#sometimes it feels like a sin to have been born at all. if that makes any sense. -> catholics start cheering and clapping

[mainfaggot]

existence is so inherently selfish isn't it...?

[farfromstrange]

“What if the way you hold me is actually what’s holy?” | Matt Murdock x F!Reader

Masterlist

Pairing: Matt Murdock x F!Reader

Warnings: SMUT! (18+), shower setting, oral f!receiving, masturbation, fantasizing, beard appreciation (kink?), dirty talk, mentioned unprotected p in v, slight Dom!Matt, DDBA!Matt, improper thoughts about a certain crucifix necklace, (kind of) religious symbolism, mentions of choking, praise kink, pet names, “good girl”, not perfectly edited (shocker)

Summary: Fantasies about your late-working boyfriend take over your much needed self-care shower—until he’s suddenly (and unexpectedly) right in front of you when you are about to take care of the problem yourself.

A/n: So, the Born Again trailer brought me back from the dead and made me so fucking needy for this man. I thought this would be the best opportunity to rewatch Daredevil and practice writing Matt again because I’ve been a bit out of practice lately. Let’s just say the experiment was successful, but I definitely owe it to my hormone levels. The gif below inspired this fic (as it probably has done to many writers in the fandom these past two days). Anyway. If you want to listen to the song I was listening to while writing, it’s “Guilty As Sin?” By Taylor Swift, hence the title. Other than they, enjoy, and feedback is always appreciated!

Read Me On AO3!

The warm water from the shower head above runs down your clammy skin, seeping into your pores and aching muscles. You have been dreaming about this ever since you got home from work. 

The apartment is quiet, save for the little noise you make in the bathroom. Matt called you earlier, telling you he would be late and that you shouldn’t wait up for him; you expected as much after he and Foggy caught a high-profile case a couple of weeks ago. 

When he isn’t busy at work, he tries to fulfill his duty to protect the city. You’re not mad; you knew what you were signing up for when you fell in love with him, but that doesn’t change the fact that you miss him sometimes. Or rather, all the time. It doesn’t matter if he’s at work or wandering around in red leather, searching for a fight—you always miss him. 

There’s not a day that goes by that you’re not worried he might not come back to you. You can only hold on to the thought of him coming home in the middle of the night, crawling into bed beside you because he’s too tired to shower, wrapping his arms around you as though you are the only thing anchoring him to reality. It makes you appreciate what you have in him. 

The thing about Matt is that he feels he has to do penance for every little thing he has ever done, whether his actions hurt people or not; he loathes himself for who he is, which is absurd to you but to him, it makes sense. Perhaps it’s the catholic in him, or all those years of losing soulmates, or maybe it’s both.

His shampoo smells faintly of sandalwood and the rainforest, but only if you focus closely. You like that it makes your skin soft, and when you wrap yourself in his silk sheets at night, it’s almost like he’s all over you before he physically can be. 

You close your eyes and you focus on the feel of him, imagining your hands are his. You imagine his calloused fingers trailing over your heated skin, exploring every dip and every curve, even though he already knows the wonderland of your body inside and out. His lips on yours, traveling down your neck to your shoulder to your chest… a shiver runs down your spine, pooling in your core. You’re on fire, and he isn’t even with you. 

He’s at the office, sleeves probably rolled up, the first two buttons of his dress shirt undone, loosening his tie with that strained look he gets when he’s stressed. Or maybe he’s on his way to Fogwell’s Gym so he won’t disturb you before he puts the suit on, fists raining down on a sandbag as sweat drips down his body, and he grunts whenever he lands a hit. 

You were just trying to have a nice shower, but Matt always manages to invade your every thought like a burglar on a mission. 

It’s just not fair how he always looks so sinful when he’s at his wit’s end. Oh, you love that look he gets when he’s feral. And you suddenly remember how long it has been since you got to touch each other. Since he let the devil out on you. Since he came home in the middle of the night and fucked you into the mattress because he was still so full of adrenaline. 

It has been so long since you two got to have a nice dinner together and you last rode him on his leather couch until you were both sticking to it, not even thinking about stopping; since he devoured you for hours and hours and hours until you were almost severely dehydrated and overstimulated from the orgasms he tore from you. 

You bite your lip so you won’t moan into the void of the bathroom. If you touch yourself now, he will know when he comes home. For a moment, you consider it. You slide your hand from your chest down your stomach. The water is slowly starting to grow cold. You just need to take the edge off.  Lower, lower, and lower, and—

“Don’t,” Matt’s voice reverberates in your ear. His hand slides over yours, calloused fingers on the back of your hand. 

The veil of fantasy burns to the ground. Your heart stops, then picks up the pace at a million miles an hour. In an instant, you turn around to face him, a gasp dying on your lips.

He’s right there, clothes discarded on the floor before the shower, no doubt. The golden crucifix around his neck offers a sinful contrast to his milky skin. You have always wondered if he was made out of marble rather than skin and bone. How can one person be this beautiful—this close to perfection and still be human? 

Matt is close enough for you to feel his heartbeat against your own. His hands slide to your forearms to make sure you don’t slip. You can see your wrecked reflection in his hazel irises. 

His unfocused gaze is right on you, boring through your skull into your soul. Only he can read you like an open book, listen to your body, and know exactly what you want, what you crave. He thinks of himself as the devil, but all you see is an angel. He’s the sun. To you, at least, he’s everything. The moon, the sun, the stars, and the entire fucking universe.

He caught you when you were about to touch yourself, and he’s naked. Really fucking naked. This is not how you imagined tonight to go. 

His chest heaves with a deep inhale of your scent, forehead coming to rest against yours. 

“You’re home,” you whisper. 

His lips curl into a smile—not a smirk but a genuine smile. “Yeah.”

“But you said you guys had that case, and then you were gonna go out…”

Matt cuts you off, “I missed you,” he says. “Couldn’t go out without seeing you.”

He chose you over the city. You never doubted Daredevil meant more to him than you, but hearing it out loud almost brings tears to your eyes.

“I missed you too,” you answer. So much. Days, weeks, seconds, all the fucking time. 

He’s so smug about it, too, when he tells you, “I know.”

The water keeps falling around you, drowning out the noise of the city and pearling off his necklace. He should have taken it off. If he wanted to shower with you, he should have taken it off because the need for him that makes your cunt pulse in desperation feeds off of the mere thought of taking the cold metal into your mouth while he pounds into you like a madman. 

He doesn’t look agitated, not at all, but there is a dark shadow falling over Matt’s bearded face. It’s a calculated shadow rooted in a need for control, and who are you to deny him the only thing he can control?  

“Hey,” he grabs your chin, “Tell me. What were you doing in there, hm?” 

You bite your lip. “Just… showering.”

“Just showering?” He brushes his nose against yours. “You know I can hear your heartbeat…”

You nod. Your lips brush, but he doesn’t kiss you. Not yet. You can taste the remnants of his last coffee, the familiar warmth of his mouth on yours, but he refuses to give you the satisfaction. You crave him so much that fireworks have started erupting on your skin wherever his fingers dare to travel; it isn’t fair. He isn’t fair. 

Matt studied the science of driving you crazy, and now you are bordering on the edge of madness. Alone. 

“Mhm. So, I know you’re lying…” He moves to your cheek, his breath hot when he speaks, “And I know when you’re touching yourself. ‘Cause I can smell how fucking wet you are, sweetheart.” 

There he is. The relentless, feral animal you fantasized about before. The man driven by primal need and the sheer power of his senses rather than rational thought, and yet he knows exactly what he is doing. He’s a musician playing you like a delicate violin, pushing her to the breaking point but never fully destroying.

“Like I said,” you breathe, “I missed you.”

He presses his lips to your cheek, almost like a reward. “I know,” he says. “Probably been thinking about me, too, with your hand on your pussy…” 

You swallow a needy moan that would have been too embarrassing. It’s been a long few weeks. Neither of you will be able to resist for long, you know that, so you decide you have to be bold tonight. “And what’re you gonna do about it?” you ask.

Though stunned for a moment, the smirk on Matt’s face isn’t far out of reach. “That’s my girl.”

Your back hits the now warm tiles of the shower wall before you can string together another remark, and then, finally—fucking finally—his lips are on yours. Kissing you. Devouring you. Breathing air into your aching lungs. He tastes like paradise, the Garden of Eden, and the six circles of hell all at once. It’s all the same to you, anyway. 

As long as you’re with him, you don’t care where you end up. No amount of torture could take away the love you feel for him, and you know that with Matt, even weathering the stormy seas of hell would be worthwhile. It’s sick and twisted how far you would go for this man, but you can’t find a single bone in your body that cares.  

His tongue forces its way into your mouth, tasting you, and inhaling you like his sole source of life support. You don’t bother fighting for dominance; you’re all his. Your body is telling him to command you. Your mind is screaming for him to touch you in any way he pleases, so help him God, and the chain around his neck keeps sinfully dangling against his toned chest. You want to bite it. You’re going to bite it. But not yet. 

When it is time for you to swim to the surface for air, he pulls away. His lips move from yours to the corner of your mouth. He kisses there, taking his time to explore what he has explored many times before. But Matt Murdock is an addict, and you are his drug of choice, so why would he ever stop? 

He kisses your cheek, your eyes, and the bridge of your nose. That’s how he sees you. Either with his fingers or his mouth or both. Touching you. Listening to you. He wants to see you in his own way. In a way that is far more intimate than you admiring his objective beauty could ever be.

“So beautiful,” he whispers between kisses. When he says it, you know it has to be true, even when you don’t see yourself in the same light as him.

His beard is rough where he kisses you. He has grown it out quite a bit, not having the time to bother shaving. The specks of gray that have started appearing as he got older should be illegal, you think, staring at him through hazy eyes. It should be illegal to look this good.

You caress his face, palm covering the entirety of his cheek. So beautiful, you want to say, but you don’t have the words.

The confession of love tumbles against your skin, softly, breathlessly, and he dips his head into the crook of your neck. He seeks your pulse point to press his lips against the beat of your heart. Your head falls back against the tiles. He’s a fucking menace, but he’s gentle about it. So, so gentle.

The hands-on your hips pull you closer, as close as you can get. Your nipples brush his chest, and you can feel him growing hard against you. He’s hot, red, and flushed, and with his lips against your neck, sucking and biting and licking some more, the shower water isn’t the only thing running down your thighs. You’ve been wet just thinking about him; Matt is here now, and he has no intention of stopping until you’re screaming his name.

Your skin is raw from the way he’s moving his face against you, suctioning his lips right where he can feel your pulse reaching for him. Reacting to him.

“Matthew,” you moan, breathless. “Please.” 

He hums, fingers digging into your flesh to keep his composure. The sound of his name from your lips in such ecstasy makes his cock swell to the point all he wants is to sink into you and fuck you against the wet shower wall until you can’t walk anymore. He wants to wrap his hand around your throat, just holding you there as you take it like the good girl you are. God, he wants to do so many things to you. 

He wants to push all of your buttons and reward you for it. He wants to feel your nails running down his back until he’s bleeding. He wants to eat your pussy until you forget your name, and when he’s done with that, he wants to do even more because that is the kind of animal you turn him into. That is what you do to him. You consume him with your mere existence and your love you keep pouring into him like a glass about to overflow, a glass so full yet so fucking empty at the same time, and he has been neglecting you for far too long to hold back now—yes, the water bill be damned!

“I love it when you beg,” he growls, feeling his voice vibrate through your skin. Like he’s in your veins.

You whimper. Oh, that sound. That sweet, sweet sound. It seems to do him in. Matt sinks to his knees like he would in front of God in church—like Mary knelt in front of Jesus after he got crucified. But there are no stained windows, no crosses, and no confessional booth in sight; you’re his place of worship, and your body is the altar. You are the only constant in his world on fire. You always want him to set you on fire, too. 

Once on his knees in front of you, his cock straining high and mighty against his stomach, he grabs your thigh and places it over his shoulder. No rush. You can barely catch your breath. 

Burning along the inside of your thigh, Matt kisses his way toward where you need him most. Your core yearns for him. Your hand slips from his face, searching the tiles behind you for something to hold onto. 

He’s quick to bring your hands back to his hair. “Don’t let go,” he says. 

It’s almost embarrassing that the only sound you can make is a grunt, and when your brain finally catches up, it’s too late. He’s impatient. Desperate. And he places his lips in a gentle kiss against your clit. The sudden contact makes you jolt, but that is not nearly all of it. 

He tests the waters. Once, twice, even a third time, gently kissing along your slick folds. You instinctively tug at his hair, but that doesn’t deter him. Matt inhales your scent, tasting your essence on his tongue; he would bathe in it if he could. 

You cry out when he dives in. He parts your folds with his tongue, sucking and licking until his face is covered. The obscene noise of lips smacking against wet skin goes straight to your head. He can hear the wetness gushing out of you, every twitch of your muscles and hitch of your breath, and he sucks a little harder on your sensitive clit. You’re scared you might fall. 

“Fuck!” Your moans are as obscene as the sound of him eating you out. You grind against him, at first involuntarily, but then he moans against you, and you can’t help it; the vibrations he sends through you continue to pool in your cunt, tightening the coil that is waiting to snap. 

Matt prods your entrance with his tongue, the tip of his nose digging just right into that sensitive bundle of nerves he lost when your hips first jerked. He’s completely out of it, hooded eyes rolled back into his skull while you are almost splitting yours open on the dark tiles. The cross necklace is sticky with his saliva as he drinks from you like you are the spring fueling his ocean. He’s thrusting into his hand, pre-cum leaking from his cock, but his mouth never wavers. He has a job to do. 

Your walls clench around what little of his tongue is inside of you. There is nothing more arousing than the sight of him touching himself because the taste of you is bringing him to the brink of an inevitable orgasm. Because he wants to come with you. Because he’s desperate and he can only imagine being inside of you as he licks away at you. It’s a kind of dedication that makes you feral. No one has ever loved you quite like he has, and no one will ever eat your pussy as only he can. 

“Matt,” you choke out. “Fuck, I’m gonna—’m gonna come. Don’t stop. Don’t…”

As if he could. He flicks his tongue from left to right, painting shapes you have never felt before over every last of your nerve endings. You’re quivering. You’re shaking. You are turning the bathroom into a concert hall for the symphony of your pleasure. 

He doesn’t stop to tell you to come, that would be futile. You couldn’t possibly stop the wave headed for your shore. You can’t warn him. You can’t do anything other than let it happen. The coil snaps and your orgasm crashes into you at full force, shattering you into a million pieces. You grind against him until you’re sure he is branded into your skin forever. 

Matt holds you through it, working his tongue against you to prolong the electricity running through your veins. He gets lost in the echo of his name, stroking his cock harder and faster, and within seconds of you, he’s coming, too. He spurts into his hand and on your thigh, moaning deliciously into your pussy. For a moment, he’s stiff, though as you are starting to come back to him, he’s starting to come back to you. 

The aftermath of your orgasm is quiet. His lips slip from your swollen folds eventually, and he pulls away to rest his cheek against your inner thigh, the one resting over his shoulder. He’s still catching his breath, cock softening in his hands, but when you look down at him, he’s a wreck. For you. 

Slowly, he rises back to his feet. You look at him, unsteady now on both of your feet. He wraps his arms around you. “You okay?” he asks softly. 

You lean into his hand when he places it on your cheek. “Yeah,” you nod. “I’m…perfect.”

“You were so good for me. So good.” 

The distance between you dissipates, foreheads falling together in absolute exhaustion. He smells and tastes of you. You kiss him softer than you ever have. “I love you,” you whisper, and he smiles because he knows.

You don’t count the minutes you stay like that, kissing. It might have been an hour, not nearly enough. Matt reaches for the water when it starts getting cold, and he lifts you to wrap your legs around his waist. 

You frown. “Aren’t you going out tonight?” 

He shakes his head. “No, sweetheart,” he says, “I’m not done with you.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. Gotta make sure you know how much I missed you.”

The giddy smile on your face when you kiss him again is involuntary, but not unnecessary. He giggles, too, before you finally shut him up.

Hell’s Kitchen can live without him for one night, that much is for sure. And when he finally thrusts into you and you bite down on the golden metal of that godforsaken crucifix to stifle your scream as he fucks you to hell and back in a way that is gentle yet possessive, you know this is the only place Matt needs to be tonight—for both of you.

[risuola]

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐈 ⋯ heaven lost its most beautful angel.

contents ✤ archangel!satoru x demon!reader, smut (nipple play, oral, maybe a tad bit borderline dubcon-ish?, corruption, some dirty talk), a lot of religious topics mentioned (not always in the best light), wc. 4639 ⋯ reader discretion is advised series masterlist

Born from pure nothing, Satoru has only got to know happiness. An illusion of it, a sort of safety that comes with stability in life. And it is good. He is, after all, the honored one, an archangel, the highest prince of Heaven, standing by the side of the king — God, a father of every creation, his father. Blessed by His favor, throughout centuries of existence, Satoru has only ever experienced bliss. Despite him being the last one created, the youngest of a bunch of archangels, he is the most perfect display of what God is capable of. A favorite, the purest and most innocent, a pristine mirror of excellence that could have only been made by a hand of his beloved father.

It’s beautiful, it really is. People worship divinities, the faith is blind and the angel has never had to do much to enforce the proper beliefs whenever there was a doubt born. With his role to serve God’s purpose and fulfill His will, Satoru traveled and shown up in many places in the world, making sure the evolvement of humanity goes along the lines of the greater plan. Of something a simple human isn’t capable of comprehending. But it’s endearing, he thinks.

He watches it from above, his eyes able to engulf all of the crowd — he has always had good eyes. Throughout the hundreds of years since his creation, he’s got to witness the ups and downs of people’s development and with ease on his mind he just knows that no matter what times bring and take, the faith will stay rooted into the simple mortal minds. Or so he thought before the balance of the world shifted again.

Demons and devils have never been a foreign topic in the spectrum of religion — they’re a part of what makes the good feel good, they’re what’s bad and ugly. Popping here and there from time to time they usually made for a short entertainment for Mikael’s army and Satoru remembers just few of severe conflicts that took place on earth and one that happened at the gates of Heaven. Great losses were suffered at the times, his brothers and sisters that had lost the fights will always stay in his memory, but with the progression of time, the rate of haunts and possessions didn’t go much higher. Satoru actively makes sure to eradicate every doubt that blooms in poor little hearts of the gullible and vulnerable.

“Filthy creatures,” Azrael grumbles, his voice dry and harsh as he watches alongside Satoru yet another crowd of humans that carelessly stray from the right path and into the world of sin. “Their pathetic souls are yet to cry at the gates and plead for mercy when it’s their own choices that bring them down to hells. It should be easier for them to resist such primitive urges.”

“Father has made them the way they are for a reason, brother,” the white-haired one lightens up but the angel of death beside shows no change of attitude. “Faith is a choice and not a given but even if it’s only in the face of demise, every soul that has found God at some point deserves to be blessed.”

“Sometimes it seems as if watching them for so many centuries has rubbed their naivety across your feathers, Satoru,” Azrael lets out a sigh and spreads out his wings. Large and rich in dark feathers cast a shadow looming over his brother’s stature but the younger one only smiles at the sight. There’s an exchange of appreciative nods and their ways part.

Satoru isn’t naïve. He has always been more than capable of cold-thinking and calculating his actions, despite being known for a tender heart and gentle soul. The ways in which he acts are contained in the frames of necessity, he doesn’t go for the flashy displays of power and divinity. He likes to gently encourage people, hint the right paths so that they can realize where to go and how to live the rest of the time they’re given. Most of them find what’s there to discover, an enlightenment. Lord is merciful, benevolent. There are no ends to His love.

Then why people toss it away? Silly, silly creatures.

