbelief.

“There's-... There's no way-...” Jordi whispered, watching as Doflamingo's eyes glazed over as his consciousness slowly departed from him.

Doflamingo collapsed on the table, the weight of the potent fluids finally igniting his veins and causing him to buckle beneath his stupor. Jordi signaled the barkeep to call for backup to move the ten foot giant.

Lying in your bed, you are suddenly awoken by your Den-Den snail. Rolling immediately to your side, you sit completely upright in your bed and click the speaker to awaken the sentient technology.

You state your name in a monotonous drall, not allowing the fact you were in the midst of an REM cycle not seconds ago dissuade you from conversing precisely.

“State the target,” you utter darkly, not paying attention to what the snail was morphing into to match the distinction of the person on the other end of the call.

“Cara mia,” the voice on the other end slurred back at you, “Te amo, mi princesa.” You groan, lulling your head back and rolling your eyes at the all too familiar voice. You could almost taste the alcohol from within the mouthpiece, the snail missing the signature glasses and eyes looking red and swollen.

“Donquixote,” you utter in return, your malice dripping in venomous viscosity in every syllable, “I informed you the last time, lose this snail code. I refuse to-.”

“-Please, my love,” his hush whisper cut through the piece, his desperation pouring from his lips like warmed honey, “Please, I just want to hear your voice. My heart is with you, always. Let me hear your voice. Let me hear your melodies sing for me their sweet song.” You growl, rolling your eyes and prompting you to lie back against your pillows and pout.

“You’ve been drinking,” you note, feeling his tone shift and slur along with his uttered praises. “What have you been drinking?”

“I had tequila with breakfast, a mimosa or two to follow,” he slurred, prompting you to wince back at his confession, “Everything started getting blurry at the fourth shot, or maybe it was the absynth? I know that it got foggy for a minute there when I drank from the swordsman's wine.”

“Ah, you've mixed poisons then,” you nod before shaking your head at his confession, “You will likely not recall making this call, like all the others you've made in the past.”

“I remember them all, my love. My darling, the siren who sings my praises as she shepherds me into my doom,” he coos into the mouthpiece, “Mi princesa, mi reina, tell me you love me. Tell me, please.” You shake your head.

“It’s been a long, long time, Doflamingo,” you utter darkly, shaking your head and pinching the bridge of your nose.

“But a bat of an eyelash,” he whispered in return, “A beat of a butterfly’s wing.” You shake your head, closing your eyes and mourning your lack of slumber.

“You have had much to drink to spoil your mind and sour your words,” you sigh into the receiver. He returned your sentiment, sighing in a sarcastic breath back at you.

“My mind has never been clearer,” he slurred, “My thoughts are only of you and that pretty knife you pressed into my chest. Your lips close to mine, your thighs straddling my waist, my mind only thinks of you.”

“Doflamingo-,” you sigh, his voice cutting you off with a sorrowful sob.

“As is my heart. Always with you,” he sobbed, his breath hitching and his tobe coming out in soft sniffles, “Just-... Just tell me you love me. Tell me you feel something for me. My heart can't take it.”

You huff out your resolve, shaking your head and closing your eyes shut. Your heart panged with guilt, feeling your heart reignite with passion long since forgotten and lost to the ages that fell between you.

“Of course I did,” you whisper in a hushed hiss into the mouthpiece, “Or I would've carved out your eye, split your face with my blade, or simply killed you to prove my loyalty to the assassin's guild for the celestial dragons.” Your dark confession raises a hum from the other end of the call.

“You 'did'? Does that mean you no longer feel for me?” you shake your head and glance up at the ceiling. He sniffs, his heart pouring out to you over the transceiver with each passing moment.

“I-...” you began, reopening your eyes and sighing in exasperation, “...You know I do, Dof. That's why I've taken out each person who's presented me with a contract to kill you.” He swoons, his voice crying for you in a keening mewl.

“My guardian angel protects me as I still draw breath?” his tears spill with each hushed whisper, “Even though you're prevented from being with me, our love was never sanctioned, and our world's far distant from one another. You still love me even now, don't you?”

Emotion began to well in your chest, springing up like a forgotten fount being pumped at a rusty, iron piston. You bite back your sorrow, feeling it overcome you with grief.

“Of course I do, Dof,” you admit into the transponder. Your heart soars for him before you remember the state he decided to call you in. Shaking your head, you bite back your emotion and ask him, “Will you still love me in the morning?”

After taking a moment to collect himself, Doflamingo sniffed back his sorrow and confessed to you.

“I will love you all mornings until my eyes close in their eternal slumber,” he whispered his dark confession, “Each day the sun rises, I will love you. And for each day the light disappears on the horizon, I will mourn for you as I remain alone in my love without you beside me.”

Sighing and shaking your head, you close your eyes as your heart splits in two at his confession. Clapping your palm over your lips, you refuse to allow him the luxury of knowing he'd moved you so easily with such pretty words.

You, a hardened assassin made to prove your devotion by attempting to kill Donquixote Doflamingo for the Celestial Dragons as their prize jewel in their vast treasury. He survived your attack, the dragons understanding that his healers were some of the best available and not questioning his survival when you presented them with your soiled blade and somber expression. They found it entertaining to have someone like you in their armada.

Their forgiveness came as a double edged blade: you were their preferred contract killer and were to live a life of luxury, and you in turn were to never return to your old life as a bounty hunter for someone as lowly as a Vice-Admiral. You were welcomed into Marijoa with opened arms and granted a title amongst the menagerie.

Doflamingo was a hindrance, and your love for him was depicted as weakness. Stabbing him was the easiest way to part from both of those inhibitions. The heart was an easy choice, considering how it broke yours to make such a terrible decision.

“You still there, my love?” Doflamingo's voice echoed within the transponder, breaking you away from your reflection.

“Always,” you respond in kind, closing your eyes and focusing on his words. His breathing was labored, his soft groans and cries for you coming across in each breath.

“Come to me?” he whispered to you, his heart in every cracked syllable as he coaxed you to come closer with his beckoning cry. “I want to see you. Please come to me?”

“We both know I can't,” you utter in return, “My face is too recognisable these days, and my reputation as an assassin for the celestial dragons has the seas part for me as welcome.” He groaned for you, his heart in every gruff whine.

“But do you want to?” he whispered, “That's all I want to know. Do you want to see me? To be with me? To lay beside me and watch the clouds with me?” You press your head back into the pillow and stifle a soft sob for him.

“Of course I do,” you utter in return, “I love you, Doflamingo. Never doubt that.” He whimpered in the mouthpiece, prompting you to shake your head and utter, “As always, if you remember any of this conversation. I'll be waiting.”

At that final word, you hung up the receiver and ended the call between you. The calls were getting more frequent, his drunkenness prompting his sloppiness and desperation between every call. Slouching back into your bed, you wait for sleep to claim you back into its arms.

That slumber never comes, reflecting in turn the call that you never received from Donquixote Doflamingo. No matter how many times he calls you while drunk on whatever fluid of choice of the evening, his call once sober never arrives.

As you prepare your coffee in the morning, your sleeplessness provoking you to make a greater caffeine to liquid ratio, your Den-Den roars to life in its soft, frog-like, chirp. Expecting one of your superiors, you almost drop your earpiece as an all too familiar voice purrs at you.

“Are you still waiting, my love?” Doflamingo asks you, his breath halting in his chest as he anticipates your answer, “I-... I meant every word. Every syllable. Every breath,” his voice crackles in the snail distorts his voice briefly, “As promised, I still love you in the morning. All that remains is one question.”

You suck in a soft breath, waiting to hear his words as you grip the handle of your coffee cup further.

“Do you still love me in return?”

[ninibeingdelulu]

How he kiss you ft. levi ackerman

When he’s happy/content :

For the normally severe and closed-off Levi, expressions of pure, unbridled tenderness are few and far between.

So when those rare, unguarded moments arise where genuine warmth ghosts across his features, you can expect his kisses to match that soft vulnerability.

He'll initiate them slow and sweet, cradling the back of your head with featherlight reverence as slate strands of inky fringe brush your flushed cheeks.

Levi's firm mouth melts into a lingering caress, each plush sweep cataclysmically gentle like trying to imprint your very essence into his soul.

His free hand maps up the dip of your spine in a scorching brand, fingertips searing through thin fabric as he coaxes your bodies flush.

Levi's kiss deepens into a drugging exploration, savoring every breath and hushed mewl spilling from your conjoined forms.

Each openmouthed sip of your lips oozes with visceral reverence - he cherishes and covets you with the same impassioned ferocity he gives everything worthwhile in this cruel world.

By the time Levi finally breaks away, his gunmetal irises glimmer like molten silver, pupils hazed and swallowing you whole in their infinite depths.

When he’s angry/frustrated :

When Levi's ire reaches its infamous boiling point, you can expect his mouth to convey the same scorching intensity smoldering behind that piercing glare.

He yanks you forward with punishing force, bunching fists in the front of your shirt until your chests collide in a stinging impact.