But then, times change again and as the world evolves and church begins to lose its influence, Satoru looks around with troubled mind. It seems as if people have lost direction again, finding themselves at the crossroads with unknown ends. Wrong people are taking highest spots in the hierarchy, preaching wrong words to the wrong crowds. And it crumbles, falls like a house of cards, trapping some inside and pushing away others. It’s terrible, he thinks, as his bright blue eyes meet the cloudy surface of doubt and uncertainty. And demons, them again, thrive like they never did before.

Now more than ever, little devils crawl out of the gates of Hell and poison humanity with their heinous games. Some morph themselves into forms akin to humans, blend in and start cults in the name of Lucifer and some stay true to themselves, haunting people here and there, testing their resolves, putting their faith to trials. More and more people are leaving God’s side. It’s bad, it’s unacceptable. Those demons—

“An angel?” —demons like you; devil with a face of an angel. “Even better,” you smile, but there’s nothing but malice in the gesture, “an archangel,” you inhale the divine scent that surrounds a man in front. That’s what brought you here, to a house that seemed to be stained in his divine energy. You tend to haunt the biggest believers, it’s fun to see them crumble, but you didn’t expect an actual saint. “It must be my lucky day,” you purr. Lovely.

Satoru has been warned about you before he moved onto his quest to rid the world of the dark powers that spread its tendrils among humans and it only took a short glimpse before he knew that it’s you who his brothers have been telling him about. It’s you who is told to bring angels down to Hell, to cause their banishment from Heaven. He’s lost one of his siblings because of your wrongdoings. You’re nothing but bad news, a demon so beautiful you’d easily convert even the most devoted believer into a sinner. You’ve been spreading nothing but doubt and fear, savoring the fruit of your doings with pleasure. You’re having fun on earth, it’s much more entertaining than all hells combined. You love to hear how people blame gods for every inconvenience when you can clearly see what led them down the path of bad luck. You whisper little hints into their non-expecting ears, encourage them and watch the dread wash over their faces. It's a cruel game you play but it's rooted deeply into your nature.

“It’s an odd excitement in your voice, demon,” Satoru retorts firmly and his eyes follow you as you circle him. It’s predatory, he feels like a pray underneath your curious, taunting gaze and he nags himself for it — he’s above you, you’re just a demon. There’s nothing you can do to break his spirit, he’s above all your tricks.

“Oh, forgive me,” you lower your head, but nothing in the gesture spells disrespect more than a smirk that dances on your mouth. Slowly you make your way back in front of him and then, you plop onto the bed to your right. You bounce few times on the soft mattress and dart your head up, looking at him, challenging him. He refuses.

“You’re in no search of forgiveness.”

“What gave it away?” You’re cocky, huffing an air out of your lungs in a voiceless chuckle and tilting your head more to the side. There’s a danger to your silhouette, you’re confident. You are a sin.

Satoru lets out a sigh and his eyes narrow. “What could have not given it away?” He questions and yet another laugh cuts through the otherwise silent atmosphere of the room. It’s melodic, it’s… pretty?

“Smart boy… Your name?”

“Satoru.”

“Not truly a name I expected,” you bare your teeth in a smile and Satoru notices the sharpness of your fangs. They are not quite animalistic but much sharper than his own. It fits.

“I travel through people a lot, I have taken a name akin to their own,” he explains, keeping his tone somewhat dry as he studies you. You’re not demonic per se. In fact, you’re barely even scary if he compares you to the thousands of demons he’s encountered in his existence. They are usually tainted with darkness, often bearing features of animals or mystical creatures. Scales and horns seemed to be usual on their bodies and eyes that shown nothing but abyss, but you — you’re nothing of it. You seem too inviting. There’s attractiveness to the way you look; your eyes are a little lidded and engulfed by rows of eyelashes, your lips seem as if they were created specifically to tempt, to kiss. Your frame doesn’t stray from what Satoru would see among humans and your skin doesn’t bear any signs of disfigure or scales. If not for the aura that surrounds you and the way mischief glints in your eyes, one could easily mistake you with an actual angel. No wonder why it is so easy for you to spread doubt.

“That’s fair,” you shrug and push yourself up. As you pass Satoru, a chill runs down his back as the darkness stretches behind you. He watches as you look around the place, running your fingertips across the surface of the desk and few shelves. You touch the spines of books that decorate them, tenderly rub the top of the ceramic figure in a shape of a little cherub. There’s something cat-like in a way you curiously explore the area, seemingly oblivious to the watchful gaze that follows you.

“If turning into nothing isn’t on your list of wishes, I’d advise you to go back where you came from,” the angel speaks after a little while, taking a step into your direction and you chuckle, sparing him a short glance from the corner of your eye. It’s brief, but it makes him stop.

“Good advice,” you muse, taunting him with the intonation of the syllables and he hates how easily you throw him off balance. “I’m not the best in following instructions though.”

“You seem to struggle with more than just that.” It’s a jab and you raise your eyebrow before you fully turn towards him. It’s only an accident that you knock the little figurine off the shelf and it breaks against the hardwood floor. “Your playtime on earth is over, demon.”

“Oh, my playtime on earth has just begun, angel.”

“If you refuse to comply, I’ll be forced to take you to Heaven where you’ll be trialed and punished for every deplorable crime you have committed against the greater plan of God.”

“There’s no need for me to go up to Heaven when I see Heaven came down to me,” you chuckle, resting your eyes on his face for few seconds before you allow them to run down his figure and you admire. He is a sight to behold, a stature of toned flesh and muscles balanced into something truly divine. “I need to admit, you’re very nice on the eyes. Such a beautiful angel.”

Oh, you’re dangerous. Your voice just like honey warms Satoru from the inside out. He feels his heart rate increasing and his breathing becoming shallower as you admire him so openly. He should be used to it, he is used to being worshipped by mortals, but not by a creature of your kind. He watches you approach him, your steps confident between the ceramic pieces of a broken cherub and he feels his resolve begin to falter as you playfully prod his chest with your long, pointy nail. Then you drag it down his pectoral, run it across his stomach and he grabs your wrist before you reach his waistline.

“I will not play your games, demon,” he states, looking you in the eyes with forced calm and firm voice.

“No? You seem to be a little… troubled.”

“Do not mistake my confusion for submission. I am an archangel, I will not allow myself to be corrupted by your alluring presence,” he states a little too harshly and he hates it. There’s something so utterly irresistible about you that makes him think of giving in. It makes him want to taste the temptation and deep down he knows that he had already lost. His thoughts are consumed by the pictures of you, it’s against everything he knows, it’s against everything he is.

And it’s all that you are. A play of taunt and seduction. A wild, untamed soul entangled in dark shades of evil, a temptress with one objective rooted deeply into your core. Chaos.

“I am sure you can resist me,” you tease, getting even closer and you lean in, running the tip of your nose along the side of his neck. “Oh, you smell so good. So pure and innocent.”

“Enough.” He groans and it’s final. You laugh, but he doesn’t find it funny. Your hot breath lingers on his skin long after you distance yourself from him. Your hands raise in a mock surrender but it’s only a moment before you resume your game.

“You know what I find interesting?” A question leaves your mouth as you twirl in the dim light of the nightstand lamp and sit on top of the window edge. The night wind gently messes your hair and your eyes twinkle with the spark of playful evil. “You, angels, are always so strict and set that you don’t need any pleasure and all… why would it be?” Your tone is a derision of curiosity, you carefully pick and choose your words to form sentences obscure, unclear.

“My body has been crafted with a purpose much greater than to experience carnal needs and craves,” he says, firm on his beliefs despite the warmth coursing through his veins. “Human pleasures stand below my existence; the essence of an archangel is much more monumental. I was designed, both in mind and body, to focus solely on my duties and responsibilities, leaving no room for personal desires.” The answer is practiced, it flows in a way he’s used to tell it, however this time he knows that he’s lying to himself and everyone else. He’s lying in front of a demon, and oh, you know so well that he does. It’s amusing. It’s delicious. You want more. You want to break him.

“If that would be the case, why did your beloved god create you with a dick, huh?” You’re blunt, too blunt for Satoru’s liking but he has to let that slide, otherwise he’d flush bright red.

“My creator did not intend me to experience sexual pleasure. Instead, He believes I should focus solely on my sacred duties without being distracted by carnal desires.” He tries again, internally feeling all of his defenses crumbling and you laugh, as if you can tell the words mean nothing.

“I bet I could make you cum by as much as flicking my tongue over your nipple.”

There goes the blush. Satoru feels it creep up his chest and neck, his face and to the tips of his ears. The deep shade of crimson contrasts starkly against his pale complexion and pristine white hair and he closes his eyes, tries to compose himself but your giggles make it so difficult. You’re content, he knows it, you’re a demon, for god’s sake. It’s your tactic to break humans, a form of pulling at the most primal strings, but he’s not a human, he’s above all of them, he shouldn’t break just like that. It’s a turmoil. Satoru hates the feeling, he hates the way his body, the perfect creation designed by his father, reacts to the picture you planted into his mind. It shouldn’t be happening, why is this happening?

“Breathe, angel,” your voice is a whisper, it’s right against Satoru’s mouth. He feels your breath on his skin, the tip of your nose running down his cheek, your tongue tracing his jawline. His heart struggles to keep up, it’s too much, it’s too close, you’re too much. Inhale. Exhale. He forces himself to breathe, a little too shallow, a little too fast. His body is tense, you’re too close.

He won’t do this.

All defense mechanisms flare up in Satoru���s body, he stills, his eyes stay squeezed shut. Your hands dance atop of his shoulders, trace the shapes of his form and he feels you. You toy with him, your claws run down his chest, your fingertips tease the edges of his neckline, the white collar of his shirt. Calm down. It’s wrong, it’s so wrong, he shouldn’t feel it. Why does it feel right? It’s not right. It’s not angelic, you’re a demon, you want to corrupt him, to destroy him.

He cannot do this.

His fists clench up to his sides and you hum the softest melodies under your breath, as you lean in more and more. You exhale, but it’s different than his ragged breaths. You’re relaxed, he doesn’t have to see you to know you’re smiling. You take a step and he takes one back. It’s paralyzing. Satoru’s thoughts are overtaken by pictures of you, by pictures he has never allowed himself to project. It’s one of your tricks, isn’t it?

He can’t—

It feels warm. His whole body feels warm and it coils, somewhere below his bellybutton, a knot of tension he has yet to experience. It puts a haze to his thoughts, blurs the persistent image of your sinful tongue and he doesn’t understand it fully. A sequence of twitches and trembles send his mind into panic and he falls. His knees buckle, the edge of the mattress causes them to bend and he grabs onto the closest thing, onto you, when his body drops onto the mattress. The soft bounce ripples through him and he feels you above him. You giggle, it’s quiet and playful and it vibrates through the skin over his collarbone the moment you press your lips there.

“S-stop,” he mutters. It’s a weak plea concurring with a feeble squeeze on your hips. His eyes flare open, he feels feverish. You’re right on top of him but not quite touching him enough. Your hips are in the air, you’re taking it slow, you like to play with your prey.

“Yeah? You want me to stop?” You coo. Patronizing tone of your voice envelop him in a veil of mockery and he heats up again. Your dainty, swift fingers deal with the buttons before he has a chance to notice, his fogged-up mind struggling to keep up. “You’re gonna have to be more convincing than this, angel.”

He—

Your tongue circle around his nipple and Satoru moans. It’s a cry, a sound of an angel falling into a trap of a demon. An angel losing itself in something unholy, tasting the fruit that’s forbidden. And you smile against his skin, teasing the hardening bud with your teeth. They’re sharp against his sensitive skin and he hisses shortly before you soothe the ache with the warmth of your muscle. It’s wet and hot against his skin and Satoru’s brain short-circuit.

Your hand explores his stomach, tracing the stretched-out muscles that twitch every time you touch them. He arches off the bed, his body leaning into the sin while his mind tries to fight it — a losing battle of everything that’s divine in him against the carnal desires that weren’t supposed to be there.

Lust is a foreign concept to Satoru. He’s seen it in humans, he’s seen souls losing their purity to the wicked pleasures. He’s seen those shameless people giving into lascivious lifestyles, searching for stimulus so depraved and vulgar that each time he witnessed them, he wondered how could one’s faith loose to something so salacious. How could God create such weakness, but he believed that even the souls that lost their path in the indecency could find a way back into the Father’s grace. Would he be able to get back?

“P—haah—please,” he whimpers, pathetic against all of his instincts and his hand finds the back of your head. Your hair feels soft against his palm, like silk and honey and he shivers at the contact. You’re unbothered by his attempts, licking and sucking his delicate skin as if he’s one of those desserts people like so much.

Satoru’s nipples are swollen, the skin around them red from your frisky abuse. More and more sounds escape his mouth, it’s pathetic, how he whines underneath you, how you rendered him completely helpless. And he panics again. It feels odd, his body tenses and he doesn’t know why. Hot blood floods down his body, it feels torturously tight in his pants. He twitches, his fingers curl against your head, tugging at the beautiful threads of your hair and his eyes flutter shut.

Suddenly, it’s too hot. It’s wet, it feels sticky against his sensitive skin. A wave of relief washes over him, it tickles something inside his brain just the right way. It’s feels gratifying, addicting. Is that what pleasure feels like? Are those stars dancing in front of his eyes a sign of fulfillment? Satoru’s mind is hazy, everything feels blurry, but he relaxes into the feeling. His thigh still trembles, the lower parts of his stomach muscles contract a little less now, a little slower and he feels it in his pants. It’s satisfying, it’s foreign. It’s a bliss.

“Did my beautiful, beautiful angel made a mess?” You coo once more and it sounds a little less mocking than all of your previous sentences. Or maybe it’s Satoru’s mind playing tricks on him.

“Y-yeah… I think I did,” he pants out. His eyes are fixed on the ceiling, on the heavens above and he wonders if He saw that? Father sees everything. Have Satoru’s brothers also witnessed that? Were they enjoying the front row seats to his demise?

You’re already on your way down, pressing sinful kisses to his sacred body as your fingers undo the button of his pants and pull down the zipper. “Oh, don’t worry, I’ll clean you up,” you purr, inhaling the intoxicating scent of him. You pull the fabric down. His boxers are wet as you peel them off his body. Hot strings of cum stretch between his skin and underwear, it coats his cock and the flesh around it, trickling down to his balls.

You gasp at the sight, it’s truly a vision of pure angelic glory. He’s hard, still, the veins pulsate ever so slightly around the thick girth, leading your eyes to the pink, glistening tip. “You surely are his favorite,” you muse before your tongue darts out, eager to taste him.

Satoru’s breath hitches in his chest and he hesitates to look down. Maybe if he doesn’t see it, it won’t be as bad of a sin, maybe it’s not his end. But it sure does feel good. Is he allowed to feel good? He moves his head, eyes dropping lower until they meet the sight of you. You shot him a smile, a grin worthy of a devil as you lap at the white seed sticking to his flesh. It’s lewd, the way your tongue works around his curves and edges. He hears your soft purr; he feels it every time your lips close around the sensitive tip of his cock. It’s messy, your chin is slick from his spent, there’s some on the tip of your nose, it coats your reddened mouth and greedy fingers. “You taste divine,” you murmur, tracing the underside of his member with the flat of your tongue and then, your hand wraps around him. The gentle pressure squeezes a moan out of Satoru’s mouth. He can’t look away. Not when your eyes are fixed on him. He sees the glint of mischief in the color of your eyes, it’s almost reddish as it glows in the dim lights.

You play with him, eliciting moan after moan from his troubled body, feeding of the internal turmoil that seeps through his skin making him that much more delectable. Your mouth works in tandem with the steady pumps of your hand and you feel him twitching already. He’s so innocent, so inexperienced that you just know he’s gonna come too soon, but it excites you. You want more from him, he’s sweet on your tongue, addicting. And oh, isn’t he beautiful? With his face contorting in pleasure, his cheeks flushed in an adorable shade of deep red and eyebrows drawn together. His lips red and bitten, parted just slightly to let all those sweet whimpers escape. His eyes are blissfully glazed, the blue oceans wet with tears and shaky. What a sight.

And then he moans again, those cerulean orbs disappear from your vision as his lids drop down. His back lifts off the bedsheets, hands clenching against the soft cotton and you see his head tilting back as orgasm overwhelms him. His hips buck upwards, the tip of his cock hitting the back of your throat as he sprouts his seed, painting the inside of your mouth white. You pump him through it, prolonging the pleasure.

“What a sight,” you purr, licking away any traces of sin from his skin. “All clean. It’s as if nothing happened,” and here is your usual taunt. “Well, I guess your boxers do give it away, aren’t they?”

He doesn’t respond. Heart trashes in Satoru’s chest as he slowly comes down from the intense high he’s experienced, he gasps on air desperately and releases all the tensed muscles. A smile stretches his lips, he huffs at first, and then laughs helplessly, as tears run down his cheekbones.

“You’re gonna leave me here, broken and useless,” he says, as you climb upwards and lean to kiss the salty drops off his face. “Are you happy? I bet you are, demon.”

His tone is odd, it’s both colder than before and softer at the same time. It’s accusing, it’s hopeless. “I can’t say I’m not satisfied,” you tell him and he scoffs, turning his head towards you and you drop onto the bed next to his defeated body. There’s a sin now engraved down to the very morrow of his bones, his chastity stained irrevocably and his soul threatening to shatter. “But I don’t wish to leave you here to your demise.”

“Oh no? What do you wish for then?”

“Besides the obvious desire to fuck you, I’d be content if you stayed with me here, on earth.”

“So vulgar,” he exhales, his body both cringing at the sound and getting excited all over again. “I was not created to fuck.”

“I think I proved my point that you’re perfectly capable of those primitive carnal desires you declined so much.”

Satoru closes his eyes. How did that happen, how could that happen? It must’ve been a cruel joke. He’s an archangel, God’s favorite, he’s the honored one. He was supposed to be above all demonic tricks and seductions, those devilish powers have never reached him for hundreds of years. And now, what is he supposed to do?

“I suppose heaven won’t take me back now,” he mutters, more to himself than anyone else. Maybe if he seeks penance, maybe if he atones for his sins.

“What a shame,” you muse, cupping his cheek in your palm. Your finger trace idle circles into the skin over his cheekbone; it’s a delicate touch and you feel how hot his face is, damp from the tears and flushed. “Heaven lost its most beautiful angel.”

taglist: @nerdiel-has-no-braincells @li7wakwnsekzebby @vanshoe @myahfig4 @suguruscousin @ressyshi @dcvilxswish @erenjvegerrr @crywolfix @wildheart03-blog @elliotsbeigeguitar @mi-mosaa

[heesdreamer]

skin on skin

PAIRING ➩ jake x reader

GENRE ➩ religious corruption au, church boy jake au, evil reader

WARNINGS ➩ heavy criticism of religion in an extreme exaggerated manner, manipulation, multiple smut scenes, the mc is straight up mean and evil and says mean things all the time lol. parental and spousal abuse… think that’s it maybe lol it’s an intense read

WC ➩ 20.4k (😵‍💫)

AUTHORS NOTE ➩ the spacing is a bit weird because apparently this exceeded the length amount in tumblr… i don’t care about your think pieces on religion or the way it’s discussed in this so please don’t try to educate me on the actual ways of christianity! it’s a story! that being said this is in no way making a mockery of jake and his religion. this is my favorite story ive ever done and i had a good time writing it which is rare lately so i really hope you enjoy it and if you make it to the end let me know what you think! hope you like it as much as i do

It wasn’t like you came out of the womb with horns and a little forked tail.

The nurses didn’t scream in terror and your mother didn’t faint at the sight of you, it wasn’t some grand discovery that anybody could see or anybody could plan for.

You made it through your formative years relatively normal, or at least as normal as you could be considering who your father was. But it wasn’t until middle school when you realized how different kids would treat you because of this.

Those were your favorite years you could remember. The half decade before anybody cared, or knew enough to care, what it meant for you to be who you were. Then you were old enough to have consciousness and design your own set of morals, something all the parents in your town dreaded.

Your town was barely that, more so a few neighborhoods sprawled across barren lands with more fields and trees than concrete and signs of the modern world that had seemingly developed everywhere, except for where you’d been born.