The initial crash of Levi's lips carries a searing bite, teeth clashing as he snarls hot and unchecked into your trembling mouth.

There's no tenderness or romance to this ravaging embrace, only venting catharsis as he pillages your willing form.

Every caress of his questing tongue tastes of woody cedar smoke and black tea - his unique flavors mingling in a headier, more primal musk swirling between your interlocked frames.

Each time you attempt to match his furious pace, Levi growls in dominance and silently demands your full submission.

Only once his smoldering temper has been spent through a blistering whirlwind of plunging licks and nips does his grip finally loosen, tapering into several shuddering inhales through flared nostrils.

Gunmetal irises cool from raging hellfire into glassy, sated pools as his searing rage finally ebbs to a low simmer once more.

When he’s desperate/anguished:

Under the most dire of circumstances, when humanity's peril appears bleakest, a frantic mania sweeps over Levi's typically dispassionate steel - manifesting in a volatile desperation to connect with the solace only you can provide.

It's in these most distressed spasms of isolation that he seizes your mouth with absolutely zero preamble, instantly delving past plush barricades with voracious hunger.

Levi's quaking digits cup your cheeks in a vice grip, crushing his lips against yours with bruising pressure like trying to meld you into one eternal existence.

Plaintive keens rumble in his chest, reverberating into your intertwined forms as Levi tamps down every frenzied shred of restraint - violently plunging and devouring like parched for even a drop of your essences.

There's profound lashing need in each greedy swipe and inhale scattering your gasps across the static-charged air between trysts.

His battle-roughened hands scour your body, roaming up ribs and spanfall in aching desperation like charting every curve and hollow to swathe himself in you.

Only once Levi grows utterly lightheaded and staggering does his manic ardor lose any fever, wilting into several stunned snaps for air as his fringe hangs in inky disarray.

When he need comfort :

During those most vulnerable stretches when the horrific cost of their impossible fight wears Levi to haunted breaking, he craves the purifying balm of your affection to recenter his fractured spirit.

On these evenings, the Captain seeks you out silently - slate irises dimmed to liquid mercury as you immediately gather his compact form against yours in a shielding embrace.

Levi burrows into your protective circle with a hushed, rattling exhalation that seems to bleed out lingering shades of his inner anguish.

As you card soothing sweeps through his undercut, he tilts up towards you with unhurried grace - silvery lashes hooding to veil those usually piercing irises for once.

A skated whisper of his firm lips fleeting across your own serves as the tremulous catalyst before Levi leans in with profound intent.

His mouth melds to yours in a plush, indolent persuasion - feverish and potent yet profoundly fragile.

More a molten vow of surrender and pouring himself into your steady channel of light to be buoyed from drowning shadows.

Levi winds his arms around your torso in an anchor, plastering as much of his weary form to yours as humanly possible.

You can taste the notes of Earl Grey and bergamot saturating his every shuddering inhalation - each sweep of his velvety tongue reverent as monastery prayer against the holy seal of your enjoined frames.

The very air hangs suspended in beatific tranquility encapsulating you both, Levi silently drinking down every measure of your serene affirmations like a man perishing.

By the time he finally diffuses into a loose, simmered husk cradled against your chest, that gunmetal gaze has regained some starlit embers of its formidable gleam - bolstered from your ministering grace once more.

[avidboafan]

HII can i request an itoshi rin fic where him and reader watch horror movies together and reader gets a lil scared <33 ??

WHITE THOUGHTS : “CAN I GO WHERE YOU GO?”

character : rin itoshi x reader

content : horror movie descriptions | fluff

summary : rin tries his best to comfort you after you try watching a movie with him.

notes : rin might be out of character (;^_^A) hope you like it!! really appreciate any comments or reblogs! and requests are open!!

you and your boyfriend rarely ever get to spend time together due to his growing career in the france’s U-20 team. so when he finally got the day off,you didn’t miss the chance to spend the little bit of time with him, and he decided to give you some of his much needed attention, granted, he gets to choose the date activity.

of course, he chooses a good ol’ fashion horror movie. he gets to relax his muscles and enjoy his time with the most lukewarm person he knows. what a dream. you were at first hesitant to watch it, but rin persuaded you otherwise. at first, he pretended that he didn’t care that you didn’t want to watch the movie he picked. but after you suggested some much more lukewarm, and boring movies, you soon noticed that he was just sulky that you didn’t like his tastes. not that his face shows much, but being his partner, you had some experience figuring out what he was feeling underneath his stoic expression.

you cuddle up next to him, burying the side of your head on his chest as you pulled the fluffy blanket over your legs and he drapes an arm around you, his free hand holding the remote and clicking to the movie he wanted to watch. incantation.

“i don’t know, rin. even the trailer looks creepy,” you commented on the little snippet showing on the screen. “i told you if you didn’t want to watch it, we can watch another movie.” he replied impassively, but the corners of his mouth pulling into a slight frown symbolised that he was probably really looking forward to seeing this, especially with you. you gulped and pulled on your big kid pants, “it’s okay. i can watch it,” you mentally prepared yourself for the tension, the jumpscares, the feeling of goosebumps growing on your skin. rin eyes you preparing yourself briefly, before clicking play on the screen and setting the remote down next to him.

the first few 40 minutes of the movie made you breathe a sigh of relief, luring you into a false sense of security that this movie was probably not that scary at all. suddenly, the sounds of bones snapping as the old lady’s head turns a full 180 on the screen, her orifices leaking black liquid greets you on the tv and you immediately tighten your grip around rin’s waist, holding in your breath at the sight. rin’s teal eyes stare down at you, as if checking if you’re okay, before rubbing his thumb on your shoulder to soothe you.

the movie plays on to a terrifying scene. the main characters stumble upon the cult-like scene, people chanting and singing in a eerie manner in dim, red lighting. the sounds of screaming were apparent as the side character disappears, only to reappear dead, with their teeth plucked and their appearance completely pale and bloodied. the two characters crawl into a dark tunnel, only for the next side character to die, as many blackened hands reach out, you could feel the same hands on the screen reach out for you, and the screaming from the tv ringing loudly in your ears, almost feeling real to you.

you bury your entire face into rin’s sweater, hiding your eyes from the bloodcurdling scene in front of you, as your fingers tightened a vice like grip onto him, grabbing so hard that you were leaving crimson crescent-shapes onto your palm.

rin fishes the remote that had somehow teleported into the crevice of the cushions and pauses the show, noticing that you were clearly scared and going past your normal fear limit. he looks at you awkwardly, unsure on how to comfort you other than patting your back and shoulders rhythmically.

“are you.. alright?” rin’s usual detached tone held a tinge of worry as he tilts his head down to see you eye-to-eye. he seemed doubtful of himself, uncertain if you were comforted by his actions or not. you nodded into his chest, “juf sverd.” (translation : “just scared.”) you mumbled, the sweet voice he loved so much sounding muffled, much to his disappointment.

he seems to be a little amused by your funny sounding voice. “..what?” he scoffs, his lips curving slightly into an amused expression. “i can’t understand you,” you lifted your head up from his sweater, your hair slightly disheveled, “i said i was just scared,” you chuckled, your voice turning an octave higher mid sentence as you started laughing at his expression. “are you trying to smile for me? you look stupid,” you joked, pointing at his usual straight lined lips curving upwards slightly as you gave a toothy grin. “..shut up,” he grumbles, but you could tell it was all in good fun.

he pulls the blanket off his legs and tucks the entire thing onto you, making sure you get nice and cozy in an awkward silence. “um.. do you want some water?” he asks, cocking a brow. “a tea would be nice,” you suggested, “but don’t leave me alone!” you wrapped yourself tightly onto him as he tries to leave, like a koala bear hanging onto a branch. “how am i supposed to get you a tea if you’re clinging to me like dirt? you might as well just make it yourself,” rin quips.

“fine! but you’re coming with me!” you giggled, pulling him along as he sighs and rubs his face with slender, long fingers, following you to the dimly lit kitchen and wait as you make your tea. “never realised how creepy the kitchen is when it’s so dark,” you rambled, trying to make conversation to distract yourself from the memories of the horror movie earlier. “then turn on the lights.” rin states the obvious, reaching his hand to flip the switch. you groaned like a vampire to sunlight, squinting your eyes as it adjusts the the bright lighting, “you’re human, not a vampire.” rin flicks your forehead and rolls his eyes.

you’re back in the room as soon as you left, your hands holding onto the cup of tea as it warms your unusually cold hands, which you suspect was from how scared you were earlier. you sip it finish and place it on the nightstand, falling back onto rin’s chest. perhaps it was how disinterested you were from the movie after you knew that you couldn’t handle it, or how warm rin’s firm chest was, or it was just the tea working its magic, but you closed your eyes and fell asleep before you knew it, lightly snoring on him. as the movie ended, rin turns his attention to your sleeping form and his eyes soften, gently pushing you off him as to not wake you up, mumbling something about you getting neck aches if you sleep in that position.

he turns the tv off and goes to sleep next to you, a small smile gracing his lips.

this was the first time in a while he has felt this way. this content with being just himself. with all the pressure of his expectations, the expectations from his team, from the fans, from the weight his brother has left on him, the current him would never be enough. the current rin itoshi is not the striker people imagines him to be. that’s why he keeps training. and training. and training. to become the striker he envisions himself to be. to best sae itoshi. but you see him as just rin itoshi. not the football genius’ sae itoshi’s brother. not paris x gen’s U-20’s rin itoshi. not blue lock 11’s rin itoshi. just.. rin.

you really are lukewarm. but that’s alright. sometimes he needs someone to balance him out.

[thebestofoneshots]

u have no idea how excited I am for the corruption of sweet little embarrassed priest Remus

Just because of how eager you seem, I'm giving you a teaser to part 2...

Pairing: Priest!Remus x reader

Prompt: You did not want to go to church that day, but your spirits are uplifted when you meet Father Remus, and your mind starts creating a mischievous scheme, to both retaliate over those years of being forced to go and take something from them.

Alternatively, R is really mad at the church and decides to steal one of their priests for it (but also kind of falls for him).

Warnings: SMUT

 Proofread by lovely @aremuslupinsimp

Read No Sweeter Innocence than Our Gentle Sin Pt.1

♡ NSFW: Smut under the cut

“You may come out, father,” you said, teasingly. 

You heard some adjusting, “I’m having a bit of an issue.” 

You giggled. “Yeah, I’m gonna help you fix that,” you responded, opening the door yourself and taking his arm. pulling him towards you. He stood up and roughly accommodated his coat over his boner. You bit your lip as he did and he gave you a rather impassive look, as if telling you that whatever you might do, could be going overboard. “Do you have an office?” 

“No.” 

You hummed, dissatisfied at his answer. “A place where you guys give talks? like for people who are going to get married and stuff? I know I was in one of those when I was my cousin’s godmother.” 

Remus seemed to think about it. 

“We can’t go there.” 

“Why not? You don’t have the keys?” 

“I do! But it’s not safe, if someone walks in–” 

“Oh,” you said with a smile and looked down at his boner again. “I’m pretty sure it won’t take us too long.” 

Remus huffed, still rather unconvinced. So you placed your hand on his shoulder and pulled him down slightly so you could whisper something in his ear. His eyes shone and he turned to you with a gulp. “Are– are you sure?” 

You simply nodded in response. 

He shut his eyes and sighed, “We shouldn’t be doing this.” 

“You’re probably right,” you agreed, condescendingly.

“That would be like crossing the line.” 

“I suppose it would.” 

“Let’s go,” he said. 

It was Remus, who looked preoccupied but determined, who led you to the back of the church. You walked right next to the altar your gaze lingered over it for a second before you went into one of the smaller rooms beside it, and then into another one. You knew the church was huge, but you hadn’t quite dimensioned it entirely. 

He was quick to come in and he shut the door. Turning to you as he bit his lip, he was still hard, and you leaned closer to him. “Allow me,” you said with an innocent smile, dragging him closer to the centre of the room. You placed your hands on his shoulders. “Breathe.” 

He did as told, a deep long inhale, and then a soft exhale, his breath smelled of mint, and a little bit of cigarette smoke. Remus had long ago stopped smoking, but since you appeared, and told him all about the things that’d happened in your dream, he’d taken up that terrible vice again, one of the few things that calmed his nerves. 

“Listen to my voice, I mentioned there was a way to control it, right? That I would teach you?” 

“Please do.” 

“Well, It’s quite simple,” you said as you rubbed your hands over his strong-toned arms, reassuringly. You were not expecting Father Remus to be so solid under all the religious attire, but you thought it was a wonderful surprise. You leaned a little closer to him, enough for your bodies to touch. You felt his boner against your stomach and you’d swear you felt how you clenched around nothing. But it’s not time yet for that. You told yourself. 

You knew it was a long game when you started and you were not about to ruin it all due to the heat of the moment, you weren’t that idiotic. 

“If you want to control those impulses, then you must give in to them.” 

He opened his eyes in surprise when you placed your hand on him, carefully, tentatively, and pleasantly subdued. Your hand was much softer and kinder than his own had ever been, much smaller too. He shut his eyes, his breath was ragged and looked like he might have been in pain. 

“Too sore still?” He nodded. “May I?” you asked as you placed your hand on his belt. He swallowed, unsure, and you stopped moving your hands. “Do you want to?” 

“But it’s wrong,” he excused. 

“Remus I didn’t ask if it was. I said ‘Do you want to?’ Because I’m dyiиg to touch you but if you don’t want to then we should end this here and now.” 

“No!” he said, almost too quickly. If he’d had the willpower, that might have been the one and only moment in which things could have turned around. The sharp crossroad of decisions that would have allowed you both to choose a different result. But he didn’t want you to stop, he wanted you to do it like he hadn’t wanted anything in his life before. “I want to,” he said in a low breath. 

You smiled, innocently, and started to unfasten his belt. Then slowly you went for the buttons of his trousers and the zipper. There, straining against his boxers, you could see the outline of his cock. Your breath hitched in your throat, he was big. You had seen that already but you hadn’t dimensioned it, but now, right in front of you? It was easy to see just how big he was, how pretty, you thought as you carefully slid the band of his boxers underneath...

Part 2 is out now!

Sweet little embarrassed priest Remus really does something to me, I cannot lie.

Read more Marauders Fiction

[flowerandblood]

The Last Word (Oneshot)

 [ canon • Aemond x lady-in-waiting • female ]

[ warnings: angst, humiliation, hard chauvinism, suicide, characters death, a lot of pain, because I felt like it ]

[ description: Being Princess Helaena's lady-in-waiting is her dream come true. However, because of one exchange overheard by the king's second son, Prince Aemond, she may lose everything. The prince gives her conditions she cannot refuse, and she accepts them, not knowing that her life will change forever. This is an Anon Request in which the heroine is flat-chested. ]

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

My other works: Masterlist

____

Being princess Helaena's lady-in-waiting was an honour for her. She was a maiden of great beauty and culture, gentle and warm, often immersed in her own world of musings, unable to maintain relationships with other women.

They did not want to understand her, depending on her favour for purely selfish reasons, because of which they acted in an exemplary manner around her, however, as soon as the princess disappeared from their sight, they commented loudly on her behaviour.

"Did you see that disgusting spider she showed to us lately? I believe she even gave it a name. Poor thing." Murmured one of them, a fair-haired beauty, Lord Lannister's niece. She furrowed her brow at her words, feeling discomfort, shaking her head in disbelief.

"You owe her everything you have. Your position, your wealth, your future marriage. Speak of her with respect." She said coolly, the girl approached her, unhappy with the way she had expressed her opinion, the rest of them remained silent, not wanting to get unnecessarily involved in an argument.

"Who are you to lecture me? You came here, some poor lady from the North whose father probably wallows in the muck around his grey castle every day. You don't even look like a woman, your chest is as flat as a child's, I don't know if even the support of a princess will help you find a man to desire you." She snarled, her golden dress shimmering in the sun hovering high above the Red Keep. She swallowed loudly at her insult, pressing her lips together, feeling the tears of shame burning under her eyelids, not letting them flow.

"I see you like to divert attention from your vices. Unfortunately, outward appearances are of little use when the rot has started on the inside. The fish, as they say, rots from the head." She said calmly, she heard a slap and then felt a painful burning sensation on her cheek, Lady Lannister looked at her with wide eyes, red with rage, the girls around them covered their mouths at the sight of her slapping her.

"How dare you, you… my prince −" She muttered, horrified, bowing quickly, she had to look over her shoulder to notice a tall, black silhouette behind her, the face of Prince Aemond, the king's second son, was stony and cold, he was looking down at them with some kind of disgust that sent shivers down her spine.

She swallowed loudly at the thought that he had heard their entire conversation, including what had been said about his sister.

"I will convey to the princess how devoted her ladies-in-waiting are." He said lowly, impassively, throwing her one cool look, turning tense, wanting to leave.

Lady Lannister cried pleadingly behind him that it had been a misunderstanding, and then threw herself at her, the other girls having to drag her away from her as she became completely enraged.

"You will pay for this." She hissed, but she didn't care, thinking only that it was the wrath of someone else that she feared.

She spent the afternoon in her chamber, tense and terrified at the thought that she would have to return home to her three brothers and four sisters, that she would once again be the youngest, unseen child, one of many of the same grey existence.

She shuddered as she heard a knock on her door, and a moment later a servant appeared inside, looking at her with uncertain, frightened eyes.

"Prince Aemond wants to see you, my lady."

She thought she was going there as if he was about to behead her, guessing what awaited her and that she would surely be informed that, like the rest of the ladies of the court, she was going back to where she had come from.

The door to his chamber opened before her and she stepped inside, noticing his silhouette sitting with his back to her with his legs crossed, he was reading a book without even bestowing a single glance on her, he only spoke to her when they were left alone.