Sometimes you wondered if you’d been cursed to stay here forever. It seemed like everybody who was born here, died here, but unlike you they all seemed pretty content with this fact. Proud even, the elders stating the amount of years and generations they’d own their rusty old homes like it didn’t create a nasty pit in your stomach.

Time was frozen and the world had moved on, leaving all 2,000 of you behind to die and birth and die again until eventually the last generation killed themselves off in an act of sympathy, a mercy slaughter.

It was probably immoral to be thinking about your entire town dying whilst in church. But you didn’t think much about the implication of having sinful thoughts anywhere, regardless of how many crosses were currently burning stares into your back.

More than 70% of your life was spent inside these four walls, on this exact weathered seat on this same old pew.

See, when turned 12 years old and the kids at school made you aware of the fact your dad was the lead preacher at the only church in town, you figured this made you some sort of royalty.

Not once did you feel the overwhelming holy presence of god that everybody else seemed to be experiencing everyday after school and work when you all settled in together to listen to your fathers teachings.

You’d sit with a scowl on your face, turning around in the front row pew reserved for the preachers family and you’d observe the people around you. You knew everybody in your town, some more than others, but you always thought people looked different when they prayed.

The nice man who worked at the grocery store looked far more guilty and weathered with his eyes closed and the angry woman two blocks away who yelled at the kids riding their bikes too close to her sprinklers, looked peaceful like she was talking to an old friend.

Your mother would hiss under her breath in an attempt to catch your attention, sending soft pinches to your thighs until you’d begrudgingly turn back in your seat and plop down in your puffy dress, tuning out the sound of your fathers loud voice.

Looking back on it now, your mother seemed to notice the dark parts of you brewing before you even did. The two of you never saw eye to eye and despite the fact you were her only child, much to her dismay considering they tried for years after your birth to have another but to no avail, she never treated you with any sort of motherly warmth or kindness.

She’d glare at you from across the dinner table while her and your father conjoined hands and thanked the lord for the meal that your mother had cooked. You’d started to sit on your hands at dinner when you were 7 years old and what once was a cute misbehaving habit quickly became the warning sign of your future endeavors.

Still, part of being the preachers family was playing an act. So you’d all get up early in the mornings and wordlessly move around the house like the backstage of a play, dressing the part and giving bright smiles to each family that walked through the doorway on Sunday morning.

Your mother would stand behind you with a long stretched out smile, hands on your thin shoulders as she dug her nails down every time she felt you tense up at a greeting.

Then you were 16 and for the first time in your life, you heard her voice the thing you’d always assumed she believed. You stood in the hallway in your nightgown, standing stiff as a board to avoid the creaking wood of your old house, peering around a dimly lit corner to hear your parents conversation more clearly.

“She hasn’t done anything wrong Mary.” Your fathers rough low voice was flowing in your direction, sounding tired and agitated. You could vaguely hear the sounds of his rough hands rubbing over his unshaven scruff in frustration.

“She will.” Your mother sounded panicked and alert, desperate for him to understand her case. “I can’t explain it but she has this darkness in her, I’ve felt it ever since I was pregnant.”

Your breath caught in your throat as they spoke, understanding now they were referring to you. You were only slightly surprised, no grand feelings of fear or betrayal arising.

That nights conversation had ended with your mother in a fit of tears and your father uttering words of reassurance in an attempt to calm her down as you used the sounds of her loud sobs to sneak back to your room, getting under the covers and blowing out the candles by the time your father was opening your door to insure you were in bed.

He’d stood there for a few minutes, the door cracked with his hand on the knob. Do this day you wondered what he was waiting for. Maybe he was expecting you to talk in your sleep or he was trying to get some sense of the evil your mother was spewing about, but eventually you heard his tired sigh and the door shutting.

It’d been three years now since that conversation and you still hadn’t fully understood the evil your mother was referring to. You didn’t believe in god, that much had been clear to you from a very early age but you didn’t believe in the devil either.

You didn’t feel things maybe you should be feeling, sadness when an elder passed away unexpectedly or happiness when a new baby was born into the community. You didn’t feel pain when your mother shot you looks of disgust and you only felt slight jolts of satisfaction when she leapt in fear every time you entered a quiet room.

The seed of evil that was apparently inside of you never bloomed, no matter how much you waited for its arrival.

Until the day the Sim’s arrived to town.

It was extremely rare for somebody to move out of your hometown, and you’d been instructed to never speak about the families that left, to let yourself forget their names and faces. Forget any interaction you’d had with them now that they were gone.

But you’d never once contemplated the fact that it was possible to move here willingly. It hadn’t occurred to you that somebody would choose this place to live and that they’d be allowed to stay peacefully, and especially not given a grand welcome.

So you felt yourself uncharacteristically thrown off guard as you found yourself at church on a Saturday, typically your only day you weren’t required to be here. You’d spend these days down by the creek or riding around the abandoned section of town on your bike, trying to find something interesting to see.

As you stood near the stage, where your fathers podium was perfectly centered and polished, greeting the usual faces with a forced smile, your eyes landed on the most interesting sight you’d ever seen.

The Sim’s were a direct mirror of your family as they stood in front of you. Only three of them, a tall man giving your father a sturdy handshake and laughing like old friends and a small meek woman who was holding your mothers hand in both of hers, a thankful smile on her face.

Placed directly in front of you was a boy, seemingly your age, shifting back and forth on his feet as he waited for you to initiate any form of greeting.

There was people your age in town, your graduating class held 25 kids and over half of them were girls, daughters that were considered blessings for their special ability to continue on your towns population. You’d met boys, few handsome but handsome none the less but nobody who looked like the one standing in front of you.

He was taller than you, peering down at you from behind thin framed glasses and about double your width. You imagined you were hidden behind his shoulders to the view of the people stood in line behind him, waiting to greet your family.

His skin was tanned, something that you imagined wouldn’t last long considering you weren’t sure your town was blessed by the sun at all, almost constantly grey and dreary looking even in the peak of summer.

You took your time observing the boy, not feeling any sense of urgency at the knowledge people were watching and waiting, not even at the fact your mother was stood directly next to you and you could feel her stare on the side of your face. Her loss of attention seemed to make the boys mother nervous and she placed her hands on his shoulders.

“And this is our son, Jake.” She was chirping out and you almost wanted to laugh at how desperate she seemed to impress your family. The boy, Jake, was looking at you still for a second before his eyes shot to your mother and he gave her a nervous smile. “He’s shy at first but he’s a very good boy.”

His eyes flicked back over to yours as she spoke and your mouth quirked up in a small smile, finally sticking out your hand in offering to him.

You felt a strange feeling build up inside you, splattering against your ribs and painting your insides with something deep and powerful. As you held his hand in yours, your eyes caught onto your mothers and you could see the fear crossing over her expression at her own realization.

“Hi Jake.”

And the seed bloomed.

——

It wasn’t more than 30 seconds after your father finished his last word, the remains of it still echoing throughout the room underneath the chorus of ‘amen’s, that your mother was gripping your arm and dragging you back into his office space.

She closed the door swiftly and you yanked your arm out of her grip with a scowl, staring at her for an explanation about her sudden behavior despite having a slight inkling of what she was about to say to you.

“You can’t.” She spoke vaguely, an angry desperation in her voice like you were a feral dog with a hungry look in its eye.

“What are you talking about?” You lowered your agitation, doing your best impression of a confused and fearful daughter. She scoffed at your expression and held a hand to her mouth like she was genuinely amazed at your audacity.

“You leave that boy alone Y/N, or so help me God.” She was shaking her head at you and you felt a surge of annoyance at her tone, her voice shaky and weak.

You thought she was slightly pathetic. She’d spent her entire life treating you like the devil, implying your evil and avoiding you at all cost but the second you finally start to understand her concern and she’s immediately turned to pleading and bargaining. There was no fun in this for you.

Soft knocks against the door caught her attention and she looked over your shoulder, trying to ignore the fact you were still staring at her and not bothering to turn and face whoever had entered.

“Go home and get dinner started.” Your fathers voice was entering the room now in a hushed whisper, like somebody was still outside behind him. “We are going to have a welcome meal with the new residents.”

Your mothers eyes shot back in your direction at his words, like she was begging you to remember her previous warning and you offered her a small smirk before turning to face your father with a toothy grin, expression changing now.

“Of course father, whatever you need.”

——

You’d ignored your mothers glare the entire time you worked on dinner together, setting the table casually and changing into a less formal dress that gained a thumbs up of approval from your father.

When the Sim’s arrived, you greeted them similarly to how you did at church except your mother made sure to shake Jake’s hand for a prolonged amount of time so you couldn’t, only breaking apart when your father cleared his throat and ushered you all towards the polished dining room.

He took his seat at the head of the table and you briefly wondered what type of man Jake’s father was. He was larger than your dad, much larger and you noticed a hint of irritation in his face when he took a seat on the side. You imagined he sat similarly to your father at his own house and didn’t find great pleasure in the new arrangement.

There was three seats on each side and your mother had rushed to take a middle seat next to you, attempting to block anybody else from being seated beside you.

However your father cleared his throat subtly and sent the both of you a small glare, confused at the fact she hadn’t adorned her usual seat next to him. You were sure he realized it would be strange for her to sit a seat away from him, making them look distant or troubled.

She sent you a small angry look but shifted over a space so she was now sat in her usual place, leaning an empty chair between the two of you.

An empty chair that was soon taken by Jake, his mother sending him an encouraging smile and giving him a slight nudge in your direction. You remembered what she said about him being shy, not hiding the fact she was trying to create a friendship between the two of you.

His mothers face angered you more than your own. She was small and weak looking, constantly smiling with wide eyes like she was waiting to drop into a conversation at any time to force a connection, yet she rarely did throughout dinner. For the most part she stayed silent, nodding along obediently every time her husband spoke.

So you kept your attention on the boy for the most part, figuring the adults were too busy kissing eachothers ass’s to care about what the two silent teenagers were doing at the end of the table.

You knew he could feel the way you were watching him, sending you small glances out of the side of his eye and shifting uncomfortably in his seat every time he realized you were still looking.

He really was handsome you were deciding. You’d never really paid attention to boys before, understanding the difference between being attractive and not but it didn’t have any affect on you. You liked the slope of his nose and the way his throat bobbed with every nervous gulp he took.

Your father was seemingly noticing your mutual disinterest in the conversation, you watching Jake and him watching his empty plate. “Y/N honey, why don’t you take Jake to your room and show him some of your notes on our latest teachings.”

Both of your heads turned towards him as he said this, your eyes lighting up with excitement and Jake’s widening slightly.

“Oh..” His mother was starting and you resisted the urge to glare in her direction. “Jake isn’t… he’s never..”

Jake’s father sent her a sharp look and she snapped her mouth shut immediately, looking away from him. Your excitement only doubled as you realized she wasn’t comfortable leaving her son alone with a girl, leading you to believe he never had been before.

“Of course father.” You smiled at him softly, standing and flattening out your dress in a prudish manner. Jake glanced in your direction as you stood, clumsily rising out of his own chair as you headed up the stairs and down the hall to your room.

He followed wordlessly behind, still not speaking even when you stood in the doorway and let him awkwardly squeeze past you so he was stood stiffly in the center of your room. You closed the door behind you and he froze, eyes widening again.

“What are you doing?” His voice was high with worry and you realized it was your first time hearing him speak.

“What are you talking about?” You played dumb as you observed him, walking backwards until your legs hit your bed and you could sit carefully. He stayed standing as he watched you with confusion and worry.

“Mother says not to close doors.” He was shaking his head and it looked like he wanted to go and open it himself. He didn’t move however and you leaned back to rest on your hand, cocking your head in his direction.

“Do you always do what mommy says?” You questioned.

His eyebrows furrowed slightly at your condescending tone. You’d seemed nice enough at church and dinner, not speaking much but polite to your parents whenever you did. He was suddenly worried he had angered you.

“I guess she did say you were a good boy.” You quoted what his mother had said when she introduced him, voice carrying a faint mocking tone as you spoke.

He didn’t say anything after you said that, just standing there looking at you like you were some form of animal he’d never seen before. And maybe he hadn’t you were beginning to think, his speech was structured and tight like he was reciting lines and you were curious if he’d ever had a conversation with somebody his own age.

Your hand reached over to pat the bed next to you, raising an eyebrow at him and urging him to sit.

He watched you with that same look for a few seconds before looking back at the door like he was contemplating how fast he’d have to bolt out of it before you could sink your claws into him. He seemed to decide it wasn’t worth it, crossing the room and sitting down as far away from you as he could possibly get.

“Where’d you come from?” You didn’t plan to say that but the curiosity was driving you crazy, not quite understanding how he could be so sheltered.

“A village not far from here.” He was eventually answering with a soft shrug. He was sat perfectly straight on your bed, posture making him look even taller than he already was considering you were still leaned back on your palm.

You should’ve figured he was from a village, suddenly understanding why his mother was practically a house wife from the 1800’s and his dad looked relatively similar to a lumberjack.

“No girls at your village?” You were watching the side of his face as you questioned him, growing slightly agitated that he wasn’t looking at you. “Jake.”

He turned his face towards you when you addressed him, eyes widening like he was worried you were going to scold him from the sound of your stern call.

“I asked you a question.” When he didn’t immediately answer you assumed he hadn’t heard you, repeating yourself. “Was there no girls where you’re from?”

He was shaking his head swiftly, looking at his hands and then back towards you. “None like..”

“None like me?” You interrupted him as he started to trail off and your lips quirked into a smile. “So no pretty girls then.”

He frowned as you hummed and nodded your head like you’d made sense of what he was trying to say. He didn’t look like even he understood what the things you were saying meant and you almost pitied him as you slowly unlocked the full extent of his naivety.

“You’ve probably never even held hands with a girl right?” You kept your tone sweet despite your intentions.

He looked like he only slightly relaxed at your change of tone, glancing at you as he shook his head as a way to answer your question. He didn’t understand why you wanted to know this.

You were sitting back up straight, off your hands, and leaning sideways to get closer to him. He watched you with panicked eyes as you reached down near his lap and took his hand in yours, similarly to how you shook it at the church but the tension in the room was a direct opposite.

He made a strange noise when you touched him, a semi squeak at the suddenness of your contact and you smiled at him, scooting closer so you weren’t awkwardly stretching your arm in his direction.

“How does it feel?” You murmured, fighting the urge to lean against him and whisper in his ear. You didn’t want to scare him off just yet.

“I don’t think I should be in here.” He was shaking his head as he spoke and staring down at your conjoined hands or maybe the floor past them. They were resting in his lap, the back of your hand on his right thigh.

You frowned softly although he wasn’t looking at you, trying to keep up with your act. He seemed to be more pliant earlier when he thought he had upset you. “Jake.”

He glanced at you as you said his name, just like he had before, and his gaze looked guilty when he noticed the frown on your face. You squeezed his hand to try to bring his attention back to the fact you were touching him but he shook his head again.

“I really need to go Y/N.” He was still trying to sound polite despite his obvious discomfort and you almost smiled at the innocence of that.

“You don’t want me to touch you?” You let a small whine sink into your tone, really trying to drive home the idea that he was upsetting you and you felt him squeeze your hand absentmindedly.

He didn’t reply after you said that and the room fell into a strange silence. Then he was sending a heavy glance in your direction and your mouth parted in realization, understanding his inner monologue by the thick amount of guilt in his expression.

“You do want me to touch you.” You let your smile show now, not finding any reason to hide it now that he clearly took your bait. He squeezed his eyes shut as you said this and shook his head again, his hair messy now and falling into his face.

“What’s wrong Jake?” You were almost cooing at him, your hand sliding out of his and up his wrist, in result the back of your hand going further up his thigh. You kneaded at his wrist bone and he grunted at the almost painful sensation. “It’s just skin.”

He looked at you with a frustrated expression, holding eye contact for a few seconds much to your surprise. You were almost worried he was going to cry. You didn’t mind it personally, if anything you were thinking about how pretty he’d look with watery eyes and a red nose, but you imagined it would cause some level of concern with the parents.

So you released your grip on his wrist, taking your hand back and placing it on your own lap. You were still sitting far too close to him but he visibly relaxed at the lack of touch, however slightly confused why you had backed off.

Almost like the world had been paused for the entirety of your conversation and now played again, a soft knock on your door caused you to leap away from him and grab the bible your father insisted was kept on your nightstand at all times.

You were relieved to see his face when the door opened, knowing your mother would have most likely immediately sniff out what you’d been doing. Or at least attempting to do.

Your father looked between the two of you and the large space, nodding in approval when you flashed him a smile and opened to a random page in the book. He didn’t seem to notice how tense Jake was or the fact your door had been closed in the first place.

“Your parents are leaving Jake. You can stay a bit longer if you two are having fun.” Your father was saying in a welcoming voice but Jake was hopping off your bed before he even had a chance to finish.

“No, sir. Thank you but I really should get home and finish unpacking.” He was stumbling over his words and awkwardly shifting in place, waiting for your dad to move out of the doorway so he could make his escape.

Your dad shot you a confused look over Jake’s shoulder and you gave him a small shrug, fighting the urge to smile.

——

Guilt was eating Jake alive the entire ride home. He wasn’t quite sure what he had necessarily done wrong, what level of sin he had just committed, but his mother kept shooting him disappointed looks in the mirror.

“Will you stop looking at the boy like that.” His fathers gruff voice was mumbling from the drivers seat and his mom snapped her eyes back to the front window obediently. “It’ll be good for him to make a friend.”

“What type of girl leads a boy to her bedroom?” He was surprised his mother had spoken again, especially in the harsh tone she was using. She must’ve been angry enough at you and your behavior to forget the fear she held for Jake’s father.

He felt a bit strange as she said that. You were definitely weird and had made Jake feel something he’d never experienced, and he positively wanted to leave your room as quick as possible but he didn’t think you deserved such a mean comment.

He continued to feel strange for the rest of the night.

Jake laid in bed, hours past his usual bed time, and replayed your interaction in his head. Every time he got to the part where you grabbed his wrist in your tight hold, he squeezed his eyes shut and asked god to forgive him.

He could feel his stomach light up when he thought about your hand on his pants and he wanted to dig his nails into the skin as a self punishment for the thoughts brewing in his head, thoughts he had never had before and didn’t understand.

Rolling over in his bed, stomach to the mattress, he stuffed his face into his pillow and cried softly until he eventually fell asleep.

——

You felt giddy in the church pew the next morning after seeing Jake walk in with his parents. You immediately knew your plan had worked judging by his puffy face and swollen eyes. He’d clearly gotten no sleep and you could take a strong guess at the reason why.

A sick part of you was ecstatic at the fact you had something to do, something that actually managed to catch your interest.

If all it took to keep Jake up all night was you touching his hand, than you were preparing for more fun than you originally thought.

The morning had gone routinely as you remained in your seat for the entire sermon, not spinning around to try to catch a look at the boy despite the urge constantly in the back of your mind. You didn’t focus for a second but you did a solid job pretending until you heard a hushed voice behind you excusing themself.

You snuck a glance back to see Jake passing through his pew with muttered apologies and thanks to the people he was passing, smiling softly at them.

You watched him exit the pew and make his way down the main aisle, no doubt heading towards the bathroom hall since it was the only other part of the building outside of your fathers head office. You let him disappear from your sight and counted to 30 before abruptly standing and following his path before your mother could grab your hand in denial.

By the time you made it to the hall, Jake was exiting the bathroom with damp hands and a few wet strands of hair like he had splashed his face in an attempt to wake up.

His eyes widened when he saw you approaching and he glanced behind him like he was considering disappearing back into the bathroom so you couldn’t say anything to him. You smiled at this but didn’t move closer to him, leaning against the wall.

“What are you doing?” He watched you with careful eyes, not quite sure what you wanted.

You shrugged and furrowed your eyebrows. “What are you doing? You look tired, did you not get any sleep?”

He didn’t say anything as he looked at you, eyes heavy and guilty again like he was afraid you could read his mind. Unlucky for him, you didn’t have to read his mind to know what was happening in it.

“Were you thinking about me?” You pushed forward on his suspicions when he didn’t respond to you, tilting your head as you looked at him.

He didn’t respond again, letting out a small tired exhale before leaning against the wall opposite of you. The hallway was tensioned despite not being close enough to touch even if you stretched your arm out.

“I was thinking about you.” You suddenly confessed in an attempt to catch his interest or potentially get him to lower his walls enough for a solid conversation. It seemed to work considering his head was snapping up and he was looking at you with wide questioning eyes. “Is thinking a sin?”

He watched you for a few seconds, slightly embarrassed that you had somehow realized what his inner dilemma lead back to.

“Yes.” He answered matter of factly and you let out a small laugh.

You observed the way his lips awkwardly quirked up, like he was pleased he made you laugh despite being dead serious in his answer. His smile pulled at his cheeks for a second and you liked the way he nervously wiped his sweaty hands on his pants.

“What… what were you thinking about?” He squeezed the words out like they were painful after a silence fell between the two of you. You felt a bud of satisfaction at the fact he’d been curious enough to ask.

“Touching you.” You shrugged like it was a casual thing to say, watching his shoulders tense and his mouth part slightly in shock and disapproval.

“My hand?” You were a bit surprised that he asked a follow up question, voice dropping into a scared whisper like he was worried somebody was eavesdropping, maybe he was worried god could hear him.

You were watching him for a few uncomfortable beats, liking the way his cheeks turned red and he kept looking away from your gaze anxiously. Then you were shaking your head to answer his question, taking a step closer to his side of the hall.

His breath hitched as you kept taking small strides in his direction, taking your time with a loose smile on your face like you were out for a casual walk. You stopped next to him, turning and pressing your back against the wall he was leaned on so your shoulders were pressing together.

You wondered if he was planning to hold his breath the entire time you were touching him this time around, his face reddening even though your skin was separated by multiple pieces of thick fabric.

“Would you let me touch you again?” You leaned over slightly so you were closer to his ear, your chin hovering over his shoulder.

“You can’t.” He was immediately denying your request, stiff and agitated sounding. His voice was tight as he spoke like he was having to force the words out. “Please don’t do this.”

“Because you’re a good boy right?” You were even closer now, your lips touching the shell of his ear and he was shuddering against you, a frustrated whine in his throat.

He sent a sharp glare in your direction, at least as sharp as his features could get. You thought he looked cute when he was mad at you, eyes brows furrowed and his glasses sliding to the tip of his nose. Despite the way he was looking at you, he made no attempt to push you away or step apart himself.

“I want you to come to my house after church.” You whispered to him and he didn’t say anything, for once not shaking his head and just looking at you as you spoke your cruel demands. “I’ll tell my dad to talk to your parents about helping you catch up on his teachings.”

He looked amazed at your audacity, to not only lie to your parents but to lie about the lord and the Bible made his stomach turn in disgust.

Still, he almost couldn’t help but to lean his shoulder closer to yours and watch you with wide eyes and a parted mouth. He felt almost transfixed by you and your newness, the unique energy you gave off that made his head spin. He nodded his head slowly and watched you smile.

——

You’d waited for your mother to leave the house, a very rare occurrence for her outside of her weekly bingo nights at the recreational center in town, before you poked your head into your fathers office to request he calls the Sim’s.

You felt strangely jittery as you waited for them to send Jake over. Surprisingly, the Sim’s hadn’t moved into a house that far from you and you imagined he could probably ride a bike to your house in less than twenty minutes if the weather ever allowed it, rainy days an almost constant feature around this time of year.

It was only around half an hour before you heard knocks on the front door, followed by the low tone of your fathers voice and eventually the creaking of the steps as somebody made their way up to your bedroom.

Jake seemed thrown off when he saw you, dressed in far more casual clothes than he’d seen you in so far. He also looked momentarily relieved at the fact your door was wide open and you didn’t make any move to shut it as he crossed into the threshold of your room.

“Hi.” He politely addressed you with a slight bow and wave, avoiding looking at you fully where you sat on the bed. You gave him an incredulous look and sighed before patting the spot next to you.

He looked like he was dreading this but expecting it, only taking a few seconds of hesitation before he was shuffling over and sitting slowly down on your soft bed. You immediately scooted closer to him and grabbed his hand in yours.

His reaction wasn’t as intense as last time although he did immediately stiffen and his eyes snapped wide open, but he didn’t let out a small shriek at the feeling of your touch like he did yesterday.

“Are you going to let me touch you today?” You kept your voice low and he was suddenly very aware of the fact your door was completely open and your father was just a few feet away downstairs.

He slowly looked over at you, peering up from behind his long eyelashes and you wanted to grab his face with your nails. He looked like a puppy who had just done something naughty, big eyes unmoving from nerves as they darted around your face so he could avoid holding your strong gaze.

“This isn’t right.” He whispered back, eyes pleading as they finally locked onto yours. You almost felt sorry for him as he spoke, obviously so desperate to set you back on the right path in life. “Mother said I shouldn’t lay a hand on anybody, not even myself.”

You almost smiled as he said this, pleased at the new information he was unknowingly providing you with.

“It’s just skin.” You were reminding him again, slowly leaning against him so your chest was pressed against the side of his arm. His breath hitched at this and he glanced down at your upper body for a second. “You’ve never touched yourself?”

He shook his head immediately, face annoyed like he was offended you’d even suggest he would do such a thing. You liked that even though he was uncomfortable and denying his thoughts towards you, he still wasn’t seemingly capable of pushing you away. He’d still shown up to your house.

“I touch myself.” You were leaning forward more so you could talk into his ear again. A soft whimper left his throat when your lips grazed his skin again but he didn’t say anything, like he was waiting for you to continue. “On this bed, I touch myself every night.”

It was a slight exaggeration. You hadn’t really felt a strong need to touch yourself ever, never having a subject of attraction that left you longing enough that you’d roll around in bed late at night thinking about it, squeezing your thighs together in frustration.

But you were transfixed by the way he immediately tensed again, glancing back behind you towards where your pillows were and then immediately shooting forward and falling to the cross hanging on the wall in front of you both.

“It’s just skin.” You repeated to him again and he sucked in a shaky breath as you said it, bringing his guilty pained eyes back to you. You almost cooed at him, clicking your tongue and holding his chin softly. He leaned into the touch like he wasn’t meaning to and you wondered how touch starved he must be.

Your hand that wasn’t holding his face fell down to his lap, laying flat and still on his thigh as you let him process what you were doing.

He stiffened again and let out a low troubled groan, shaking his head again at himself. You wondered what he was thinking right now, if he was convinced he was heading straight for hell because of his thoughts alone so maybe it didn’t matter if he let you touch him. Or maybe he was seconds away from bolting downstairs and telling your father about what you’d been attempting to do.

“This isn’t right.” He was whispering and still trying to shake his head the best he could with your grip on his face. His repetition was starting to bug you, suddenly feeling impatient as he still hadn’t taken the bait fully.

“But it feels so good.” You purred into his ear, turning his head back to look at the cross and scooting closer so you were pressed tightly against his side. The sensation of this mixed with your hand on his leg was overwhelming and he felt slightly suffocated. “I want to show you Jake, let me show you how good it feels.”

He didn’t say anything for a few seconds and you considered letting him go, wanting to have him completely might mean waiting some time so you didn’t scare him off.

Then he was surprising you and looking back in your direction, your hand falling to his collarbones instead so he could decide what to do with his head. He gave you a soft nod, looking like he immediately regretted it when you wasted no time, pushing your hand forward onto the center of his pants.

He immediately lurched forward with a loud groan at the feeling of your hand on him and you shushed him softly, using the hand on his face to bring him back up to a sitting position and pet his face lovingly.

“You have to be quiet Jake.” You whispered in his ear and nodded towards your open door. He looked at you with a desperate glance, like he was pleading for you to close it despite his upset at that yesterday. You shook your head softly. “Can you be a good boy Jake?”

You started to slowly knead your hand against him, wanting to smile at the fact he was already hard before you had touched him. Light teasing and your soft hand on his thigh already had him bothered.

He was making small noises and you kept his face turned in your direction with your hold back on his jaw. You were sitting up straighter than him so he was a bit below you, having to look up through his eyelashes as he surprisingly held eye contact with you.

“Doesn’t it feel good?” You murmured excitedly, eyes wild and eager. He didn’t reply verbally, another small whine slipping from his throat and you pressed down hard on his cock through his pants. “I asked a question.”

Now he was nodding desperately, hands reaching out to grip your wrist in an attempt to lessen the pressure you were applying to him. “Good- feels good.”

His voice was strained and raspy like it was crawling its way out of his throat and you smiled with sick satisfaction, leaning forward so you were closer to his face. Your nose pressed against his and you thought about kissing him for just a few seconds, eventually deciding against it.

Jake was writhing on the bed now, desperately moving into your hand with small groans and whines, his hips lifting off the blanket in an attempt to chase your touch every time you removed it. He didn’t even seem to realize he was doing it, a dazed expression on his face.

He seemed out of it until your hand was leaving his face and sliding down his sweater covered chest. He didn’t seem to realize you were doing it until your hand was pressing on his stomach slightly, fidgeting with the singular button on his jeans and tugging on the zipper impatiently.

“No, no.” He was whining, grabbing your wrist to stop you from snaking your hand down his pants, touching him without any layers between. “You can’t do that.”

“Why?” You asked incredulously, leaning forward so you were hovering over him slightly. He leaned back on his hand a bit to avoid bumping into your face and you were a few inches from laying on top of him. “I promise it’ll feel so good Jake.”

The usage of his name made him wince, realizing he liked it far too much when you said it. He’d never really considered his name before, completely indifferent to it until he heard the way it rolled off your snake like tongue.

“You aren’t supposed to do that.” He practically spat the words at you but his tone lacked any anger instead sounding fearful and pained. “You can’t touch me there, you just can’t.”

You felt slightly sorry for him as he hiccuped, his voice breaking around the words as you watched tears collect in his pretty eyelashes. His eyes kept darting to the cross on the wall with a guilty expression.

You took your hands off of his lap, listening to his sigh of longing at the loss of contact. You weren’t quite sure what to do in this situation despite seeing it coming, eventually opting for sitting up further on the bed and pulling him into your neck, wrapping your arms around his shaking body in a hug.

He leaned into it and hesitantly wrapped himself around you, tucking his face into your warm neck and letting out a few sobs, tugging you forward slightly by your lower back.

You let him cry for a while, hushing him softly every few minutes just in case, although you were in a less compromising position now, you still didn’t think your father would be thrilled to find you half in the lap of a sniffling boy who was still hard against you.

“Jake.” You were eventually murmuring into his hair once his hiccups subsided slightly, he nuzzled into your neck further at the sound of your soft tone. “What if I didn’t use my hands?”

He picked his head up at this and furrowed his eyebrows at you, his eyes puffy and red with wet streaks still going down his face.

“I don’t understand.” He looked more puppy like than normal as he said this in a soft breathy voice, voice hoarse from crying and his lip almost jutting out into a confused frown.

“Can I show you?” You kept your voice soft as you spoke to him and he immediately nodded his head. He clearly had found some sort of comfort in your embrace, a connection being made enough for him to fall into this state of vulnerability, willingly to accept what you were wanting to give him now.

You felt a sick rush of adrenaline at his lowered walls, the sudden dumb eagerness in his eyes as he seemed to seek out any sign of contact from you.

You imagined it was a flood of emotions, a confusion and tiring feeling to suddenly be presented with a situation that went against everything your life had been carefully crafted around. Not to mention how addicting it must feel to suddenly learn what was on the other side and how good it felt, having unbothered access to it as the two of you sat huddled on your bed.

Kissing his cheek softly, you slowly slid off the bed onto the floor, suddenly thankful you had a thick rug on your bed side. He watched you in confusion, looking like he wanted to grab you and help you up before you shot him a stern look.

Your hands were back on his jeans now that you were fully situated and he looked like he wanted to object for just a second before lifting his hips off the bed so you could pull them down to pool around his ankles.

You took just a second to admire him, his pretty tanned skin overwhelming you a bit in its sheer amount. His legs were surprisingly thick, muscular like an athlete and you briefly remembered you didn’t know much about him at all.

That didn’t bother you at all, if anything it made you want him more when you looked up at him to see his nervous eyes staring down at you in concern. He looked humiliated and you imagined it had something to do with the fact he was still extremely hard, even after crying for so long.

If he was more stable in his emotions, less flighty, you would’ve made fun of him. You would’ve called him names and made him cry all over again and then taken his innocence without a second thought.

Instead you carried on the kindness act, leaning forward and pressing a kiss against his length through his underwear.

He immediately hissed and shot forward, not realizing what you were planning to do and not understanding why you were doing this. He started to stammer out in confusion and you shushed him again, sending a sharp glare towards the open door in warning.

“What are you doing?” He sounded absolutely blown away now, even more than he did earlier and it settled in your mind that he clearly had absolute no sexual knowledge, including blowjobs. “That’s dirty, you can’t do that.”

“Why not?” You were mock frowning up at him. “Did mommy say so?”

He knew you were making fun of him but he still nodded in response, not liking the sudden return of your mean tone. He forgot all about it when you were leaning forward again, this time touching your lips to him longer and sucking softly through the fabric.

“Mommy’s not here.” You were breathing out when you pulled away from him again, much to his dismay considering he immediately lifted his hips back in your direction. “And doesn’t it feel nice?”

He was nodding his head dumbly in agreement, feeling dizzy from the foreign emotions. He still didn’t understand what you were doing but it felt too good to keep questioning, forgetting momentarily about sin and how much punishment was going to come his way after this.

You were sliding your hands up his thighs slowly, stopping at the waistband of his boxers and glancing up at him for any sign of refusal. You didn’t care much for his discomfort but you weren’t going to force him to do anything, despite how much fun you were having with him.

He didn’t make any move to stop you, not even seeming to notice or understand what you were planning to do until you pulled on the elastic swiftly.

Then he was shooting back up from where he’d been leaning back, shaking his head again and covering himself with his hands. You smiled at him from your place on the floor and he looked at you like you were crazy.

You were getting slightly frustrated despite your pleased expression, wanting him to quickly understand what you were planning on doing. You gripped his wrist tightly and pulled them away from his lap

“What are you doing?” He was whispering in a panicked tone, his hands hovering above your head like he was debating pulling you away from him. He let out a yelp when you leaned forward and took the head of his cock into your mouth, watching him with hooded eyes. “T-that’s dirty, stop it.”

You wanted to laugh at his wording choices, sounding like he was a worried mother scolding their child for playing in mud.

“It’s dirty?” You frowned at him when you pulled back for a moment, his wide eyes falling on your wet lips. They squeezed shut just for a moment when you were licking up his full length slowly, humming at the taste of him and his weight on your tongue. “I should probably stop then right?”

He let out a panicked cry and ran a hand over his face in frustration. He wanted you to stop or at least he knew he should want you to stop. His mother had been right and you were not a nice girl, not the type of girl he should be around and he felt his stomach turn at the knowledge he was committing a very large sin by finding pleasure in your lust.

But the pleasure was prominent and overwhelming him to the point he couldn’t think straight.

He understood what sex was and his father had taught him about boyish lust, the kind that wakes you up from your sleep needing to change into a new pair of pajamas but he’d been warned from an early age to simply ignore the occurring urge.

He could still hear his mothers shrieks and cries when she caught him with a pillow between his legs in high school, could feel the welts on the back of his hands from the ruler his father had punished him with. Jake sometimes wondered if other people experienced this urge, this call to sin, as much as he did or if he was rotten inside.

But for the first time in his entire life, Jake couldn’t find it in himself to think about the consequences to falling victim to it. Not when you were touching him in ways not even his dreams could think to imagine.

When he didn’t answer you’d taken him back in your mouth, slightly impressed by how thick he was. He bucked forward his hips instinctively, pushing himself deeper into your mouth and you pinched his thigh roughly in warning.

You heard him cry out in a sob, his hands gripping the blankets so hard they were turning white and shaking at an almost alarming rate.

“Please.” He was begging and you weren’t sure he even knew what for, his voice coming out desperate and needy. “Please i-it feels really weird.”

You hummed around his cock in understanding, your hand petting his thigh and pushing his shirt up on his stomach so you could feel more of him. He didn’t even seem to register you touching him, the sounds of his soft cries and pleads distracting you slightly.

You tapped his hip bone a few times and he seemed to somehow understand the message, pushing his cock deeper into your mouth at a slower pace this time. You let him do what he wanted despite the urge to take control of the situation, knowing there wasn’t any chance he was lasting more than 30 seconds anyways.

He was slightly surprising you already, truthfully you’d expected him to cum before you even got his boxers off his thighs.

You imagined his inner monologue was causing him some issue as you listened to him cry softly from pleasure, little overwhelmed gasps and hiccups as one of his hands grabbed onto the one you were running across his stomach and squeezed it tightly.

“You need to just let it go baby.” You were whispering to him as you pulled off for a second when his hips started to twitch awkwardly, overwhelmed and not understanding what the feeling building up deep in his gut was. “Don’t worry about making a mess.”

The second you took him back in your lips he was following your instructions with a loud moan, completely forgetting you were meant to keep quiet as he came inside your warm mouth.

You winced slightly at the unexpectedness of it, leaning backwards on your knees as you waited for his hips to stop jerking forward.

He was shaking his head at you, eyes teary and his face red as he squinted his eyes in confusion. “What w-was -“

“You came.” You said matter of factly, standing up with a groan from your uncomfortable kneeling position and sitting next to him on the bed again. He leaned sideways into you, much to your surprise, and you resisted the urge to push him off you.

“Was I supposed to?” He whispered in embarrassment and pushed his face into your neck again. You were slightly uncomfortable at his clinginess but you let him do it, knowing he must be feeling a lot.

“Yes Jake. Maybe not all over my face though.” You were trying to joke with him to lighten the atmosphere but you sighed as you heard him let out a little cry into your neck, clearly upset and humiliated.

He was mumbling against your skin, repeated mantras that you couldn’t quite understood through his sobs but had a good guess in what they contained. You imagined reality was coming back to him now and he was processing what he’d just done without the hazy cloud of need cursing his judgement.

“Jake, you need to stop crying.” You were sighing and bringing your hand up to his hair, petting it softly to try to calm him down.

“Did I do a bad thing?” He pulled off your neck to look you in the eyes, his wide and desperate like he was fishing for any bit of reassurance that what you’d just done was okay, that he hadn’t just committed a sin so unholy. You could tell by his expression he was asking just to hear it reaffirmed, for you to tell him again it was just skin.

“My poor baby.” You were cooing at him, lips jutted out in a pout as your hands came up to hold his face, cupping it softly and wiping his teary cheeks with your thumbs. “Of course you did a bad thing.”

He froze completely in your hold and you felt a laugh bubble into your throat, holding it down with all your might so you could get the full extent of his reaction. He sat up slightly, attempting to pull out of your hands before realizing you were holding his face too tight. He gave you a confused and hurt look.

“What?” He was stammering out and his face was curling back into another sob.

“How could you let me do that?” You were tsking at him as you spoke, eyebrows furrowed like he had genuinely offended you. He watched you as panic settled into his eyes at the sound of you kissing your teeth and shaking your head softly. “We were supposed to be studying.”

“B-but.” He was shaking his head and holding onto your wrist, eyes filling with tears. “But you said that..”

He trailed off and you watched him with a raised eyebrow, waiting for him to pass the blame off onto you. Of course he didn’t, his expression hardening although you knew he hadn’t quite realized your motive. He was too innocent to believe you’d deceive him, too stupid to understand every action you did was a carefully crafted lie.

“Maybe it’s time you go Jakey.” You were nodding as you spoke, petting his hair and pushing it back out of his eyes.