"Tell me exactly what you were discussing." He commanded in a low, impassive voice, turning the page with an impatient, smooth motion.

She lowered her gaze, playing with the fingers of her hands in a nervous gesture, feeling her heart pounding like mad, sweat on her back.

"Lady Lannister mocked the princess for naming her spider. I replied that she should speak of her with more respect." She said in a trembling voice, heard him hum under his breath, still looking at the book, bored.

"What did the other ladies-in-waiting said?" He continued, and she blinked, wondering what to answer.

She didn't want to portray them in a bad light.

"They didn't say anything, because Lady Lannister likes to say ill-considered things." She muttered, trying to defend them in some way, not wanting to be vindictive, though part of her mind opted for her to take the opportunity.

"The fish rots from the head." He murmured, and she felt a squeeze in her throat, an all-consuming shame spread through her body at the thought of him hearing this exchange of words.

Gods, what a humiliation, she thought with tears in her eyes.

She did not reply.

She shuddered as he stood up and moved towards her, looking at him with big eyes, surprised, it seemed to her that he was even taller than she had always assumed, watching him from afar.

"Am I to believe that you happen to be the only person who defended my sister?" He asked with a note of mockery and impatience from which she felt a stab of pain in her heart, the fact that he thought she was saying all this out of vanity.

"That is not what I said. You are changing the meaning of my words, my prince." She replied without thinking and lowered her gaze, feeling his whole body tense up after her insolent statement, which could cost her everything.

"You think men desire women who don't know when to be silent?" He hissed, she didn't dare look at him, however, she decided that since all was lost anyway, she wouldn't leave his question unanswered.

"I think men desire what they desire. There's no great philosophy behind it." She replied, and he snorted, as if he didn't believe she still had the courage to speak.

"Do you think men are mere animals, my lady?" He asked with a sneer; she pressed her lips together, frustrated that he was still using her words in a context that did not at all follow from what she had actually said.

"I think this discussion is fruitless. If you wish to send me away, my prince, please do so, just let me bid the princess farewell and express how sorry I am for what has happened and what you have unfortunately witnessed." She said feeling that she had lost patience, tired and resigned, imagining in the back of her mind her return home.

"Just a moment ago you were the one accusing me of not understanding the meaning of your words." He said disapprovingly, and she looked at him surprised, seeing that he had turned away, walking back towards his chair, sitting down on it with a loud creak of wood.

"You stay. You will be my eyes and ears. If any of the ladies who surround my sister speak that way about her behind her back or do other things unworthy of their position, you will report it to me." He ordered coolly, and she swallowed loudly, shocked.

"Do you have anything else to convey to me?" He asked impatiently, looking over his shoulder at her, and she shook her head quickly.

"No, my prince."

"You may leave."

She nodded, wanting to leave his chamber immediately, but stopped in mid-step, feeling her heart pounding fast, wondering if she should do this.

She swallowed hard, turning back, hearing that she had not left his quarters he threw her a frustrated, sharp look.

"Prince Aegon." She started, but he only tightened his lips.

"No."

She grunted quietly and bowed to him, opening the door and stepping out into the corridor, thinking with pain and disappointment that she had at least tried.

She could not count the number of times she had witnessed Princess Helaena's husband entertaining himself with servants, even flirting with the ladies of the court, avoiding her for obvious reasons.

She looked like a child.

Lady Lannister was stripped of her position, which she accepted with satisfaction, the other girls knowing that Prince Aemond stopped her once in a while to speak to her began to fear her, thinking apparently that she had become his mistress.

"How is my sister?" He asked her one day as she was just passing through the courtyard when he was training with Ser Criston Cole, seeing her he ordered a break and approached her, resting his hands on the hilt of his sword stuck in the ground.

She sighed heavily, covering herself more tightly with the thin blue cloak she was wearing.

"She sleeps badly. Prince Aegon wakes her up at night when he comes back drunk from…. we must then lead him to his chamber, and she is restless until morning." She said tiredly, knowing that, as usual, she had been lecturing him about how his brother had a bad influence on her and was the cause of her unhappiness, and that, like always, he would do nothing about it.

She saw him lick his lips in a sign of impatience, looking to the side.

"Anything else?"

"No."

He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, his nostrils quivering, she knew her attitude and form of expression devoid of courtesy frustrated him.

He swallowed loudly and pressed his lips together as if he wanted to say something else, shifting from foot to foot, an awkward silence fell between them.

"If I were her husband, I would make sure that she could at least feel safe. My current role ties my hands." He replied after a moment, and she lowered her gaze, feeling a squeeze in her heart at the thought that he had just confided in her. She nodded with sympathy, thinking that his words spoke well of him.

"I know. You are a man of honour. I also regret that such an injustice has befallen her, my prince. She has been deprived of the good husband she deserves." She said looking at him, wanting him to know that she understood his pain, something changed in his face, in his gaze flashed something like surprise and pain.

He nodded, letting her know that he had nothing more to convey to her, and turned back towards Criston Cole.

She moved ahead, thinking that she truly respected him as a man.

However, a few months later, something happened that changed their lives forever.

Prince Aemond returned from Storm's End along with the word that he had murdered his nephew.

A great war broke out, Princess Helaena's son was murdered, her husband suffered great wounds in the battle, and their younger brother flew to Harrenhal only to find that the stronghold was empty and to give his life to the woman everyone believed to be a witch, into whom he had put his bastard child.

Long months passed before she saw him again, a servant entered her chamber late in the evening as she was already preparing for sleep, informing her that Prince Aemond had arrived at the keep and demanded her presence.

She hurriedly put on her robe, covering her nightgown, without even having time to tie up her hair, and headed for his chamber. As she stepped inside she felt a squeeze in her throat when she saw his familiar silhouette sitting as usual in a chair right next to the fire, gazing into the flames, even though they had spoken many times, he now frightened her more than ever before.

"Has her condition improved in any way?" He asked coolly, looking at her only after a moment, she saw something similar to surprise flash across his face when he saw what she looked like, a glimpse of his healthy eye sweeping over her figure.

She swallowed hard, looking down at her hands, feeling the rapid pounding of her heart.

It was getting worse.

"No." She whispered, and heard him sigh heavily, burying his face in his hand, tired and defeated.

She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, not hearing any further questions or his words that she should leave, she didn't know what she should do with herself so she stood still, looking around his chamber anxiously. An idea suddenly occurred to her and she licked her lips quickly, deciding that perhaps she should say it out loud.

"Your visit would certainly lift her spirits, my prince." She said finally, but he laughed mockingly at her words, shaking his head in disbelief, she felt an unpleasant shiver run down her spine.

"A visit from the man whose actions led to the murder of her son. Most certainly." He replied, revealing his face, spreading himself comfortably in his chair with a loud creak of old wood, placing his hands on the armrests, looking at her expectantly.

"I'm going to be a father."

She looked at him, horrified, swallowing loudly, surprised that he had said such a thing out loud. She felt her whole body quivering, that this conversation was overwhelming her, for some reason she felt a dull, piercing pain in her heart, something akin to a huge, sad disappointment.

"I am aware."

"What do you think of me, my lady?"

Silence.

"Go on. I've always appreciated your sharp tongue." He hummed, tapping his index finger against the wood on which his hand lay.

"There is nothing I can say on the matter. I'm not well-read on the subject of lovers and mistresses." She replied, and he sneered under his breath, there was something mischievous in the sound, but also a kind of relief, as if for some reason he needed to speak to someone about the matter.

She didn't know if he was aware of it, or if he was trying to confide in her subconsciously, unable to hold it in anymore.

"I'm curious what you would think of her if you met her. About my Alys." He muttered under his breath, the woman's name sounded mysterious and proud, he said it lingeringly, as if thoughtful, as if saying it he saw her face in his mind.

For some reason she felt a burning wetness under her eyelids.

My Alys.

She pressed her lips together and swallowed hard, feeling a tightness in her throat, her body trembling, trying with all her might to stop what was happening to her, not to think or feel, but a single, solitary tear ran down her cheek anyway.

Before she managed to wipe it away his gaze settled on her face and stayed on it, his lips parted in disbelief, as if he had only just realised that his words were inappropriate.

It seemed to her that he wanted to say something, to apologise, but his voice stuck in his throat as she covered her mouth and laughed desperately, tears flew, flew and flew down her face, as if something inside her had burst.

"− she is surely a wonderful woman − and now, with your permission, I would like to return to my chamber −" She muttered with a grief-stricken smile, wiping her cheeks, eyes and nose, knowing that she was now as red as the tomatoes from which she had eaten soup that evening.

She left immediately when she saw that he had nodded, and it was only behind the door of her quarters that she burst into a loud, uncontrollable sob.

She had never gotten her hopes high, she had watched and loved him from afar, in silence and humility, but his words seemed downright cruel to her, as if he knew he would hurt her with them.

She had always been faithful to him and his family, so why had he humiliated her?