He didn’t say anything else, his expression dazed out as he came out of such a vulnerable compliant headspace with a jolt. You watched him in silence as he gathered himself enough to get dressed awkwardly and walk out of your room, loose and tilting like he had just woken up.

You waited for him to be completely out of sight, the sound of the front door closing, before falling back on your bed with a big smile.

——

You’d fallen asleep soon after that without much thought on the situation, feeling only a deep satisfaction at the progress you’d made with Jake and a slight tinge of excitement for the next time you got to see him.

By the time you’d woken up, your mother was already in your room and standing staring down at you. You barely reacted to her presence although you were slightly unnerved and curious just how long she’d been watching you sleep.

“Can I help you?” Your voice was groggy as you sat up and pushed your bedridden hair out of your face.

Any other mother might have found your tired movements cute, maybe they’d give you an endeared smile and reminisce on when you were a baby waking up from naps.

However you were born with a very specific type of mother, maybe one of her kind. She was watching you with a nasty scowl, a knowing look in her eye as she did a slow pan around your room. “Your father said the boy was here yesterday.”

You hummed in agreement, tilting your head softly to try and get a further reaction from her.

“His mother called and said he won’t be at church this morning.” She spat the words at you, accusatory and nasty. “He’s sick.”

You could tell by the way she said that she knew it was a lie, wether Jake was the one telling it or his mother. At first you were slightly shocked he’d lie about being sick but you figured he might just be feeling so, driven by the extreme emotions he’d been feeling.

“What a shame. He seemed more than fine yesterday.” You put in a pity filled voice, shaking your head as you let the innuendo sink in for her, watching the way her face curled with disgust.

“Almost ready?” You father was suddenly in your doorway, observing the scene with a raised eyebrow as he buttoned the cuff of his sleeve.

“Father, would it be okay if I stopped by the Sim’s before heading to service? I’d like to bring Jake some soup for his cold.” Your voice was dripping with sweetness and you vaguely saw your mothers jaw tick with irritation.

“I can do it.” She was rushing to say.

Your father shook his head immediately and held a hand up to silence the both of you from speaking again. He finished buttoning his sleeve and cleared his throat before speaking. “You agreed to meet with the Lee’s today Mary. I think it’d be a good idea for Y/N to go, since they’re friends.”

You smiled appreciatively at him and he gave you a small nod before leaving the room. You glanced at your mother to see her stony expression but surprisingly she didn’t say anything, simply shaking her head in disapproval and following behind him.

It was strange to not leave for church with them, to stand in the window with the curtain pulled back as you smiled and waved watching the car drive off.

You dropped the grin the second they turned the street corner and hurried out the door to get on your bike and head over to the Sim’s house.

You hadn’t been there before despite your father pointing it out on your way home yesterday but it looked pretty much the exact same as the other houses in the neighborhood. It was large and eerie, the rainy atmosphere not helping it.

The door was opening before you could even dismount your bike let alone knock and you saw Jake’s mom standing in the archway with a small frown.

“What are you doing here?” Her tone was harsh and for a second you wondered if he had told her about what happened, confessed his sins in a fit of guilt.

You were so thrown off that you didn’t immediately respond, suddenly aware of the fact you didn’t bring any sort of soup or medicine like you had originally planned, too eager to get out the door to remember your cover story.

Lucky for you, Jake’s father was coming into sight now and a small grunt from him sent the rude woman cowering away.

You observed this with a curious expression and tried not to frown. Maybe Jake wasn’t as innocent and pure as he seemed considering he apparently had some familial issues, obvious in the way his mother showed a fearful obedience to the large man in front of you.

“You here for my boy?” His voice was low and gruff and it was a bit remarkable how different Jake was than his father.

You opted for a small nod, only slightly playing a part considering he actually did a good job at intimidating you. He let out a hum of approval and stepped aside so you could enter the house, not asking anymore questions.

“It’s good you two get along.” You were taking in the main living space as you entered, his voice picking up a conversational tone that sounded slightly unnatural. “I was beginning to think he’d never talk to someone his own age, let alone a girl.”

He had a typical mannish tone, one you’d heard in movies or from the gross men who sat outside the town bar in a drunken haze as they catcalled and talked at a volume far too loud for your small town. It lacked the usual religious hold you were more used to, he almost sounded pleased at the idea of his son being with a girl.

You glanced at him and held his stare. You wondered for a second if he was testing you now, waiting for you to reveal any sinful intentions you had so he could run back to your father and earn some brownie points for catching your sickness in the act.

He raised an eyebrow at you as you cocked your head, willing him to talk further and continue in his attempt at baiting you.

“Upstairs on the right.” He eventually said, your stare unrelenting. You unfroze your stony expression and gave him a small smile, knowing you probably looked crazy with how fast your face changed.

You were walking away from him before he could say anything else or before Jake’s mother could return, skipping a step at a time in your haste to get upstairs.

Without knocking, you pushed open his door and barged in.

He was sat up in bed, lower half under the covers, and he let out a small shriek of surprise at your sudden intrusion, furthered by a quick inhale when he realized who it was that had just walked in.

“W-what are you doing here?” He was rushing out as he watched you close the door behind you and sit down on the end of his bed.

“I came to check on you.” You said it like it was obvious, a soft shrug of your shoulders. “Since you’re sick.”

His mouth parted in confusion for a second before he seemingly remembered he was meant to be ill, looking awkward and guilty at the reminder he had lied.

You didn’t address his obvious reaction, telling you what you already assumed, and instead climbed up further on his bed. He made a strange noise when you got closer to him, pulling back the blankets and getting underneath them with him. You briefly caught sight of his plaid pajama pants before you covered the both of you up.

“M-my parents.” He was shaking his head and anxiously looking at the door like he was waiting for his mom to walk in any second. You watched his distress, wondering if he was possibly hoping for that to happen, before you heard the sound of the front door slamming.

A look of fear passed over his face at the realization his parents had just left him alone with you. You were a bit surprised yourself but you kept your face neutral, watching him to drink up his reaction.

“I came all this way and you can’t even say thank you.” You tsked and relaxed against his pillows with an annoyed expression. “Especially after what you did yesterday.”

He looked upset at the reminder and he was sitting up more now, the blanket pulling forward around his thighs and he practically kneeled and titled forward in your direction. He wasn’t touching you but his hands were clasped together as he practically did a full bow on his bed.

“I’m so sorry.” He started to say the words but his voice broke around them and he rocked slightly back and forth. You almost laughed at the fact he was already about to cry and it’d only been about five minutes alone with you. “Thank you for coming.”

You imagined he’d been doing a lot of crying since you saw him last, staying up all night running your words on loop in his mind. The sincerity in your voice when you told him he committed a disgusting sin.

“Get back under the covers.” You spoke in a calm voice and he picked his head up to look at you in confusion, face red and eyes teary. He looked surprised you weren’t scolding him, having seemingly forgotten you were the one who practically forced him to let you touch him.

He stayed frozen like that for a few seconds before snapping back to reality and nodding appreciatively, getting back under the blankets and pulling them up again so you were covered. He seemed to only now realize you were laying back against the pillows and he mirrored you, laying on his side so he could face you.

“I won’t tell anybody what you did.” You whispered to him now that his attention was fully on you. Your hand came up to hold his face and he tensed for a second at the contact. “Or maybe I will… I haven’t decided.”

He shook his head hastily, scooting closer to your body and grabbing ahold of your hand that was on his face, wrapping both of his around your wrist and squeezing it softly in desperation.

“Y-you can’t.” He urged and you felt his hands shaking around yours. “I mean you can b-but I’m really so sorry and my dad, he’d kill me.”

You shushed him as he started to ramble, petting his cheek and frowning deeply at what he had said. You figured Jake’s dad hurt his mother but you hadn’t considered it extending to his child as well. A strange surge of anger ran through you despite your own twisted intentions.

Scooting down a bit more so you were completely laid down, you put a hand on his back and pulled him towards you until he got the hint and curled into your side with a soft cry. He was stuffing his face back into your neck like he did yesterday and you rubbed his back softly.

You vaguely acknowledged the fact he was completely pressed against your side now, almost laying half on top of you in his emotional state.

“I won’t tell.” You whispered, his soft and messy hair tickling your face as you spoke. In his desperation for comfort he seemed to forget about not touching you, his arm coming up to wrap around your stomach, tugging you closer in a rush of thankfulness and your eyebrows raised in surprise. “But only if you answer my questions.”

He nodded immediately and picked his head up off your neck so he could look at you more clearly. He looked particularly cute like this you decided, his hair unstyled and still sticking up from where he’d slept on it and his soft pajamas that were rubbing against your legs.

“Did you touch yourself last night.” You held his chin as you spoke so he was looking up at you, his head almost resting against your chest as he peered with big wet eyes.

He was shaking his head as much as he could and furrowing his eyebrows like he did the last time you asked him. “I don’t- I wouldn’t. I don’t know how even.”

This fascinated you slightly. You figured he didn’t understand masturbating or its purpose outside of it being sinful but the fact he’d never once curiously touched himself was interesting. You wondered how many nights he laid in bed crying with confusion at the dull ache between his legs.

“Did you like being in my mouth?” Your voice dropped lower for the second question and an automatic whine slipped out from his lips, his face immediately flushing with embarrassment as he seemed to replay the memory.

He was nodding hesitantly much to your annoyance, you wanted to hear him say it but you figured you could take it easy on him today.

Maybe easy wasn’t the best way to describe your current plan for him considering the way you were suddenly pressing your thigh in between his legs, smiling at him when he groaned loudly and tightened his grip on you.

Your side burned slightly from the force in which he curled his hands up at the sudden contact.

“You’re hard.” You said matter of factly, telling the truth and not just teasing him. He was solid against your thigh now and you heard him whimper when you shifted slightly so his tight grip on you was more comfortable. “I barely said anything and you’re hard.”

He shook his head in disagreement but his hips twitched forward, rubbing his erection against you and making a low drawn out sound at the feeling.

“Did I say you could do that?” Your tone was harsh again and he immediately froze, groaning softly and tucking his head forward onto your chest. You let your hand go back to this hair, petting him for a second before gripping it tightly and tugging his head back up to look at you.

He winced at the pain, face contorted as he tried to scoot away from you. However he still didn’t remove his arm from around your stomach so he wasn’t able to go far, his hand still kneading against your side like he didn’t realize he was even moving it.

“Ask me.” You instructed him, still holding his hair in a tight fist. “Clear words, no crying bullshit.”

He looked momentarily taken back by you swearing and being so harsh but then he had a look of guilt like he was remembering the other day and he was attempting to nod in head in agreement.

“Please I want… I want you to touch me.” He settled on, not sure how to word what he needed. You smiled softly at him for his attempt but you weren’t convinced, deciding on helping him ask you properly.

“Tell me you’re disgusting.” You whispered, leaning your face forward so your nose was touching his again, like it did momentarily yesterday. “Say you want to hump my leg like a dog.”

He looked confused and overwhelmed at your words, shaking his head in refusal until you moved your leg again. It rubbed against him and you almost laughed at the fact he was almost harder now even after your tone changed. His hips chased the feeling and you tugged his hair again in warning, listening to his soft groan of frustration.

“I want..” He hiccuped softly and shook his head, trying to force the strange words from his mouth. “I want to hump your leg please please.”

You let go of his hair and his head fell back down onto your chest. He hadn’t completely fulfilled your request but it was good enough for now.

“Alright baby.” You didn’t need to say anything else for him to understand, immediately pulling you closer again and rocking against your side.

You listened to his soft little whines as he humped against you desperately, moving in messy motions as he tried to chase after the feeling he recognized from yesterday.

The feeling of his hand gripping your side was making your head spin a bit much to your irritation and you gripped it tightly, moving it off your waist. He seemed to misunderstand and instead placed it directly over your belly button where your sweater had ridden up, pushing down softly as he rubbed the soft skin of your stomach.

You let out a small groan and this seemed to ignite something in him because he let out a little cry and nuzzled further into you as he dragged his clothed cock over your hip harder.

“Tell me it feels good.” You instructed him and you felt more annoyance at the fact your voice came out breathy, not liking the effect he was having on you.

“S-so good.” He immediately responded and you felt his leg wrap around yours, trying to get closer to you despite it being impossible. “Going to die it’s good, it’s good.”

You laughed softly at his dramatic wording and pet his hair again, trying to get his attention. He slowed down the grinding of his hips to look at you and you nearly cooed at his hooded wet eyes, trying to focus on your face but struggling.

You were originally planning on teasing him some more, attempting to get him to repeat the words you wanted to hear earlier, but at the sight of his pretty overwhelmed face you couldn’t help yourself from leaning in and kissing him softly.

He yelped at the feeling, tensing up for a few seconds before closing his eyes and trying to kiss you back, failing miserably.

You laughed against his lips and you could feel him frowning, face getting red with embarrassment as he uncomfortably shifted against you.

“Come here.” You tapped his back softly and nudged him so he was fully on top of you, squishing you under him but making it so you could reach his mouth better. “Rub your cock on me while we kiss.”

He whined softly, nodding his head despite the flush on his face and you waited while he slowly experimented with the new position, practically in missionary now. When he started to move his hips again, his hard cock was now rubbing directly against your core and he faltered at the feeling, nearly collapsing on top of you.

You smiled at his reaction. You had full doubt that he knew what sex was or the fact he was basically imitating it but you imagine he could get the gist that what you were doing was wrong.

You leaned your head forward to kiss him again, easier now that he was on top of you and seemingly more eager to get it right this time. He was still sloppy, not really understanding how to move his mouth or when but you took over, moving your lips against his slowly.

He seemed to get the hang of it eventually and you could feel his thrust getting more desperate as the kiss got deeper and faster.

Your tongue was in his mouth before he even realized and he made a small startled sound, hips stopping against yours at the new feeling. He was letting out high pitched whines and moans as you licked into his mouth, him drooling slightly and desperately trying to keep your tongue where it was.

You could feel him sucking on it, twisting his head to try to get it deeper in his mouth and he instinctively gave a particularly hard thrust, causing you to moan into him.

This seemed to startle him, pulling back off your face with a wet chin and hooded eyes, looking down at you in amazement.

He did it again experimentally and you could feel the hard print of his cock directly against you, your back arching as your hand came up to grip his hair and stop him from doing it again. You were reminding yourself this wasn’t about your pleasure, you wanted to ruin him and nothing else.

But you couldn’t deny your attraction to him, almost the perfect boy for you if there was to ever be one.

It didn’t help he happened to have an impressive size on him, although you doubted he even realized he was bigger than usual or would know what to do if given that information.

You wrapped a leg around his side and he sucked in a breath, having better access now. He kept rolling his hips sloppily into you and moaning loudly, forgetting who he was or where he was currently at.

“What would mommy think if she saw you like this?” You took it upon yourself to remind him, whispering into his mouth with a pant and almost laughing at the way he immediately tensed and stopped humping against you. “If she walked it to see her son so desperate to sin.”

He was shaking his head and lifting it slightly to be able to look at you better, eyes welling up with tears as he glanced back over his shoulder at the closed door. You hadn’t been there long and you imagined church still had a few hours before it’d be over and they’d be heading back but he seemed to forget all this at the mention of his parents.

“I’m not.” His hair was messy in his face, bangs slightly damp from sweating and his previous tears. “I don’t want to sin, I don’t want to be bad. Please.”

You hummed softly at him, lips forming a mocking pout as you looked at him with gentle eyes. You stroked his cheek and he closed his eyes, leaning against your hand like a puppy.

“My poor baby.” You cooed and kissed him again briefly, he immediately chased after it when you pulled away and you tapped your finger on his cheek to stop him. “You have no idea what I’m going to do to you.”

He seemed confused at what you meant but too drunk on the feeling of your touch and lips, chasing after them again in a messy kiss that was mostly just him trying to get his tongue back against yours.

You indulged him and let him lick into it, letting out soft desperate moans and you were suddenly realizing how much you were aching for him despite managing to keep a cool demeanor on the outside.

You shifted your leg that was wrapped around his middle and he seemed to remember that he was currently on top of you and he went back to writhing against your body, his hard on rubbing against you an almost painful amount now that you were granting him more access with the switched position.

He wasn’t able to hold himself up, curling up on your chest while he moved his lower body with sobs of pain and need.

“God, I thought it’d take longer to break you.” You were trying to make fun of him but your voice broke in a moan at the feeling of him pushing himself against your sensitive clit. “You’re so fucking nasty, look at yourself.”

He was shaking his head and crying fully now, chasing after a high he didn’t even understand and you were almost feeling dizzy from the pace he was going.

“I’m good.” He was blabbering out and looking at you again, trying to lean forward for a kiss but letting out a sharp cry midway and falling back down with his head on your chest.

“You’re a good boy Jake.” You cooed at him, nodding even though he couldn’t see you and he felt sick at the constant changing of your tones. “My good boy right?”

He was suddenly sitting up again, pulling himself against you so he could look at you directly in the eye, if he could see through his tears. He was nodding his head in earnest and you felt your lip quirk up in a smile.

“I’m yours. I want to be yours.” He was rushing out, hands leaving your stomach to balance on either side of you. His tone was pleading and you wondered if he even knew what he was asking for or if he was just repeating what you’d said dumbly.

You kissed him softly and he let out a shaky breath of relief against your lips. However he started to frown when you were suddenly pushing him off of you and patting the empty space on the bed right beside where you were laying. He looked confused and hurt but he didn’t ask any questions, simply rolling over and waiting to see what you were attempting to do.

You watched him for a few seconds, taking in the change of appearance in such a short amount of time.

He was laid back fully on the bed, eyes hooded and cloudy. His mouth was parted slightly as he panted, his chest rising and falling at a fast speed as his arm reached up to try and push his messy hair out of his face. You liked the way he looked like this, especially the way his shirt was ridden up on his stomach, a sliver of skin showing.

He started making small impatient whines and groans so you took mercy on him, flipping yourself over slightly so you could situate yourself on his lap.

You sucked in a breath the second you did, quickly shutting your lips tight after so he didn’t catch sight of the display of pleasure. He was hard underneath and pressed tightly against your core as you sat on him.

“Oh my god.” He was crying out and his hands jutted forward like he was going to grab your sides, stopping midway and flailing around as he didn’t know what he was meant to do with them.

“Touch me.” You spat at him, reaching down to grab his wrist and put his hands on your ass as you leaned forward so you were in a similar position to his a few minutes ago, laying on top of him.

He froze as he touched you and you almost scolded him for acting so prudish with touching you like he wasn’t just trying to fuck you through his cute little pajamas. However you figured it was harder for him to deliberately do something versus acting purely on the overwhelming lust he was feeling.

You gripped his jaw harshly in your hand, your nails digging into his skin slightly as you used your thumb to pull his mouth open and hummed with satisfaction.

“Say you want me inside you.” You whispered, leaning down to talk into his open mouth. You watched his eyes widen in confusion but you rubbed your hips against him as motivation and he immediately complied.

“Want you inside me.” He moaned out, big fat tears sliding down his face. “Y/N please I need it please.”

He didn’t even know what he was asking for but he was overwhelmed and sinking back down into that fuzzy headspace, willing to do anything to get pleasure from you.

You kept his mouth open after he was done speaking and he opened it wider for you, although not understanding where you were heading with this action. He watched with wide confused eyes as you leaned over him and slowly spit into his open mouth.

He cried out, hips bucking up instinctively at the sensation of your spit on his tongue so directly and you almost fell forward from the roughness in which he fucked himself up into you. You smacked his cheek lightly and he snapped his mouth shut with another moan, eyes shut in euphoria.

You hummed at him in approval, leaning back down to kiss him again and lick into his mouth, letting him turn his head sideways in an attempt to get your tongue as deep as possible. You wondered if he was purposely imitating the blowjob you’d given him or if he was just that desperate to be consumed.

“I’m going to take you to hell with me.” You whispered, pulling out of the kiss and petting his hair softly. He shook his head and let out a small sob, this time not from pleasure.