The next day she avoided the places where she could meet him, spending all her free time in his sister's chamber, who lay in her bed, gazing at the sky outside the window. She sat beside her and held her hand, as she had always done for many months.

There was nothing more she could do for her.

She helped her bathe, dress, walk and lie down.

Although she tried to engage in conversation with her, the princess locked herself in her mind and did not leave it.

She did not come out of her chamber until late in the evening, heading to her rooms, exhausted, walking inside with a loud sigh, throwing the books she had been reading in the meantime onto her bed.

She shuddered and screamed, frightened, catching her heart when she heard movement behind her, saw his silhouette rise from a chair standing on the other side of her quarters.

"− gods −" She muttered, sighing heavily in relief, thinking that perhaps it was some kind of assassin again, trying to calm herself down.

He didn't even say a word when he approached her in a lazy, unhurried step, towering over her with his figure, holding his hands entwined behind his back, his face impassive and thoughtful, his lips clenched into a thin line.

"I am returning to Harrenhal. Another uprising has broken out." He began, and she felt that painful tightness in her throat again. She nodded and clenched her eyelids, wanting to show him that she understood and that he did not need to explain anything to her, he continued, however. "I trust only you. I wish you to keep me informed of what is happening in the keep."

"As you wish, my prince." She said quietly, looking blankly at his chest, angry and bitter that she felt a pleasant heat in her lower abdomen and a tickle in her fingertips from his distinctive scent, a mixture of male sweat, dust and smoke.

She didn't understand why he stood there and remained silent, why he couldn't leave her alone, why he was torturing her.

"After what happened in Storm's End, for many nights I considered taking you by force. I came close to doing it many times, close to taking you with me to Harrenhal, but I spared you." He whispered in a quiet, trembling voice and she shook her head quickly, horrified by his words and how much they hurt her, she wondered how he could be saying this to her now, what purpose it would serve.

"I am grateful to you for your mercy. It will not be forgotten." She said in a hollow, impassive voice, from which he swallowed hard and tense all over, she heard him draw in a loud, impatient breath.

"Do you resent me for this? Would you rather I made you my whore? Hm? Nothing is lost yet." He hissed, taking a step towards her, and she stepped back, looking into his face with a fury from which she saw the hesitation in his eye.

"Get out. Run to her. Enjoy the birth of a child similar to those you have despised all your life." She said coldly, saw something flash across his face and for a moment thought in disbelief that her words, her rejection had hurt him.

He swallowed hard, turned and simply walked away, as he always did, leaving only a void behind him.

The word of his defeat, that he and his uncle had fallen from the sky, that Daemon's sword had pierced his skull, reached her and sliced through her heart like a dagger.

She wept that day in her bed thinking of all the things she had never told him, of how deep inside her even though he had broken her heart, she recognised as an act of his warm affection and respect that he had not stripped her of her dignity, that in thinking of her he had given up himself and his desires, even though a part of her wanted so much for him to destroy her.

Helaena threw herself from the window a few days later, and her death, the most innocent of them all, made her lose her reason for living.

She thought of following in her footsteps, but instead, before the troops of the Blacks occupied the keep she fled, heading along the king's tract to Harrenhal and then beyond to where he was last seen.

She felt a sense of relief when she jumped off the cliff, as if she was free at last, the water she fell into was icy.

The thought of death terrified her and calmed her at the same time, she thought for a moment her body would struggle for one more breath and then it would resign itself to its fate and become silent forever.

She felt a squeeze in her throat, the last warm sensation surging through her lower abdomen as she sank down into the darkness and recognized in the distance his long, white hair.

[slowd1ving]

EAT MY HEART, I'LL EAT YOURS ⁺ 　 . ✦ MOZE

Seek the answer ‘neath the tides,  Madness shall prosper, forget her wiles,  The moon grins once again tonight.  He hates you. He hates your plans, how you talk, how you work. He loathes being stuck with you: detests it to his very core. But that's great, because the feeling is mutual with you! Tied to an ill-omened crow of your own, what's there not to abhor? continuation of tales of a disgruntled corvid art by @ RMavio on x!! pairing: moze + male reader warnings: blood, death, violence, yall HATE each other bro, v slow burn, pre established relationship (if you don't count the relationship of HATING each other's GUTS) wc: 6.3k

HONKAI STAR RAIL MASTERLIST

MASTERLIST ・゜・NAVIGATION

Copper defiles the carefully manufactured oxygen that circulates this tiny starship. Its stench pervades the past the clean air, past the distinctly alkaline tang of bleach, and past what little protection your visor affords you. In fact, the clear nanocomputers pick up on a distinctly sanguine hue to the air: labelling tiny crimson specks as biological matter—human blood (tentative). 

“Adult Foxian male, died approximately forty hours ago,” the man crouched before you narrates, oblivious to the you who stares up at the ceiling of the small room—as if the gesture could possibly shield you from the horrifying reality at your feet. No matter how many times you’ve stepped into a situation like this (too many to count ever since your career path practically merged with the Shadow Guards’), you don’t think you’ll ever get used to this. This is Moze’s sphere of knowledge: Moze’s work that intimately twines and dances with the very cesspit of vice and umbrage. 

“Died from presumably loss of blood caused by the deep lacerations across his abdomen and throat,” he continues—the details, unfortunately, seep into your brain as you try your best to tune him out. Thank you, Captain Obvious, you’d bite out, but unfortunately opening your mouth in these conditions would make you sick. “Or at least, that’s what the perpetrator would want us to think.”

There’s viscera splashed even on the very walls. Messy streaks of scarlet contaminate the aged wallpaper in the small room: capricious strokes, as though a child painted them, form characters and seemingly random lines of verse that register as unusual on your visor. That’s your area of expertise. 

Like clockwork, your gaze remains unwavering on the riddle presented on the structure. That’s how you’ve dealt with being in such proximity to Reapers: by pretending the wall is a block of stone and its red ink is precisely that—ink. That’s how you separate yourself from the victims of these gruesome cases; bit by bit, you’re slowly growing accustomed to the nauseating reek of metal that wafts before you. 

And so, when you finally glance down at the glazed-over eyes of the latest victim, it is with startling impassiveness that you assess his cadaver. He’s gone, you accept. Your little ritual has worked, as it oft does. 

“Same sigils as the other bodies.” You finally regain your voice, and the silver-haired man turns his sharp gaze up at you. “But the last line to the verse is different.”

Seek the answer ‘neath the tides, 

Madness shall prosper, forget her wiles, 

The moon grins once again tonight. 

The characters rest heavy on your tongue—foreign meanings straightening themselves out as you slowly sound out the snippet. It’s a verse from a children’s book of poems: a short tale about an obsolete, oceanic planet and its restoration by few brave souls. 

“The moon slumbered tonight,” you mutter the original line to yourself. This ancient script doesn’t suit the naïve phrases, but it’s commonly used for rituals—both antique and modern, you’ve unfortunately found. 

With a heavy sigh, you pull out the gun in your holster; it’s warm, humming to life which seems terribly ironic to you, considering where you are. You’ve not used the weapon for quite some time: the flickering it emits seems both familiar and unfamiliar. 

“What do you think you’re doing?” His clipped speech warily assesses the ease with which you handle the arm you never seem to use: preferring the glassy, almost invisible blade currently strapped across your back when in combat. 

“Xiaoze,” you sigh tauntingly, infusing the firearm with quantum energy that briefly glows indigo in this dim room. “Shut up and let me do my job.”

“Ew,” his face sours almost immediately at the nickname, embittered by both how it drips with condescension and no real affection, and how off putting it is for you of all people to be adding things to his name. “Don’t do that.”

“Then shut up.” You line the sights experimentally, having successfully blackmailed the Shadow Guard into keeping mum for a few minutes while you turn the qualitative verse into quantitative data. Perhaps he does feel threatened by the promise, for you only feel his heavy stare on you and not his words. 

The bullet careens and phases through the wall where the verse is located, and with a shimmer of data, the strings of numbers behind the verse reveal themselves: meaningless to all but yourself. It’s a temporary display, containing important information about the very foundations of this riddle. Or, at least, it’s a shortcut since the verse has already been decoded. 

Seek the answer ‘neath the tides: a reference to where the power ‘current’ of Madam General Feixiao is absent. Or at least, these murder locations point to that; they’re in the areas least looked over in the Alliance: namely, not aboard the Flagship. 

Madness shall prosper, forget her wiles: a crude depiction of Moon Rage, as well as the shedding of a ‘Foxian’ identity. Considering all these victims have been Foxian, it’s no far-fetched assumption to think that these have all been building up to something sinister. 

The moon slumbered tonight: a reference to the plaguemark hung over the Yaoqing—a moon left behind by Yaoshi. Past tense. Sleeping.

But that had all changed with this particular murder. Whatever goal the perpetrator hoped to achieve was finally coming into fruition with the awakening of this ‘moon’. 

The data transmitted onto your visor is as elapsed: the time of writing, the exact coordinates relative to the Flagship at the time of writing, as well as some background noise of little relevance to this current predicament. These numbers are duly inputted into one of your pre-created ‘equation’ sheets: linking abstracts together in their own relationships to receive a divinatory variable. It’s one of the few successes you’ve had with qualitative equations; linking energy and mass and speed is easy, but linking feeling together is not. 

In this case, tying down the exact time and coordinates to a specific intention. Any organic creature or ingenium leaves behind a trace of intention, whether it be through actual thoughts or a pre-programmed function. But in this case, the result comes out void. 

Thirty-two hours since verse was written. 

“How long did you say the man has been dead?” you ask, urgently. Moze snaps back to attention at the specific tone in your voice. 

“Forty hours,” he answers. When it comes down to the bloody aspects of this job, he returns to his laconic, reticent ways—it’s truly a shame he can’t keep it up in other aspects. 

“You’re sure about that,” you probe, half a question in your voice.

“It’s my job,” he deadpans, and you scowl as he uses your words against you. 

“Well, this verse appeared about eight hours after the man died,” you comment wonderingly. The strokes of the characters for grins once again appear a bit messier than the rest—almost like a map. Well, it’s not a deduction; your visor picks up on the strange wording right before you do. “Unlike the others that were written manually by a perpetrator.”

“So, this sacrificial lamb was finally the success,” he mutters darkly. 

“But the trail is no longer dead.” You sheathe your pistol back into its holster with a touch of relief, because finally this set of murders is coming to its conclusion.

⁺ 　 . ✦

You take back whatever compliments you had of him focusing on his job when it came down to it. As you pilot the star skiff along the trail of data outputted from your visor and the crude map from the bloody drawings, he’s practically talking your ear off about the garbled string of answers you sent him from your visor. 

“And what is beef’s relevance to this case?” he asks, each syllable drawn taut with what could only be mockery. 

“Typo,” you grit out, tilting the control wheel starboard. Now is not the time. 

“Egg, too?” he taunts. 

Your eyes flick to the top left of your visor, where you did in fact merge the contents of your grocery list with the file meant for him. 

“Use your common sense,” you bite on the inside of your cheek, hard, to prevent any insults from slipping past your lips. “You do still have that, right?”

“So what’s for dinner tonight?” He leans back against the co-pilot seat, and you can feel his gaze prick your face—much like you feel the tiny, irritating smile he wears. 

“I will crash this skiff if I have to, and you’ll have to explain to the General why the cryptologist exploded into itty-bitty pieces, Xiaoze,” you seethe. 

“Not if they don’t find your body,” he returns—far too accustomed to the patronising name for someone who blanched at its usage just an hour prior. Worst part is, he’d definitely make do on this vaguely-worded threat. 

“Madame General and A-hua would know it was you.” You propel the stern forward, if only to feel his hands grip the sides of his seat tighter. He courts death daily as an assassin, but wouldn’t it be a treat to die because of reckless driving. It’s not like you can entrust the programmed visor to him (and it’s not like you want to send the decoded map to the skiff). 

“Would they, though?” He pares away the dirt beneath his nails with his knife, and you hope the sudden jolt in the vehicle gave him an injury. 

“Jump.” A single syllable, gracing the space with your tender command. His brow raises minutely. 

“No one will miss you,” you add. 

“Since you’ve got no friends,” you tack on with an air of finality. 

⁺ 　 . ✦

He hates you. He hates you: hates the way your hands deftly turn the control wheel on the skiff; hates the way you trip and stumble through life, leaving countless messes behind yet still managing to have Feixiao’s approval to work with him; hates your facetious and conniving and sly insults. But most of all, he really fucking hates your plans. 

“This is so stupid,” he mutters in your ear; invisible to all but the tell tale outline on your shrunken visor. You’d reply, but you’re already conspicuous enough in the tailored suit you’ve donned—all sharp lines and a cut too bittersweet for your home planet. So actually, fuck that, then—there’s no point in being all Spy-like and Inconspicuous any longer. 

“Shut the fuck up,” you hiss, adjusting the cufflinks beneath the rich jacket—then subconsciously running a thumb along the edge of your fake identification card that’s pinned to your collar. Unlike that weirdo, you can’t turn invisible—so you’re left firing quanta bullets at the hull of this rig right outside Yaoqing airspace (or technically, space-space) and gleaning whatever information you can to assemble a persona for yourself. 

 <Doctor, Who is slightly Strange> how do I look < 1:34

The message pings to him from your visor, and you know he’s seen it—from the caustic sigh that leaves his lips, because if he ever blows his cover while he’s invisible, it will have been because of you.

< Weirdo > 1:34 > Focus on the damned mission.

Lukewarm, you scoff, brain sounding out your response. How… do… I… look, you type out once more.

1:35 > Terrible. 

Aggravated, you clench your fist, and you swear you can hear the space behind you warp and distort when he snickers. Terrible! What a joke, you seethe—jabbing the code into the airlock that you’d worked out by the little tones left on the verse, as well as reading the intentions left by people at this door. 

Your job is simple—getting to the bottom of these long-standing murders while also planting a bug on the ship that would allow the Seat of Divine Foresight of the Yaoqing to monitor the situation. Nothing more, but maybe something less if something went wrong. This was only a two-man operation, after all. 

Of course, you neither kept optimistic nor pessimistic. Though there were only two objectives,  those that underestimated the simplest missions oft suffered the brutal brunt of defeat. And of course, the former term being negotiable showed just how difficult it was. Or at least, if you managed to find the office of the higher ups, the data you stole would allow you to reconstruct the space virtually—though what you needed were concrete files that pointed to clear motives. 

No—not the office. 

You squinted as a rough plan of the building popped up from the continuous data you fed your visor—a general prediction of where the lab and computer room would be located, which were simulated as being in the same wing as the office. Perfect. 

<Weirdo> 1:40 > Done all your shopping already, or are you just tired of steak?

You grind your molars as you travel past the small throngs of borisin and humans alike: you don’t look entirely out of place as they’re dressed in a medley of different outfits, from IPC uniform replicas to Penacony garb to even the long robes found on Herta’s Space Station. Point is—your Earthwear doesn’t stand out, and there’s enough people that your badge does not go noticed. 

<Doctor, Who is slightly Strange> gonna shoot you how about that < 1:40

It takes the time of twenty-seven heartbeats to stride through the corridors (tunnels) that make their way around the aircraft. Twenty-seven heartbeats, three checkpoints and one smile shot at presumably a ‘coworker’—before you finally make it into the final stretch. He knows, though you don’t, because he’s counted: listening to the rhythmic beat of your organs as you calmly navigate the ship like you know what you’re doing. 

It’s devoid of souls, except for the two of you as you pad down the corridor. Even the very lab and big office seem abandoned—but Moze’s urgent text alerts you of the presence of someone in the office, just not the lab. 

Guess we’ll start there then. 

A quick swipe of your falsified keycard, and you were in—slipping on one of the freely available lab coats and extending your visor to cover your eyes at the entrance. You do respect lab etiquette, after all; erasing even your thoughts about food and drink as you press through the automatic glass doors. 

<Weirdo> 1:43 > You almost look like a scientist now.

You can hear his exhales—they’re so obviously deliberate, because no way would he blow his cover by accident. He’s snickering, that sod is. 

I am a scientific doctor, you senile fuckwad. < 1:44 

1:45 > Thought your default display name was just a joke. Did you hit your head and hallucinate some credentials?

You seethe, since you can’t exactly scroll through endless files to locate your dissertation on ancient science and qualitative formulae. Over sixty-thousand words, reduced to mere mockery by this cretin. 

It’s a triple entendre < 1:45 And I’ve got the creds < 1:45 prick < 1:45 

1:45 > moron

He types this lightning quick, not even pausing to stop walking—not even pausing to capitalise and punctuate his stupidly mocking text like normal—and you can still hear him because he’s letting you hear his normally silent steps, he’s letting you know he can fulfil the mission while shit talking you to your own face.

this is why you have no friends < 1:46

1:47 > this is why you don’t have friends outside your job. no one actually likes you

You rummage around in the large filing cabinet besides all the gleaming equipment: large centrifuges, safety cupboards, fume hoods, and weird display cases filled with samples of what can only be blood. Swiftly, you snap several photos of the evidence with your visor, then mindlessly write a response. Talk about a call coming from inside the house, you think. 

name two people who voluntarily spend time with you < 1:49 [<Doctor, Who is slightly Strange> sent index.finger.pointing emoji] < 1:49 [<Doctor, Who is slightly Strange> sent laughing.crying emoji] < 1:49

He’s no longer in the peripheries of your earshot; so you know he’s gone off to investigate the other areas of the small lab—beyond the equipment and into the computer room. Good, you exhale—at least he respects lab protocol. 