“Do you want to cum?” You didn’t address his denial or tease him further for now, knowing now you had him completely hooked. He was addicted to you and the feelings you gave him and no mean words would be able to keep him away from you.

He seemed hesitant in his nod, now once again thinking about the sins he was committing and the fact he was skipping church to touch a girl inappropriately. But he did eventually nod his head, eyes still watering.

“Then fuck me baby.” You rolled back over as you spoke, flopping onto your back and rubbing his chest through his shirt, slightly surprised by the thick build he had. He was immediately on top of you again and you almost laughed at his haste.

You didn’t mean it literally and you didn’t fear him taking it as such considering he didn’t even know what it meant, he just knew you were cursing and being dirty.

You wondered if he even knew what you had inside your pants, scrapping that idea for another time instead so you didn’t get yourself too worked up thinking about how much it would ruin him to feel you.

He didn’t last long once he was back on top of you, only a few seconds passed before he was letting out a loud cry and hiccuping, his hips jutting against you a few more times in aftershock before he was collapsing on top of you.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” He was sobbing into your neck and you wrapped your arms around his back, rubbing it slowly with an eye roll. “I’m sorry, God please forgive me.”

——

Jake had fallen asleep on top of you shortly after that, exhausted from everything you’d been putting him through both mentally and physically.

You let him lay there on top of you surprisingly despite how uncomfortable it was and how much you kept readying yourself to shove him off of you and leave him without any comfort, you simply couldn’t.

You weren’t quite sure why, it wasn’t like being mean to him was going to ruin your plan and make him not want to talk to you anymore. He was trapped now with you.

Yet you found yourself staying and not only staying but watching him as he slept. He looked younger like this, despite always being very puppy like and boyish you couldn’t deny that Jake was a man and he could be an intimidating one if it wasn’t for his personality. His eyelashes were long and fluttering like he was having a vigorous dream and his back would rise and fall with every deep inhale he took.

By the time he woke up you’d been laying there for probably an hour or two staring at him or looking around his room with curiosity, you felt him shifting against you and almost pretended you were asleep before deciding against it.

He froze his movements when he realized where he was exactly, or at least who it was underneath him. Then he was rolling off of you onto his back with a groan and you were suddenly feeling very cold without his weight and body warmth.

“Did my parents come home?” His voice was low and groggy from sleep and crying and you turned your head to look at him now that you were laying side by side.

“Are you kidding? Like your mother isn’t going to run in here the first second the car parks and hose you down.”

He laughed softly at your words, almost a scoff and your lip quirked up in a smile at his casual reaction, knowing his guard must be down since he was still so tired.

“She wouldn’t do that.” He eventually whispered and you could feel his shoulder pressing against yours. “At least the hose part.”

“Is she as bad as mine?” You weren’t sure what prompted you to ask him something so personal or why you were even making conversation with him in the first place but you were suddenly curious.

“Not sure.” He was looking at you, you could feel it on the side of your head. “My dad is though.”

You hummed as a response, already figuring that from the times you’d interacted with him and the way Jake talked about him earlier. You felt a sudden wave of discomfort at your current situation and fidgeted in your spot on the bed.

“Are you going to leave?” His voice was a whisper still and he wasn’t looking at you anymore from what you could tell. He sounded slightly upset like the thought of you leaving wasn’t pleasant.

“You wanted me to earlier.” You scoffed softly but it was humorless, for some reason feeling offended at the reminder despite knowingly doing everything in your power to make him uncomfortable for your own satisfaction.

He didn’t say anything for a while and you listened to him breathing softly, wondering if he caught on to the hint of insecurity you were accidentally showcasing.

“Well… I guess I’ll see you tomorrow then.” He eventually said and you barely heard him considering how low his voice had gotten.

“See you tomorrow Jake.”

——

Tuesday’s were another day that your schedule was slightly shifted after church service. You had always been instructed to some form of community service on that day of the week, wether is be picking up trash or teaching a small class to the elders and children.

You didn’t mind this despite your distaste for religion. You got some sick satisfaction from watching religious people interact, like babies excitedly chatting about fairy tails and wishing for a big grand gesture to fix their own shitty lives.

Plus it got you out of your house and kept you slightly on the good side of your mother typically although you doubt with your recent actions you’d ever be on that side of the fence again.

So it was particularly annoying when you were tasked to clean the church basement, an area usually unseen by anybody in the town including yourself.

It was a mess of overfilled shelves and baskets stacked to the brim with old holiday decorations or donations from past families that were never put to use.

You’d been hesitant to agree, having to try ten times harder than usual to apply your usual fake smile towards your father when you graciously nodded and accepted the task. Luckily a handful of other volunteers had also followed you down the creaky stairs, one of them being Jake.

Not on his own volition considering the way his eyes bulged out of his head when his father roughly nudged him as you stood at the center of the stage requesting helping hands. He hesitantly held his in the air and avoided making eye contact with you as you smiled happily.

The same smile you held now as you stood side by side with him, taking things off the shelves and throwing them into a trash pile. He looked more anxious than usual, like he was genuinely worried you’d try to do something to him while people were watching.

“Miss Y/N?” One of the older women who had volunteered was approaching the two of you, holding a small basket of, what looked like, old arts and crafts. “I found this and was wondering if you thought your father might want to hang them up in the youth study room?”

“I think that’s a wonderful idea ma’am.” You were smiling widely at her, eyes soft and full of light. “You should bring them up to him.”

She was smiling appreciatively at you before turning and heading back up the stairs, missing the way your smile immediately dropped back into a blank expression.

Jake however, didn’t miss it and you heard him scoff from next to you as he observed the interaction. You glanced at him with a raised eyebrow and he shrugged.

“Don’t you get tired of doing that all the time?” He questioned and you faltered slightly. You hadn’t ever really considered it as something you were doing necessarily so his statement threw you off.

“I don’t know… I do it with everybody. I just do it.” You shrugged and awkwardly looked away from him, feeling confronted.

“You don’t do it with me.” He suddenly declared and you were reminded that you didn’t actually know Jake or his personality that well, completely caught off guard by his bluntness.

“Maybe because I knew you were just as bad as me.” You dropped your voice into a small whisper, leaning closer to him slightly as he glanced around to see which volunteers were over in your side of the basement.

He picked up an old toy and tossed it off in the distance, shaking his head in denial. “That’s not true at all.”

“Why isn’t it?” You cocked your head at him and stopped rummaging through the shelf, more interested in what he was saying. You turned your body so you were facing him and could lean against the wood.

“I believe in this.” He looked around the room as if to emphasize what he was referring to. “I love god.”

“Do you? Or have you just been told to?” You were already sure of the answer but you were curious what he would say about that, if he’s ever sat and thought that over or if his faith was really that unwavering.

“I never questioned it before.” He confirmed with a stern voice, sending you a sharp look so you would understand he was serious. “Not once in my life until we moved here. Not once until..”

He trailed off but the implication was heavy and he looked away with a bright flush on his face. He was obviously referring to you and you felt a small spark of satisfaction at the fact he was implying you were the first thing to ever make him doubt, implying that he was doubting at all.

He scowled slightly when he noticed the bright smile that was on your face, one you didn’t even realize you had.

“I’m serious Y/N. If anyone ever found out I…” He didn’t finish his sentence again but you could get the gist of what he was implying, your smile dropping into a frown.

“You think I don’t know that? The stakes are way higher on my side of things incase you forgot.” Your tone was harsher now but you were taking a step closer to him, not bothering to check if anybody was watching. “But you’re mine right? Like you said?”

He didn’t say anything for a minute, turning to face you and taking a big gulp when he realized you were practically close enough to kiss now. You waited for him to say something against your claim, to tell you he had been lust drunk or he didn’t mean it.

Instead he slowly nodded, eyes shooting down awkwardly to your feet. His shy expression was one you were more familiar seeing him with and your smile returned.

“Can you come over today?” You whispered and he looked back at you with a shocked expression, clearly not expecting you to say that. “I have something to show you.”

He was nodding again, not trusting himself to speak without stuttering and you grinned, turning back to the shelf and continuing with your sorting.

——

By the time church was over and Jake got to your house, you were already sat outside on the porch in a big sweater and a scarf wrapped around your neck.

“Are we not.. going in?” He was standing at the end of your driveway, putting his bikes kickstand down and watching you with a confused expression.

“I said I had to show you something didn’t I?” He watched you as you stood from the cement slab, grabbing your own bike from off the side of your house and walking it down towards him with a half smile.

He didn’t say anything as you both got on your bikes, following behind you as you rode off the curb and down the street.

The ride was long and cold, the sky grey as you passed by old houses and empty shops that’d been abandoned as the owners aged. Jake found the town sad a bit but he was curious what you were leading him too and slightly excited that you wanted to spend time with him in a different way than normal.

Eventually you were crossing the threshold of the city limit, a big sign with chipping paint that was welcoming you in or wishing you safe travels out.

After that it wasn’t long before you were slowing to a stop, surrounded by trees and a large field. Jake watched you get off your bike with a raised eyebrow, waiting until you looked back at him with a beckoning hand.

“It’s this way.” You urged and he hopped off, pushing the bikes alongside each other until you were on the other side of the muddy field, approaching a large river. The sound of it was loud as it rushed but not loud enough to block out the noise of the highway across from it, just off in the distance.

Jake watched it as you unpacked your backpack that he didn’t even realize you’d been wearing until now, unfolding a thick blanket and laying it down on the wet grass.

“They can’t build houses over here because the river always overflows.” You started to explain, pulling out a thermos and something wrapped in paper towel as you talked. “The water levels higher than usual because all the rain we get.”

“Sometimes I wonder if they even know we are over here.” You continued with a scoff, sitting criss cross on the blanket now and looking over at Jake who was dropping his bike.

He sat down too, carefully keeping his wet and muddy shoes off of the fabric.

“Do you come here a lot?” He was muttering what felt like his first words of the day, looking around the area and seeing virtually no signs of civilization other than the highway. He wondered for a second if you had even been able to hear him over the sound of it.

“I guess. There isn’t much else to do if you haven’t noticed by now.” You were shrugging as you spoke, you stuck one of your legs out so it nudged against his.

“I’ve been pretty occupied since I’ve gotten here so I guess I didn’t.” His words made you laugh although he was being serious, only having gone from home to church to your room.

He didn’t say anything as you laughed and he still didn’t when you were suddenly moving out of your sitting position, crawling towards him on all fours until you could press yourself against him.

Every part of you was touching as you sat side by side, both facing the rushing river and trying to not focus on how cold it was outside, the sky slowly darkening now since it was around dinner time. That reminded you that you had packed sandwiches and you were leaning forward slightly to reach them, handing him one and watching him unwrap the paper towel in confusion.

His cheeks turned red when he saw what it was, glancing at you and nodding softly in appreciation before taking a bite.

“Why are we here?” He was breaking the silence the two of you had fallen into as you ate and passed the warm thermos back and forth, watching the highway and the building traffic.

“I don’t know.” You felt strangely vulnerable at this question, not really knowing yourself why you’d taken him to such a private place. “Don’t think too deeply about it.”

Your sudden change of tone made him frown and tense against you, a harshness seeping into your words as you reminded him what type of relationship you had going here.

To further prove your point that this wasn’t anything being sin and attraction, you were quickly turning your upper body so you could face him before leaning forward and pressing into a kiss. He froze completely for a few seconds, brain short circuiting at the sudden contact.

Then he was closing his eyes slowly and kissing you back, a low him of appreciation slipping through your lips and vibrating against his.

You turned your body more so you could climb over his legs, straddling him and making a small noise of surprise when his hands were immediately on your lower back, tugging you in tighter against him.

The two of you kissed like that for a while, you sitting comfortably in his lap and feeling him grow hard underneath you embarrassingly quick. He felt strong and sturdy under you but he was letting out little whines and whimpers and he kept trying to pull you in closer, almost like he was trying to merge the two of you together.

Then you were sitting up on your knees and tugging your long skirt up so it was bunched around your hips, mouth parting slightly at the feeling of the cold air nipping at your bare skin. He watched you with confusion, eyes darting around your legs so fast he felt dizzy.

You sat back down on his hard on, now only separated by his jeans and your underwear and he let out a low moan, shooting forward and ducking his head forward into your neck.

“Y/N.” He whined out and you shushed him, petting his hair and rocking your hips slowly against him, liking the way his mouth parted against your skin as he took deep shuddering breaths.

“I want you to feel me.” You were whispering into his hair and he picked his up in alarm, shaking his head and glancing down at your exposed lap.

“I- I don’t know how.” He was rushing out and you laughed softly, reaching down to grab his wrist off the blanket and pick his hand up.

You placed it against your stomach like it was the other day when he was pressing on it absentmindedly, letting him feel the smooth skin above your underwear line for a while before pushing his hand down slightly past the elastic and listening to his gasp.

You were still rocking against him but slower now, letting him feel you for the first time at his own pace and trying not to overwhelm him.

His hand was shaking fast, from the cold and nerves. You imagined he could feel his own hand pressing against his cock as he kept moving it down, trapping it between the both of you. You dipped down again when he hesitatingly stopped moving it once he was fully in your underwear and he let out a cry at the feeling of your wetness against his skin.

“W-what?” He was crying out in concern, eyes shooting up to look at yours. “Are you okay? Are you bleeding?”

“I’m wet.” You explained to him with a breathy voice despite the fact you knew he didn’t understand what that would mean or if it was good or bad. “Means I feel good, you make me feel good.”

That seemed to alarm him more than the idea of you bleeding, his hand instinctively twitching and pressing against you. You leaned down to kiss him again and he reciprocated, forgetting his hand was on you for a few seconds before you were lowering your hips again.

He wasn’t doing anything but just the feeling of his large hands cupping you was making you feel dizzy, rocking against him again despite the strange noise he let out.

“Touch me baby c’mon.” He looked up at you at the sound of your urging, eyes big and wet. He looked nervous but he hesitatingly moved his fingers, curling slightly and pressing against your clit. You let out a cry and he immediately froze, mistaking it for pain. “No Jake, it’s okay do it again.”

He didn’t look sure but he followed your instructions anyways, curling his hand up and being amazed by the way you threw your head back in a small cry.

The two of you seemed to forget about your surroundings, about the rushing lake or the freezing air that was only making the cold grass more bitter to sit in. You almost forgot who you were or the fact you were only a few minutes outside of town, practically riding Jake in a field visible to anyone who cared.

“You’re so pretty.” You remarked and he frowned at your gentle word causing you to lean forward and kiss him softly. “I want to keep you forever.”

You were too lust drunk to think about the heavy implication of your words or the fact saying them went against everything you’d previously been attempting. The whole reason you’d even started touching him today was to distract him from the fact you’d taken him to a place personal to you, to make him forget your act of kindness.

“You can keep me.” He was stuttering out in a high voice, not really sure if you meant what you were saying considering how confusing he found you, how strange this whole situation was.

Jake had accepted at some point that his life was changing now and for some reason, god had put you in his path. At first he figured you were some type of test of faith, if he could just ignore you and your evil nature then he’d be able to prove he was a good man, a holy man. But he began to wonder eventually if you were truly as terrible as he originally thought, as his mother kept remarking every time his father wasn’t in the room.

You made him cry and you occasionally would say terrible things to him. And it was no doubt you had a habit of sinning and making him sin, even when he didn’t want to.

But he thought you were kind at other times and he could tell by the way you zoned out in church during service and were nice to the young residents or helpful to the old, that you didn’t have no emotion. Maybe you were right, although you had a twisted way of teaching him about it.

You were leaning down to kiss him again and he was taking his hand out of your underwear, wiping it on his pants briefly before cupping your face in both his palms and keeping you there.

“Did I ruin you?” You were muttering against his panting mouth with a small smile, hands petting his hair affectionately.

“Almost.” He answered with a slight laugh, kissing you again.

——

By the time you and Jake had left the field, giggling together while you stuffed the wet blanket back into your backpack and jumped over mud puddles, the sun was set and gone.

You followed the streetlights home, walking the bikes side by side the entire time so the 20 minute ride turned into an hour walk.

You went a few streets without talking for a while, listening to the sounds of your tires rolling over gravel or the music nature provided from the surrounding woods just off in the distance. By the time you were crossing back into city limits and setting your sights on the abandoned buildings on the outskirts of town, your curiosity was weighing on you.

“Why did you move here anyways?” You were mumbling on accident so you weren’t sure he had heard you until he cleared his throat.

“A council member caught dad hitting mom.” He said it casually and you wondered if he was used to it or it was a practiced tone. “I guess they thought it’d look bad to punish him there so they sent us away.”

“Does he hit you too?” You weren’t sure why you asked that considering you were already pretty positive of the answer.

“Yeah sometimes.” He shrugged and tried not to fidget at the feeling of you watching him, kicking at a loose rock in the gravel road. “I think he’s mad I’m not very manly.”

“I think you’re manly.” You were frowning and furrowing your eyebrows, only deepening when you heard him let out a disbelieving scoff. “I’m serious.”

And you were. Despite Jake’s outwardly timid personality and the way he basically turned into a nervous obedient puppy everytime you got your hands on him, he was clearly a man. Both in his broad athletic build and in his day to day actions and personality. He was blunt and honest, telling you what he felt even if he thought it might anger you.

“Yeah, whatever.” He was whispering, still not trusting what you were saying and you froze in your tracks, stood directly under a streetlight. He slowed to a stop when he realized you were walking anymore and looked back at you in confusion.

“You wouldn’t have picked on me if I was manly.” He was explaining once he caught sight of your frustrated expression. “You probably wouldn’t have even noticed me.”

“You think I’m picking on you?” You ignored his second statement for now, eyes darkening at the implication of the first.

You weren’t sure why it struck a nerve within you considering he wasn’t half wrong. You had originally sought him out as a victim for you, an experiment or a game. Maybe even a way to further upset your mother, but you didn’t think he thought you were picking on him entirely.

“I don’t know what to think.” He was shaking his head and his eyes looked sad. He started to push his bike again and you rushed to catch up with him. “This is just confusing.”

“Well I’m not.” You kept your voice firm in an attempt to assure him and he didn’t say anything else, sparing you a long glance before looking back forward so he didn’t accidentally hit a pothole.

The two of you didn’t talk anymore after that, walking in a comfortable silence as you slowly got to a more familiar area for him and he realized you were slowly approaching his neighborhood. You must be planning on dropping him off before making you own way home he decided.

Those plans were quickly halted when you turned the corner of his street and saw your own parents car in his driveway, right next to the Sim’s. You both froze in place and stared in front of you in horror.

“Maybe it’s a coincidence.” He whispered and you jumped at the sudden sound of his voice, the words shaking slightly. “We can tell them we got caught up studying at the park.”

“If they’re here they already know.” You immediately stated in a flat voice, having a sick gut feeling as you looked at the two cars. The lights were on in Jake’s living room and you could vaguely make out multiple shadows walking around inside. “I don’t understand.”

“Maybe your dad heard something the other day.” He was rushing out in a hush, looking at you and your uncharacteristically frozen figure. He’d never seen you scared before and it made his skin crawl. “Or that lady in the basement.”

“No that’s not possible, I was-“ Your words faltered and you sucked in a panicked breath, trying to recall the two incidents he was talking about. You had been so caught up in your giddiness to talk to him that you hadn’t paid attention to your surroundings this morning at all, saying damning idiotic things to him in the church of all places.

His hand was coming up and brushing against your arm that was covered in goosebumps. “Go home. I’ll think of a cover for you, I’ll handle it.”

You looked at him with big eyes, suddenly overwhelmed by his presence and the fact he was willingly to lie for you so easily, willing to sin to both his parents and yours so you could be spared from punishment.

“I can’t leave you with them.” You were shaking your head in earnest and he deflated, understanding immediately there was no way of talking you out of it.