1:51 > name a time feixiao actually talked to you outside of work

I will…. lend you… my gun so… you can shoot…. yourself, you type, then quickly hit backspace before you can send it by accident. 

yesterday. eat shit xiaoze < 1:52

1:52 > that was charity work don’t flatter yourself

Hastily, you scan any files in the weird stronghold that look even remotely related to borisin and Foxians and especially the one you cradle: labelled only with the icon of a moon and containing eerily similar rituals to the crime scenes you found. 

oh you want to talk about charity work? lets ask the crowd bro < 1:55 everyone who interacts with you is doing charity work.. < 1:56

1:57 > ok at least my job wanted me

Wow. Wooow. You stare incredulously at the message���he’s dragging the Intelligenstia Guild into this, knowing you got put on leave for ‘engaging in querulous behaviour’ and ‘lacking in real life experience’. Low blow. 

…and no one else did so what now < 1:58 name a single friend you have < 1:58

1:58 > .. 1:59 > Jiaoqiu 

Jiaoqiu. How cute, you scoff, resuming your hate typing while you flick through the last few files hidden around in drawers and cupboards. 

idk how to tell you this but you are NOT the friend bro you’re the test subject… < 2:00 I think he pitied you or smth.. < 2:01

2:02 > ew 2:02 > don’t call me bro it’s sickening 2:02 > we are not alike

it’s exposure therapy < 2:03 since you don’t have any friends you don’t and probably never will be called anything endearing < 2:04 aren’t I so nice < 2:04

Pausing, you glance up at where the glass doors lead right to the computer lab; a dim glow washes over the space. Nothing much to worry about, you think—copying data is a far less burdensome task than rifling through pages upon pages of reports and then arranging them back into their rightful place. Though, if you were worried about anything, it was that the virus and bugger installation would take longer than they had to. 

Maybe it’s the paranoia getting to you. 

Or maybe, maybe, it’s the faint click of footsteps against linoleum floors—getting louder and louder and louder. As does your heartbeat: thundering deafeningly in your ears. You can’t turn invisible. You don’t get the luxury of slipping into the shadows like your colleague (to put it very politely) does. 

And so you swallow—tongue thick and leaden within your suddenly too-dry mouth. There are two courses of action you can take (hurry, the steps are getting louder): the first being to hide away in the little storage cupboard and take the escape from there. You will not be able to fool a scientist who knows their colleagues far more intimately than the grunts in the lobby. Moze has worked alone before. He’ll figure out how to get the virus downloaded and the data copied before the person even gets close to noticing him. 

Or—and your eyes flick to the computer room clearly visible from the lab—you could put on an act to save both your life and Moze’s time. You could… probably do that, right?

Heart moving renditions…. Never mind that your heart was pounding right out of your chest—never mind that your glassy sword could not be wielded in this narrow hallway, never mind that flipping the switch on your gun was not quite something you were prepared to do. 

They were almost at the corner, and you made your decision to step out into that narrow corridor. One hand in your pocket and the other raking across your face as you yawned. The epitome of casual. 

And Moze’s ears pricked as he watched you; though you’d never know, and he’d never admit that he did so. He heard the sound of sharp shoes, and was honestly expecting you to turn tail. 

But you didn’t. 

You’re taking lazy strides as he hears the researcher approach—counting on the secrecy of this organisation being tight enough to operate on a need-to-know basis. In other words, you’re operating on the high-risk gamble: that this particular person would be unaware of changes in personnel. There’s no time to read the data streaming from their steps. Ordinarily, from their intention you could figure out their rank in the pecking order—but you are plumb out of luck. 

He rounds the corner: wearing a suit far more well cut than yours, though his tie sits loose at his throat and his jacket is slung over one shoulder. From one glance, you can tell immediately. You’re screwed. Still, it’s too late to run now: far too late to leave Moze to figure out how to download the data faster. 

“Who are you?” The drawl is heavy with a cadence far too confident. Just your fucking luck, you momentarily scowl—of course the lab would be frequented by some clear higher-up. Not a regular degular scientist you could simply sweet talk, but someone not in the lower strata of this shady organisation.  

He’s handsome: black hair that sheens prussic, eyes glinting practically amber even in the frigid lighting that washes over this space. Something you’ve unfortunately learned while traversing the galaxy is that this guy cannot possibly be a grunt; and if he is, there’s something seriously wrong with the corporation. He’s eye candy—which makes this situation so terrible. You are screwed. In that moment, your lazy smile wavers somewhat; you are utterly and irredeemably fucked. You could shoot him, but that would no doubt put the rig on immediate lockdown with the sound of the gun. 

Fuck. You want to slam your head against the glass, but that would no doubt screw you over even further. 

You’re not built for this. 

“Oh, are you part of the research team too?” Naive. Your qualifications have just landed you this position, and you’re not quite capable of discerning if you should be divulging that information or not. That’s the mindset you centre this particular character around: just some random guy who’s a bit gullible. 

“Just got transferred,” you lie through your teeth, shamelessly. It’s a sin to lie, but you’ve committed bigger ones before. 

“No wonder I’ve never seen a cutie like you here before,” he murmurs—leaning in as though to inspect your face. And so, you freeze; naturally, this was not the direction you thought this conversation would take. Maybe sweet talking is not entirely off the table, but you sincerely doubt you’ll actually get away. 

You swallow. How much longer do you have to stall for? Is Moze done? What the fuck do you say next?

“Uh.” Thanks? I guess? You’re pretty cute too? You find your hand inching towards your holster—minutely, of course—while potential replies whirl through your mind chaotically. Miniature storms wrapped up in slimy brain matter and miniscule neuron connections. 

It’s only when he lets out a short laugh that you realise that you might’ve let out your thoughts, and you curse at yourself in your mind. 

“Wow, you’re bold,” he comments, closer: until you can almost taste the lingering iron and manufactured scent he has. Like wood. Earth pine. A bitter pang goes through your heart at that: someone from the surviving fallout of Earth, here of all places. In a clean, sterile lab dedicated to sacrificing Foxians—for what? Money? Stupid credits? Humans are rotten creatures, cut from a cloth macerated in cesspits. On Earth, it was no exception. 

Still. Your lips press into a line at his clothes, the particular way the tie is knotted. You’ve never seen another survivor prior to this. 

You may also be completely mistaken. Penacony and doubtless others have the same strands of fashion—but this. This is wholly Earth. 

“People do tell me that,” you return, unbuttoning your lab coat since you’re no longer in the lab boundaries. Moze, hurry the fuck up. You’re already regretting it, but you need to confirm it. Alien everywhere, what other choice do you have?

His eyes don’t widen like you expect, and you feel a stupid ache at the realisation that you’re once again alone. But rather, they flicker to your breast pocket, where your falsified keycard peeks out. Closer. His fingers pluck the plastic as though it were a flower, and you’re much too astounded to stop him. 

“What a shame…” he murmurs, and only the nails digging into your palm remind you fitfully of just how near he is—practically tasting the fucking lies on your breath. 

“Sir, back up a bit,” you grimace. This sucks. The perks of keeping the guy from witnessing the glow in the computer room is slowly fading away the longer you keep this up. Should’ve left Moze to get caught. 

“O strange doctor, do movies of the bygone era really interest you so?” 

You freeze. Shit. Shit. You’d let down your guard—attempting to gauge his reaction to your attire and getting caught out yourself. Really, was there any spy worse than yourself? The falsified card was hastily put together with the help of your visor; of course it autofilled that stupid alias. 

It’s not the first time your mistakes have cost you. 

“You…” This guy. You should’ve run. You suck at gambling. 

“How odd. I should’ve been aware of one like me being transferred.”

“Who the hell are you?” Cautiously, you take a minute step back. He notices—of course he does. 

“The head of the research department, who else?”  Fuck, fuck. Your heart is entering arrhythmia: pounding flush against your eardrums like some goddamn hammer against piercing nail. You’re dead meat. 

“It’s unfortunate that I can’t buy you a suit to replace that cheap one—if you hadn’t infiltrated, we might’ve been good friends.” He’s still putting up a front, but you can tell he’s close to a fight. It’s the snarling instinct of a cornered human—fight or flight activating almost immediately at every minute movement of his. Each shallowed breath, each minute shift in sinew. All of it. 

“No, definitely not,” you retort in disgust. “Most people from that planet sucked.”

It’s true, but your heart twinges blue just the same. Millions of years, all for that stupid molten iron planet to just cease. None but you—all alone amongst the cold, dead stars. 

It was a graveyard of the giants: hulking Jupiter, so wretched and broken; stars slowly winking out one by one. Even the massive silhouette of the Sun had finally been conquered. Had the universe ever been so lonely for the wandering?

“Even you?” And now his fists punctuate the empty space with his words. 

“Especially me.”

How foolish. How foolish, as he’s barely breathing on the floor beside you. How foolish, as you let your teeth grind in stupefied frustration. How foolish, that you wanted to communicate with a remnant from that obsolete planet. 

You’re an idiot as you clutch at your side: warmth seeping between your fingers as you prop yourself up against the wall. Shallow, heaving breaths come ragged—though the fight didn’t last even five minutes, courtesy of your visor working overtime to electrocute that fool by your feet. He looks fried, but you don’t look much better: being stabbed does that, after all. 

You don’t know what you’re doing here. 

What were you trying to accomplish?

Iron tastes especially caustic today. Ah, you realise with a start—this stupid endeavour was all to buy time. Maybe it was all pointless. Maybe you’ll slip into slumber here—tripping over the sleeping man at your feet and seeing your planet once more, if only in your dreams. 

The flicker of lights reminds you of your wretched childhood apartment. All concrete and dilapidated structure, but it was your home. A cruel and cold home—though it was also one where the sun touched the horizon just so, in a way that erased pain for a singular moment in time. 

Stupid. All this to fulfil your stupid mission. 

Your legs wobble, and you would’ve slammed right into the wall were it not for the cold arms wrapping around your ribcage—gelid hand splayed on your chest. 

“Idiot.” Moze’s voice is low and angry; practically shaking while he supports your body. He’s pressed right up against your side—making the smell of blood ever more pungent. Slippery, metallic copper—all coming from you and ruining that stupid suit for good. “Are you illiterate too?”

“Huh?” You don’t know why he’s upset; he got the job done, didn’t he? Maybe he’s mad he has to prop you up while navigating the dim tunnels of this building—his teeth are gritting, after all, even if you can’t see him. You can hear the molars grind together. 

“Are your eyes just for show, or do you occasionally read your messages?” he seethes. Your trembling heart is far too loud to register the final death rattles of the man left behind in the corridor—courtesy of a blade thrown right into his jugular. 

“Hah. Muted them to not read your irritating texts anymore.” You close your eyes as he guides you past the chemicals, past the cleaning supplies in the closet that leads to a hidden path outwards. He’s more… gentle than you would’ve expected; grip firm on your arm slung over his shoulders rather than constricting. 

“I didn’t need your help,” he informs you: tone boreal as ever. “You blew our cover.”

Still, you cannot see the furrow in his brows as he peers down at you; neither can you see his lips pressing together. His heart’s pounding weirdly: focused on you rather than leaving this stupid place far behind. 

“I didn’t do it for you—” you grit out, stumbling the last few steps to the concealed star skiff while alarms blare on the ship the two of you leave behind. And he’s grasping your waist as you lean against the rocking vehicle—but you were not going to fall. Blood seeps onto his clothing, though he pays the mess no heed for once. 

“Don’t need your help either,” you scoff, returning his words back to him as you lean against the worn seat. It’s cold. So cold, but you’d rather die than admit it hurts. “Get off me.”

“I’ll drive.” His rich voice finally has a body once more as he settles into his copilot seat. He can visualise the path back to the Yaoqing already—back to the messy, warm place you call home. Where you linger on all those stupid trinkets, the decorations you put up, and the food simmering in the pot on your stove—he knows the route like the back of his scarred hand. 

“I’m fine. It’s not that deep, and Jiaoqiu will take a look at it anyway.”  Jiaoqiu. His lips curl into a sneer as the dashboard lights up—flipping switches with such harsh precision it’s much too apparent that he’s in a terrible mood. 

“Or A-hua,” you add, and his heartbeat becomes something twisted and wretched as he hears the dimmed affection in your voice. You’re tying off the bandage tight around your side—very rudimentary first aid, but the priority is to get as far away as possible from this facility while their systems go down.

“Neither of them will be in when we report to Feixiao.” 

He doesn’t quite know why he lies: syllables rolling off his tongue like a blunder, yet he manages to keep his voice steady. 

“Then I’ll give myself stitches.” So damn stubborn, he thinks. He’s irritated, for reasons unclear to him. 

“No, this was because of me. I’ll treat you.” He doesn’t know why he insists either; one thing he knows for sure though, is that he can’t help but cling onto the scent of your embodiment. Blood and sweat, laundry powder and soap. You. It’s nothing like the damp of his cell. 

“No thanks. You’d probably—hah—use this opportunity to get rid of me,” you wince out. Well, he cants his head in thought—you’re not wrong. He might’ve left you behind: no regrets, no more dead weight. 

“You think so little of me?” 

“Yes. Why else would you come close?” On edge—that’s what he can hear in the tremulous pulse beneath the flesh, all torn and never at ease. It’s not fearful, precisely, but gone is the casual annoyance in your tone—it’s more of a void acceptance, as though you’re stating the obvious. 

To answer your question, he doesn’t know. He’d normally recoil at the sight of the dried blood on his clothes—scrubbing at his skin the moment he could—but he’s absent-mindedly pulling at the threads laved in you with a hand not preoccupied by steering. 

“Anyways. If you keep pushing it, you’ll be permanently dubbed that nickname you so hate.” 

“Don’t care.” He meets your eyes through the reflection of the glass window. One gaze—flinty and stubborn. The other pair of eyes—silent and unyielding. “I’m treating you before we report to Feixiao.”

“Little A-ze is all grown up now, huh,” you mutter, and the prefix you put in front of his name is cold and distant. It tastes quite bitter, and for that reason he doesn’t deign to speak for the rest of the flight. 

For once, he’s truly living up to his description of being reticent. 

⁺ 　 . ✦

“Why’d you do such a stupid move?” With each agonised beat of your heart, the needle jabs into one side of your flesh and extends past the other. This may have been taken as to mean he’s fast with your treatment—but your pulse is as sluggish as barely molten lava, burbling and gurgling like you’re on your last legs. “Look after yourself first.”

The towel he painstakingly placed on your couch is spattered with sanguine. Unfortunately, you’re a bit too lost in delirium to realise the gravity of this situation: Moze, kneeling by your side as he carefully stitches you back up. So delirious, you don’t notice his heavy gaze and scarred hands that reverently handle the tools that pierce your body. 

“A-ze,” you slur, half-conscious as you bring a scalding hand to press against his boreal face. He freezes, like he really is made of ice. But alas, your hand falls back to your side just as quickly and his expression settles back into a scowl. 

“I could’ve escaped,” you murmur, eyes heavy with slumber. “But then you would’ve been in trouble.”

I wouldn’t have been, he wants to say back. You and your idiotic plans. He’s thought it before and thinks it now—he really fucking hates them. 

“Don’t ever do that again,” he instead grits out, tying off the last stitch with the scissors with a clinical professionality that you’re quite astounded then. “Look after yourself, and I’ll do the same.”

“Shut up and get out then,” you retort—and he plucks the roll of bandages you were planning on winding around your side. You blink: taken aback once more. 

“No.” 

No? 

“Fuckface,” you comment bitterly, though there’s a certain decrease in volume as he winds his arms slowly around your torso to wrap the cloth around you. Like this, his silver tufts of hair brush past your chin—strangely clean smelling for an assassin. And when you rest your palms on his upper back to alleviate the tension in your side, you swear he freezes. 

“Idiot,” he slams back; though, there’s a certain rapidity to his pulse as your chest is right in his eyeline. It’s steady, rising and falling with each even breath you have: naked muscle just about grazing his nose. For the first time in ages, his fingers waver in his task. 

“Call Jiaoqiu then,” you shrug. He’s tucking the ends of the bandage into itself, so you miss how the faint flush on his face immediately fades. 

Speak of the devil, and he shall appear. 

“Call who over?”

The foxian stands in the doorway with a pleased, close-eyed smile—much like the cat that finally got the cream. He’s grinning, Moze realises with horror; he saw the vulnerability in his shoulders, even if for a brief second.

Shit. He didn’t even notice. 

“Jiaoqiu?” You take your hand off his shoulder to wave; the man can no longer suppress the irritation in his expression. 

“In the flesh!” 

“Wow, you really don’t look good,” he continues, voice drawing closer as he inspects your bloodied torso. 

“Yeah, because I’m stuck with the fucker who lied about you not being—”

Moze presses his palm against your mouth—heart erratic at the feeling of soft lips against his hand, though it has nothing to do with you. More of the fact that he’s never been so close to someone like this. Yeah. That’s the reason. 

“Why are you here, Jiaoqiu?” he replies in your stead, ignoring how incredulously your gaze pierces into the side of his face. 

“So cold! You two are late to report even though you arrived half a system hour ago! But I totally understand, Moze.” Jiaoqiu’s smile does not quite reach his eyes as his gaze flitters between you and the assassin. That, perhaps, would be the usual description of how the foxian smiles regardless, but especially so today. “He’s injured, after all. Why not let me treat him before the two of you report to our Arbiter-General?”

“Pah–!” With a gasp, you finally wrench his hand from your mouth—glaring at him all the while. “That would be great, Jiaoqiu, thank you.”

Thus, the assassin is left simmering on the other side of your living room: daggers jabbing right into the other man’s back as he finishes your treatment off with a bowl of scorching hot broth. And though he doesn’t outright say it, Jiaoqiu is evidently amused by this turn of events—much like he’s amused with every irritated tell of Moze’s as he inches ever closer to you with his sly smile. 

Sorry, friend, he surmises. Not much of a chance you’ve got. 

It’s a great day for the fox, but not so much for the crow who seethes in the corner. 

⁺ 　 . ✦