You both stood there for a few more beats, staring at each other under the street light and you briefly wondered if you’d see him again after this. You weren’t sure what your parents knew or if they were just following a strong hunch but you knew it didn’t matter. The second they suspected anything, atleast the men, you wouldn’t be allowed to see Jake anymore.

Eventually he took the first step, setting his bike down at the corner of the street and nudging for you to follow suit although you gave him a confused glance.

Following closely behind him, you tried to match his slow casual pace approaching the door and almost felt like you were going to throw up on the porch when he pushed it open without knocking, deciding to not give them any warning you were approaching.

The sight was just as dreadful as you imagined it would be, your parents sat on the Sim’s old couch while his were standing at attention and listening to whatever it was your father had been saying before your arrival.

All heads turned in your direction when you entered, half looking surprised you were together and the others showing no reaction. Your mother was immediately leaping up from the couch and approaching you with a scowl.

You felt her hand hitting your cheek before you even processed she was crossing the room, your head shooting sideways as your own palms came up to grasp your face in shock. Despite your differences, your mother had never directly struck you.

“You’re a disgrace.” She spat, literally, in your direction and you vaguely saw Jake flinch in your direction like he wanted to grab you. “No more games little girl, they finally see what I have all these years.”

One glance in your fathers direction told you she was telling the truth. He’d never been a good father but he wasn’t cruel, choosing religion over warmth and parenting. So upon seeing his cold stare you automatically knew things were too far gone.

“And you.” She was turning to sneer in Jake’s direction now and you were slightly surprised to see him square back his shoulders, jaw clenching. “How can you be so stupid?”

“Mary, please advise yourself on how you speak to my son.” Jake’s mother was piling up from the couch “I thought we agreed that your daughter is the one at fault here.”

“What?” Jake was spitting out and your eyes widened, wanting to tell him to shut up and let it run its course. “It was as much me as it was her.”

“No it wasn’t.” You were shaking your head at lightning speed, taking a step forward but rocking back again when your mother shot a glare in your direction. “It was all me.”

Jake was glaring at you but you knew he held no anger, only frustration that you were attempting to take the punishment for this. He was crazy to think you wouldn’t considering it was all your doing in the first place.

“It doesn’t matter.” Your fathers cool and calm voice was ringing out and everybody turned to look at him. “Tomorrow morning Y/N will be sent to a correctional school. I should’ve listened to your mother when she begged me to send you years ago.”

Your eyes were watering as you looked at him with pure betrayal. Despite your hatred for your town, for your longing to leave and never return you felt an overwhelming sense of panic at the thought of being sent away. You looked over at Jake to find him already watching you with the same panic in his eyes.

Then he was turning back towards your father with a shake of his head and a stony expression. “I won’t let you do that.”

Jake’s father scoffed, making his first noise of the night and you glanced over at his large frame. He was watching Jake with disgust and amusement but you saw a faint hint of a challenge in his eyes.

“And what will you do son?” He was approaching Jake with a sneer, looking down at him. Jake raised his chin to meet his stare, his hands shaking against his sides. “You can’t even protect your own mother.”

It was said in a whisper so only Jake could hear it but you were standing close enough to faintly catch it, mouth parting in shock at his blunt admission before opening further when Jake was suddenly moving faster than you could even pinpoint when he had started.

Jake was on his father before he even had a chance to prepare for it and you could hear the shrieks of the women, your own fathers grunts as he jumped off the couch to try and control the situation. You were standing on the side, hands out and trying to grip a hold of Jake’s jacket to tug him back when he glanced back at your hurriedly while his dad was disoriented.

“Go.” He mouthed the word at you and you felt your heart shatter slightly, shaking your head in denial before he gave you a firm nod and a soft smile.

You could do nothing but watch in horror as his dad took advantage of him being distracted, slamming Jake onto the ground, nearly blocking the front door. You took your chance to run before somebody realized you were going to and stopped you, sparing Jake one last look before heading out the door.

You aggressively wiped your tears as you ran down the street, sobbing as you could still hear the screams and grunts of pain from Jake coming from the door you’d left open. Your cheek was stinging still but you powered through it, letting the cold numb you as you hopped on your bike you’d abandoned under the light and started peddling so hard your thighs burned.

The wind was howling as you sped past your own neighborhood and the church, the empty buildings a blur through your teary eyes and you fell off your bike once you finally approached the field you’d been in earlier that day, landing in the mud with a cry.

You left your bike near the entrance, wobbling closer to the river with harsh sobs ripping through you, your knees and skirt dripping in mud.

For a moment you wondered if this was it. If you’d been wrong your entire life about religion and sin and this was god letting you know he was here and he was furious with you for the evil you let harvest.

If taking Jake and hurting him was all because you had done bad things and harmed the people around you. You let out a scream of frustration and looked up at the dark grey, wanting to tell him you didn’t care if he was watching and it wasn’t fair.

Instead you let yourself fall against the wet grass, curling into a ball and hugging your knees to your chest as you listened to the rushing river and the honks of traffic. You briefly remembered you were still wearing your backpack and it contained a blanket you could cover up with but you had no energy left to reach back to get it.

You weren’t sure how long you laid there crying, the sky getting darker and darker as you sat and waited.

You weren’t positive what you were even waiting for. Maybe for your parents to come searching for you so they could drag you away to some far away place or maybe the more hopeful part of you was waiting for Jake to come, to tell you he was okay.

The thought of him made you cry harder when you remembered the sounds he was making as you ran out and how furious his father looked about being struck. A man with an ego was dangerous especially when it got wounded.

Waves of guilt were rushing over you for dragging Jake into your twisted fantasies, for wanting to keep him even after you’d gotten what you wanted. For liking him despite not knowing you were capable of that until he arrived. You wished the river would fill up and swallow you inside it.

Over all the combined sounds you barely registered a few being added.

You didn’t hear the sound of the bike tires approaching, or the splashing of the mud puddles underneath hurried feet. You didn’t hear his worried pants or the desperate call of your name in the distance.

It wasn’t until he was there did you feel him, it wasn’t until he was reaching down to grab your arm.

Not until it was skin on skin.

[baratiddyappreciator]

Cuddling the Baki Cast (NSFW)

Minors DNI and all that, you guys know better. I had a lot of fun with these ones, changed up the order a bit, and also carried over the bonus Yanagi, Oliva, Chiharu and Gaia, at the cost of taking out Tokugawa because I apparently can't sexualize that particular old man. DW, You'll still get your old man fix though ;) These are a bit longer than the initial ones because I'm not as restrained when I can just put the cut right beneath my little blurb and write... Well, sin. Also guess who finally decided to whip out colours so things are clearer :D (it's me)

NSFW under the cut!

Baki:

Cuddling with him always comes with a risk. A risk of being interrupted by some upstart trying to challenge him, or his dad, for some godforsaken reason. Sometimes he gets a sudden spurt of energy and feels the need to just disappear and go train for a few hours, but sometimes, and sometimes, like now, you feel his hands start to snake around your sides and under your shirt, higher and higher towards your chest as his previously innocent kisses turn hungry and deliberate against your throat. His fingers tweak your nipples as his lips meet yours, his hips bumping softly against your own, his legs urging yours apart so he can make room for himself, grinding against you hard and slow. He was all over, kissing you, grinding against you, playing with your nipples.

He didn't want to take his hands off of your chest, so it was up to you to reach down to pull your pants and underwear down. He didn't get the luxury treatment for being lazy, of course, the most he got was you clumsily undoing his pants and pulling him out of his boxers so he could grind against your eager little hole for a little bit before he pressed in, rolling slightly so that he could press both of his knees to the futon beneath the two of you, rolling his hips, his hands still cupping your chest, but now using it as a form of handhold so he could pull you back down onto his cock, his hot breath fanning against the shell of your hear.

"You're driving me wild baby doll."

Kozue:

She liked having music playing while you two cuddled. She said it added to the atmosphere, helped soothe you two into a comfortable, zen mood, and sometimes even into sleep. But other times, it was helpful for covering up the sounds of her breathless gasps. Your teeth gently came down on the shell of her ear as your fingers slid over her slick clit, her hips pressed back against yours, her own hand cupping you through your pants, providing you the friction you needed as you ground against her palm, her shirt pulled up exposing her chest to the now slightly chilly air. She'd been working so hard lately, it was only fair that you help her take off the edge so she doesn't burn herself out.

She gasped slightly louder, her other hand grabbing frantically at her pillow to muffle her voice, her hips bucking against your palm as your fingers circled her clit faster and harder, her face turning slightly so you could kiss her properly. She was shaking, so close to the edge that you could almost taste it, feeling the minute twitches in her thighs and her lower stomach, her ragged breaths hitching as hit-pitched whines escaped her.

"Baby please, I'm so close already."

Hanayama:

Having him crawl into bed after coming home dead tired was always a treat. He'd normally keep the lights off and not notice that you woke up the second the front door opened. You could tell what kind of mood he was in just by how he took off his shoes. And today was a mood that you could get behind. His hand slid up your thigh over the blankets, tickling you as his weight settled behind you only a moment later, the blankets being pulled down slightly. He knew you were awake at this point, you couldn't help the stupid grin on your face as he found you naked as the day you were born in bed, waiting for him. A soft swear was muttered under his breath, before you felt his cock slap against your ass, encouraging you angle your hips up and back so he could make you feel good.

And of course, you obeyed. Why wouldn't you? This was the kind of cuddling that you didn't mind in the slightest. The delicious stretch you felt as he pressed into you was exactly what you've been needing all night. You've been lonely without him. His forehead pressed against the back of your head, hips rolling slowly to get used to the feeling before he sat up, his hand settling on your lower back, guiding your hips back to meet his in a tiny thrust, your only hint of playfulness in him before you were jostled forward by a hard snap of his hips, your hands scrabbling at the pillows for purchase.

"That's it, be good for me and take it."

Chiharu:

He was a bundle of nerves during regular cuddling, always worried that he'd do something wrong and freak you out or hurt you. He's not as strong as some of the guys in the arena, but he's still plenty powerful you know! This time, however, you were the one worried about freaking him out as your hand travelled lower and lower down his torso towards his hips, innocently looking up at him as you toyed with his zipper, your hips wiggling slightly. He looked flabbergasted, eyes flicking between your eyes and your hand, then back to your eyes, and finally down to your lips as he licked his own. This would be fun, you could tell as he gave you a tiny nod, and you started unbuckling him.

His shaft was hot and heavy in your hand as you slowly pumped him, his hand resting on your ass, slowly starting to creep around to slide beneath your pants and sink into your eager hole. It's only fair that he return the favour, right? His head fell back slightly, a groan leaving him, before his head came back to but against yours gently, his brow furrowed, his unlit cigarette dangling from his lips, his eyes glassy and filled with pleasure locked with your own as you jerked him off, still smug, but you couldn't stop your hips from rocking back against his hand as his fingers gently rubbed at your insides.

"Fuck me doll, you're making my brain melt."

Katsumi:

Warm. You normally woke up warm, but now you were almost too warm as Katsumi tossed your legs over his thighs, hands cupping your chest, rolling your pert nipples between his pointers and thumbs, kissing you hungrily. You loved it when he woke up and decided his morning run could be replaced by ramming you into the mattress, his hips slowly rolling against yours as he sank into you slowly, the stretch delicious as he pressed in and pulled out time and time again. One of his hands left your chest to gently rest at the base of your throat, your only warning that he was about to pick up the pace before he was off to the races.

His hips slammed into yours, the wet sound of your bodies joining amplified in the room as he used your throat to pull you back down on his cock after he jostled you forward, his hair messy, lightly panting before he flashed a smile at you, your legs cinching around his waist and giving him a little squeeze, drawing him in deeper, closer, and he didn't hesitate to throw his head back and let out a low moan that vibrated through the air, making you scrambled to reach up and cover his smirking lips.

"Come on sweetheart, the neighbours already hate us, have some fun."

Jack:

Your hands were braced on his chest, firm and strong. He was big and sturdy, one of his hands resting on your thigh, the other on your hip, thumb pointing down to give you that extra bit of stimulation as your hips rocked against his hard, a deep groan leaving his lips as his head fell back against the arm of the couch, his cock pressing deep into you, hitting parts that you'd previously never known about before meeting him. His hips rolled in tandem with yours, timing it just right so that he'd press in as you rocked back, sending him deeper into you in just the right way that made you feel like you were going to explode.

His eyes were glazed over as he brought his head back, low moans tumbling from his parted lips as he watched you ride him. One of your hands moved up and squeezed the base of his thick neck, earning a louder moan, his hips bucking up sharply, though he rubbed at your thigh in apology immediately after, he knew he had to behave. Sometimes him assuming that you had no ulterior motives to crawling into his lap had its benefits, like the flustered look on his face when you'd started griding your hips onto his only moments ago. He growled against your lips as you leaned down to kiss him.

"Fuck honey, keep going, just like that, I've needed it all day."

Gaia:

The first time he'd slotted his thigh between your legs while you were watching your show, you'd slapped it away playfully. He knew how much you liked this show, surely he wouldn't bother you while you were watching the new episode, right? But his thigh bumped between your legs again, and another time after that, one of his hands resting on your hips to guide them down on his leg, his other massaging the base of your throat. He was, apparently, going to make you miss this episode, forcing you to watch it some other time, which really wasn't the same. He nipped at the shell of your ear, impishly smiling at you when you glared at him from over your shoulder, though you both knew that it was half-hearted at best.

He had you grinding against his thigh on your own in no time, extremely proud of himself for providing the perfect distraction at just the right time, his own hips chasing yours with each roll forward and down, basking in your little whimpers and sighs as he brought pleasure to you, his hand rhythmically squeezing at the base of your neck in time with your increasingly desperate thrusts against his leg.

"What's the matter sweetheart? Can't focus?"

Kosho:

His hands, you decided, were fucking dangerous. You'd just been trying to snuggle up to him, it was cold tonight, and now you were pinned to his chest, squirming and bucking your hips as he fucked you on his fingers, his other hand holding your cheeks, forcing you to look him in the eyes as his palm made a slick slapping noise whenever it made contact with your skin, pleasure rising from each forceful impact, each crook of his fingers. You could feel him, fully hard, pressed against your stomach, but he wasn't going to let you touch him yet.

No, that was for people who behaved and didn't make him lose his comfortable spot when he was so close to falling asleep. He wasn't genuinely mad, that you both knew, but he was going to make a point, and he was going to make sure that it got across before he gave you his dick. You made a choked noise as his fingers hit a spot that made you see stars, and he smirked.

"Are you warm enough now, babydoll?"

Kureha:

Cuddling with Kureha was dangerous for a multitude of reasons. For starters, sometimes he'd just sit in silence, and then come out and say that your heartbeat was irregular and that it was annoying him. Other times? Well, other times you'd wind up where you were now, with your legs over his shoulders as his mouth worked wonders on you on your couch, the freshly folded laundry knocked all over the floor during the excitement. He grabbed your wrist, pulling your hand to his crotch, the angle awkward, but allowing for access.

Your movements were sloppy, because of course they were, he was making your brain leak out of your ears with what his tongue was doing to you, but he knew better than to expect perfection from you while he was going down on you, settling for the sloppy, jerky handjob he was getting from you, well aware that you'd get better after he helped you cum.

"Darling I love you, but if you don't give me some more grip, I'm going to lose it."

Retsu:

You loved how you could absolutely blindside this man by asking him to cuddle you. A quick cuddle on the couch, that was all you'd asked for, and he'd given it to you. What he hadn't realised was that it was all a clever ploy for you to find a way to suck his dick before he went and trained. He'd made some really good food for supper the night before, and now he was going to get cherished, absolutely fucking appreciated, the idiot.

Your head bobbed, and the couch groaned under the force of his grip, his hands shaking as he whined, hips shallowly bucking into your mouth, drool slicking his shaft, wanting to touch, but not wanting to at the same time. His face was bright red and twisted in pleasure, and if you could take a picture and frame it, you'd keep it beside your bed so you could see it every morning and every night.

"Love, please- Gods- Don't stop!"

Oliva:

Telling him about any of your fantasies was a huge mistake. Why? Because now he had you pegged. Literally and figuratively. He knew what you'd like, and he'd used that to get to where you where now, bouncing on his cock, your hands braced on his knees as his hand, settled on your lower back, guiding you up and down on him, that damn smirk playing across his lips, like he was proud of himself (he was, he absolutely was and he wouldn't hide that).

There was a brief moment where his guiding hand stopped, but only so that the other hand could give your ass a "light tap". The resounding slap rang out in the room, earning a strangled moan as you threw your head back, hearing that all too familiar chuckle.

"That's it honey, take it just like that."

Doppo:

You'd both had long days, so you'd settled for just lounging around the house, wrapped up in a blanket, watching whatever was on TV at the time. But Doppo had keen eyes and a golden tongue, he saw the way you'd kept rubbing your thighs together- hell, he'd felt it- and he wasn't about to let you end your night horny. And you would have appreciated that fact more if he hadn't put you in a damn headlock and decided to fuck your soul out. His hips pounded against yours, slick smeared across both of your skin, his arms powerful steel rods around your head and neck, choking, but not entirely.

Broken, garbled little sounds left your lips, but he only chuckled, pausing for only a second to readjust and reposition his hips to hit that spot he knew drove you absolutely insane and would usually have you cumming so hard you'd start crying, his arms flexing harder for just a moment, completely cutting off your air supply, and your eyes rolled. You could just see the proud smirk on his lips as he laughed breathlessly.

"Come on baby, I said I'd make it all better, didn't I?"

Shibukawa:

You really should have known that you couldn't out-sly the master. You thought you were being clever by offering him your lap so you could cop a feel, but that hadn't turned out the way you were expecting at all. As it stood, he currently had you pinned to the ground and was fucking your thighs almost painfully slowly, chuckling in your ear. He was so close, yet so far from you, and it drove you mad with need.

He wasn't evil, of course, just mischievous, so he was kind enough to at least direct his thrusts upwards once in a while for a short period so you'd get some stimulation beyond in your thighs, his grip so firm that it was almost guaranteed that you wouldn't be able to writhe away.

"Do you see now darling? You can't pull a fast one on me."

Yanagi:

His hand covered your mouth, but he wasn't trying to kill you. No, he was trying to shut you up so you wouldn't make the neighbours freak out and call the cops as he slammed his hips against yours, your eyes rolling back as he hit a spot that made you see stars. All of this because you insisted on being so needy right after his escape from prison. His hand came down on your ass again, earning a jolt as the sharp sting shot through your body like a gun.

His fingers flexed, moving slightly, making sure that his palm wouldn't entirely cover your mouth so you could breathe, but they immediately moved back at the loud sob you let out as he hissed sharply, sucking air in through his teeth.

"Now now sweetheart, if you keep making noises like that I'll have to leave."

Motobe:

You thought you'd won the lottery by getting Motobe to cuddle with you. He was warm, comfortable, and relaxed. And then he'd started cleaning his damn sword. Of course, you could still relax, hell, you even started to drift off to sleep until the movement of his arms changed slightly, a new, slick noise rousing you from your dozing. His breath came out in short pants as he grabbed your hand, squeezing it around his shaft as he kissed your forehead. Not this was a sword you could get behind cleaning.

Of course, there was something much better at cleaning his sword than your hand, and he wasted no time sinking straight into the hilt, earning a long whine as he pulled you down onto his hips, smirking up at you as your hips rolled and bucked against his, desperate for some form of relief, your hands braced on his shoulders, gasping as he simply leaned back, lighting and taking a drag of his cigarette as he watched you bounce on his cock.

"There you go baby, take care of me just like that."

[bitterchocoo]

Alice in Wonderland

----------

"Once upon a time...."

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The first Alice walked through the land of Teyvat. Bravely with a sword in her hand, she sliced everything and anything that dared crossed her, leaving chaos in her red bloody path. She was feared and respected by all.

The people will remember her wrath, her cruel smile, her self-centered attitude, and most importantly the sword on her hand.

Who could ever forget someone like that? Someone who sparks fear on others? The very mention of her name brought the high and mighty shaking on their knees. Everyone would always try their absolute best to stay on her good side or else... her sword would be the last thing you'll see. They would praise her, give her offerings and gifts, the lengths of what they would do to stay on her good side...

Through her might and unyielding wrath, she traveled far through her journey. But soon... her wrong doings came right back at her..

She stray too far and lost her way. Giving in to all her sins. Much like the gruesome path that she forged with her hands. Still....

Her life remains a mystery till this very day.

.

.

.

.

.

The second Alice was a tame and tender gentleman.

He helped those in need, he never lost his temper, he never talked bad about others, he's incredibly patient; a kind soul.

Such an enormous contrast with the first Alice.

The people would remember his kindness, his merciful acts, his pacifist route. In return for his deeds they would give him something in return despite how the man seemed uncertain of the gifts, claiming that "there's no need for such things."

What a kind soul... he can't even take a gift without feeling conflicted and guilty...

But of course.... you can't be kind to all.... sometimes kindness and mercy isn't the option...

Madness took ahold of him, shoot him dead to the ground. Blood stained the roses to a bright and somber red. Once loved and enjoyed by all, the man was left for dead

.

.

.

.

.

The third Alice was a lovely girl.

Beautiful, the girl was born into a life so grand. She charmed all the people to her beck and call. How could they resist such a charming young lady? Her smile is as bright as the sun, and her beauty rivals those of a goddess.

Through her charms she created a kingdom, an empire that would rise above them all! This Alice was then crowned turned into a Queen. Ruling all the people there... she lost herself in a crazy dream..

Previously a carefree girl, suddenly has the weight of a whole kingdom on her shoulders.. she must have gone insane by the sudden shift in power and responsibilities. Suddenly she's been made all aware of the things that didn't crossed her mind since the beginning. So afraid of death, the girl was mindless and warped.

The people would remember her beauty and charm.

Once a gorgeous ruler, now she's just an ugly corpse.

.

.

.

.

.

"So... what do you think?"

"...."

"What's with the silence, Alice?"

The man studied the other's expression before letting out a chuckle as he understood what he's thinking at that very moment. It was rather obvious. "Maybe I should start the next one~?"

"The fourth Alice was a pair of siblings who are twins. Straying into Teyvat—" "Shut up."

The man stopped as he glanced back at the man who stopped him with his story. "Oh? You don't want your story to be told? Your name echoes in their tales and songs?"

"You're telling a story of the past... this is not the past.. I—we—"

"Oh ho ho! Don't get ahead of yourself there, Alice~ You've fallen into this wonderland called Teyvat for how long now? 500 years? And now you're saying that? Don't make me laugh!"

"You two are staying here."

"Until we the Heavenly Principle say so."

"Until I say so."

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M. Reader as the Creator

.

.

.

.

.

"Now... how will your story end, Alice~?"

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[lethalchiralium]

White Carnations | Simon “Ghost” Riley x Wife!Reader

a/n: HNNNGGG THE BRAINROT IS BACK ITS REAL. (thanks to @as-is-above-so-below for help with this and to @halfmoth-halfman for the lovely missus art they made 🥹)

warnings: mentions of doctor’s offices, hospitals. mentions of intense grieving, mentions of miscarriage and pregnancy.

summary: Two more days until Simon has to leave his home, and he wants to spend as much time as he can with his oldest daughter.

PREVIOUS << | >> NEXT | SERIES MASTERLIST

Rain in England is normal.

To Simon, it makes him feel safe. The rain means calm, the rain means cover, the rain means his daughter sleeps through the night. He doesn’t ever go outside when it’s raining and he’s home, he’s usually inside with a squirrely Winnie, wanting to play and have fun - but today was different.

The forecast said a chance of rain, it had rained for a few days straight - the sun was shining when he walked out of the house, Winnie holding his hand, chirping about her pretty blue dress. She wanted to wear her ladybug rain boots, and Simon could never say no to her. They walked to the tram, he picked her up so she didn’t run off as they waited.

It was warming up, Winnie begged and begged to wear her dress and her boots, and now she was happy. She watched as little bugs flew around while her father gazed at her little face, brushing away a curl that failed to remain in her ponytail. She didn’t even notice, it was an infinitely small detail in her grand scheme of her little world, but it was important to Simon that she could see everything his world had to offer - so he pushed the strand behind her ear. He would never shy her away from telling her the truth about what really happens, but he wanted to keep her like this - wide eyed with a toothy smile that only admired the beauty in his ugly world.

Two days. He had two days until he tucks his five year old into bed, kisses her good night, and leaves her for the hundredth time. Two days until he puts down his almost one year old, kisses her little head, and leaves her for the first time. People needed saving, the world needs people to shove their hands into the bloodbath of war to wash the rest of humanity of their sins. He has to put on the mask his oldest never feared but his youngest will, he has to pick up the rifle that has killed men with daughters like his own. He may pretend the blood doesn’t stain, but it leaves burns underneath his skin when he checks their wallets; when he sees a picture all too similar to one he’s taken of his own children.

The tram slowed to a stop, it was packed full of people, just like it always was. He stepped on, Winnie settled her head on his shoulder as he found a place to stand - against the window, watching everyone on the train and making sure he had enough space between himself and the three people around him. There has never been such a thing as being too careful.

Winnie’s leg was digging the pack of cigarettes in his pocket into his side, a habit he’s been trying to quit since Winnie was born. He was close to finally being done with it, but sometimes he needed to clear his head - even with all of the anxiety settling into his stomach, he wouldn’t dare light one once he stepped off the tram. His daughter’s health was much more important than a stupid Marlboro.

“Dad,” She murmured, he moved his head a little to hear her better.

“What’s up, duckling?”

“Can we get Mummy something?”

He settled his cheek against her head, a small chuckle leaving his lips. “What would we get her?”

His daughter shrugged a little. “Pretty flowers.”

“Pretty flowers.” He echoed, a smirk tugged at his lips underneath his medical face mask. “We can get Mum pretty flowers once we’re done with the doctors and with our ice cream, okay?”

She nodded, he patted her back. No matter how old she gets, he hoped she would still let him hold her - even when she’s got little ones of her own, she’s always going to be that little baby he stood by the window with, watching the rain and letting her be soothed by the sound of it. She will always be that little pink baby in the NICU, when her cries finally silenced as soon as her father held her. She will always be the girl Simon Riley had changed his life for.

“Pink flowers an’ red flowers an’ blue ones too, Dad.” Winnie whispered, her fingers curled around the collar of his leather jacket. He nodded, moving his head from hers as the tram alerted to their stop. He moved forwards a little, free hand held onto the rail next to the door as the tram began to slow down. “Are you getting strawberry ice cream?”

“Yes, baby.” He chuckled a little, stepping out of the tram as soon as the doors opened. People rushed past and into the crowded transportation, he didn’t have much care about it. All he was focused on was his daughter and potential threats to her safety. He held her a little closer as he crossed the street when every other person did, he was speed walking to make it to the hospital. Maybe he was a little late, it didn’t matter to him but it did to you. I’m trying to keep her healthy, you said. Get my baby to her appointment.

Winnie didn’t speak much when he entered the hospital, even when they were alone in the elevator. He was half convinced she had fallen asleep, but he dismissed it when she raised her head at the reception desk.

The lady behind the desk was one he’d seen before. She was always nice, she looked young. Isn’t a threat. Shut up. “How can I help you?”

“Winter Riley, appointment at 10 with Dr. Hughes.” Simon spoke with a calm tone, much quieter than his normal voice. Winnie buried her little face into his neck again as the receptionist typed away on her computer.

She cleared her throat before speaking again. “She’ll be right out if you want to take a seat.”

Two exits. Stop.

“Dad.”

Before he knew it, he was sitting on an exam room guest chair, Winnie still curled up in his hold. He had tried to get her to sit on the exam table, but he understood why she didn’t want to. Simon couldn’t sit up there with her, so Winnie decided that being poked and prodded while cuddled in her father’s everlasting safety was much better than a cold padded table.

“Yeah, Win?”

“I want you to stay.”

Simon’s been stabbed before, shot, waterboarded, burned - but nothing had ever felt so painful as his daughter wanting him to stay home. He looked down at her head, her hands still clinging to him. She picked at the metal zipper teeth, head down like she was avoiding his gaze. He kissed her head and patted her leg with his hand.

“Just one more trip, lovie.”

“You say that every time.”

A hot knife slammed into his chest, the cold blood that thrummed through his heart as it began to sizzle, causing him pain. His entire chest filled with agonizing pain like the knife had stabbed him repeatedly. All he could do was force a smile, push her stubborn curl away from her face, and softly speak to her,

“I know.”

Simon went through the motions of pretending to be a human being. Speaking with the doctor, listening to her advice and her notes. He held his five year old as she got two immunization shots, let her scream and cry into his neck as he spoke to her in a soothing tone. She made him kiss her bandaid before the doctor put it on, listening to her as she babbles on about it being good luck. He memorizes his daughter’s face as she talks and talks, memorizes how heavy she is as he carries her out of the office, out of the hospital, and to the ice cream shop. Simon memorizes how little his daughter’s hand is as she stands on her toes, reading the ice cream flavors out loud so he can know what they are too.

He snapped back into his headspace like a freshly broken rubber band as he put down five quid on the counter, he took his bowl of strawberry ice cream as Winnie took her cotton candy swirl with both of her hands. He opened the door for her, the little girl stepped out onto the street and looked up to him, waiting for him to tell her where to go. Simon looked around before nodding his head to a bench only a few feet away. She instantly scampered away, jumping up to sit on it as Simon sat down beside her. Winnie instantly dug into her ice cream, completely unbothered by the cold breeze that breathed through the city streets.

He was quick when he took the picture of Winnie, knowing she doesn’t like to have her picture taken. He sent it to you, then slipped his phone back into his pocket before he softly spoke, “I’ll be home soon this time, I promise.”

Winnie paused in her eating, eyes not moving from her paper bowl and spoon. “I know.”

“Dad has to go away to work, duckling, you know that.” The pain in his chest hadn’t subsided yet, he hoped trying to get her to understand would help ease his mind. “Dad has to go be a hero.”

“I don’t want you to be a hero.” She murmured, sticking her spoon in her ice cream before scooping out a large portion of it. “I want you to be home with me and Mummy and Melsie.”

“Baby, you know Daddy loves you, yeah?”

She nodded.

His cup of ice cream settled in his lap as he gently pet his daughter’s head, she didn’t dare move. “And I’d do anything in the world for you. You know that too, right?”

“Mama tells me that.” She sniffled a little before shoving the spoon of ice cream in her mouth.

“Whatever Mum says, it’s true. But duckling, Daddy has to go. Do you know why?”

The girl shook her head as she pulled the spoon from her mouth, shoving it back into her ice cream.

“Because there are many little kids like you who don’t have a Mummy or Daddy to care for them. And big scary men make the world not safe, which means those kids aren’t safe either. That’s why I go.” He fixed her ponytail, one of her hands swatted his away. “The faster I get rid of the bad guys means the faster the world is safe, which means you’re safe. And when you’re safe, Daddy gets to come home. Does that make sense?”

Winnie shrugged, he grabbed his own ice cream.

“I promise that I’m gonna be gone on trips less, I’ll be home for a long time in a few months.”

“Why?”

After taking a bite of the ice cream flavor he hated, he responded. “Aunt Kate said so. I have a question for you, duck.”

She nodded, finally looking up to Simon, which made his cold heart full of sizzling pain suddenly become calm. There would never be a day where he wouldn’t love his daughter.

“How do you feel if Mum has another baby?”

The girl looked away, digging back into her ice cream. “I dunno.”

His shoulders slumped a little, worry settled deep into his bones like a curse. “Would you be…happy? Sad? Angry?”

She shrugged, spoon stirring the melting delicacy. “Happy, I guess.”

“You guess?”

His daughter looked up to him, a sad look on her face that hurt Simon deeper than he’s even known. “I don’t want Mummy to be sad again.”

Nevermind. That’s worse. Oh god, that’s worse.

Simon’s lips were pulled into a tight line as he took his daughter’s ice cream, setting both his and her cups beside him on the bench before he picked up Winnie. He placed her on his lap so he can look at her face, his hands then held her little ones, squeezing them gently.

“That’s true, little love. We were very sad for a bit, you remember, right?”

The little girl with dark hazel eyes looked up at her father with a hopeful look.

“Does Mummy have a baby in her belly?”

Simon Riley’s chest tightened, but his hands did not. He gently brushed his thumbs on the backs of his daughter’s hands.

“…She might. We’re not sure yet. Mummy needs to go to the doctors, just like you did today.”

“A different baby?”

He nodded. “Right. S’not the same baby as before.”

“Will this one go away too?”

“Plea-Please, please…” Sobs wrecked your body as Simon held you to his chest, you fought him. You fought his comfort, you fought his love because how could you do this? How could you break his heart?

“Baby, it’s okay,” He spoke into your ear, your nails dug crescents into his scarred skin. “It was just a bad dream, you’re okay.”

“I want my baby.” Those were the words you spoke almost every night for days and Simon never understood how those four words could keep shattering his heart. You kept dreaming of your son, your beautiful son who loved to play in the water, who loved to run and squeal and play fire truck with his sisters. The boy that you’ve wanted all your life, now that you have the two daughters you’ve dreamed of when you were little. You were in mental and emotional agony, Simon could feel it. And God, did he wish that pain could be given to him. He would do anything to make your pain subside, to take it away; but he knew he couldn’t. So he has laid beside you, for days on end, holding you and putting pressure on where it hurt like it was an oozing wound. His forehead in your shoulder, holding where his son used to be. He imagined pressing a dressing to a wound, trying to take himself out of the equation to neutralize the pain of it all. He was sure that son of his left a gaping wound in your chest and Simon had to choose which wound was worse - where his son was warm and loved oozed like a deep gash from a knife, or where his wife’s grief was gushing blood from a gunshot wound she didn’t even inflict.

You squeezed his hand, sobbing so hard you could barely breathe.

Simon watched as your tears fill the ocean that was drowning him. He can fix anything, he has fixed many problems in his life and he was begging somebody, anybody, to allow him to fix you. But he can’t; he hated that he couldn’t place a kiss to your cheek and have everything become right - that’s not how any of this works.

He pressed his lips to your shoulder blade as you stilled, his arms hot from the nightly hours he spent under the covers with you, his stomach curled with hunger. Your cries had stopped, your young and bashful heart causing you more pain as it flickered with life every second. The hand that had sat on your heart since he got back into bed after putting his daughters to sleep moved, ever so slowly, towards your cheek - resting on your hairline before gently moving, petting your head ever so carefully.

You bobbed in the ocean with him, breaching the waves and taking in greedy breaths of oxygen before being pulled under again. His hands always so desperate to hold onto you, to help you, could only reach so far before he had to take a breath of his own to dive deep, deeper, and to the deepest point of his core. He would force your head above water, even if it meant he would drown. He’s always been sure you could be better off without him.

Simon spent six days taking care of his grief-stricken wife, navigating the sea of mourning, trying to pull your head above the inky waves. With every crest of the waves of tears in his body, his strength would dwindle. But with every slow descent of Simon, came the rising phoenix that was you.

“I don’t know, love.” Simon bit his tongue for only a moment, just to rid his mind of the dark ocean he found his soul in for a moment.

He shouldn’t have to explain this to his child, he should be explaining about which room will change into her big girl room so he can switch the kids around. He should be talking with his daughter about how he is going to stay home after these next few missions. Explain that she will lose a little sleep too. But he isn’t. He’s sat on an old bench in front of an ice cream shop, eating his least favorite flavor of ice cream to please his daughter, and having to tell her that not every baby dies. He has to explain that her beautiful mother won’t have to be sad again.

“Sometimes that happens. Babies go away and there isn’t anything we can do about it.”

“Do we get to keep this one?”

He smiled at his daughter, even when he didn’t have the answer. Even when he felt a drop of rain on his head, reminding him how close he was to going beneath the waves in his mind. “I hope so. Do you want to keep this one?”

She nodded. “Yeah.”

“Do you want a brother or sister?” He whispered, his hand grabbed her ice cream and settled it on her lap. Her hands instantly grabbed it, holding the small cup and spoon before whispering back.

“I want a brother like before.”

“Okay.” He nodded at his daughter before taking his ice cream cup back in his own hands. “Will you like the baby if it’s a girl?”

“Yeah. I just want a brother.” She shrugged, now more interested in her ice cream. He leaned forwards, placing a kiss on the top of her head.

“Well, the baby decides that, okay? They’ll tell us when Mum gets a bit bigger.”

Winnie nodded again, before looking up at her dad again. “I love you, Daddy.”

His heart swelled, his smile didn’t falter as he spoke, “I love you too, my darling girl.” He set his most hated ice cream flavor down on the bench before picking Winnie up, placing her on her feet on the ground. “You ready to go home?”

He tossed two half empty cups into the trash next to the bench, making sure it made it into the food waste slot. He picked up his darling girl in her raincoat and rain boots, then made his way towards the tram as specks of rain dotted his head.

He watched the rain as it splattered against the tram windows, he helped his daughter into her blue raincoat he had kept in his own jacket, he huddled with the crowd of people under the station shelter when he had to change trams. Winnie hummed to herself, little fingers curled around the collar of his jacket.

“Daddy.”

He kissed her head. “Yes, my love?”

“Are we still getting flowers for Mummy?”

He sighed a little, bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet before he muttered, “We can’t be in the rain for too long, you will get sick. I don’t think we should go today.”

The girl in his arms practically deflated. “But… But her flowers, Daddy… I want to get her flowers…”

“Flowers aren’t as important as you, my darling girl.” His large hand patted her back, hearing the squeak of her raincoat as the rain fell harder. He was under the shelter just enough, but the mist still coated his daughter’s hair and his face. “I want you to be home and healthy, not bundled up with me and poorly.”

“But… I want the flowers so I can tell Mama she’s pretty like you do.”

The tram rolled to a stop as his mental state was yanked above the waves it had been drowning in, his feet could barely touch the water as he felt his heart soar.

Kind. His mind sung, his heart singing along. My daughter is kind.

He quickly walked onto the tram, he grabbed an empty standing place as the tram became more full by the second. Winnie moved her head from his shoulder, eyes gazing at his face.

“What’s wrong, Daddy?”

The medical mask had sat in his pocket, so his daughter could watch how his lips grew a smile so wide. “You don’t need flowers to tell Mummy she’s pretty.”

He had counted the amount of people in the tram by that point, and without failure, he noticed the small crowd of people around him staring at him and his daughter. Even though he knew it wasn’t safe, he ignored them all. He focused on his daughter’s button nose, those hazel eyes that are glazed over with fatigue.

“I don’t?”

“No, my love,” He whispered, hand gently petting her head. “You tell her every time you think so, just for me. Can you do that?”

She nodded vigorously, his heart beat with such golden pride for his wonderful Winter.

“We’ll go get her flowers, my love. Just so you can tell your mummy she’s very, very, very pretty.”

The five year old giggled as he pushed the button for the next stop.

Winnie demanded to hold the bouquet on the way home. The flower shop with many options for the colors his daughter chose was a tram ride in the opposite direction of home, so now that the public transportation journey was over, all Simon had to do was walk home.

Much easier said than done.

The thunder was loud, lightning glimmered in the sky as the rain poured, but Winnie barely cared. Her little hood up, her ladybug boots squeaked with every step. His phone was strapped somewhere dry on the inside of his coat, the flowers Winnie was so excited to hold were clutched against her chest as he held her other hand, hurrying along his daughter as their home came into view. The porch light on, soft lighting casted upon his windows from inside his warm home. He squeezed Winnie’s hand. She squealed with laughter as she squeezed back, jumping into a puddle and drenching his jeans.

Simon used to be an angry man. Every little thing that went wrong would turn him into a ball of rage, everything that used to get him punched by his father made him angry. He ignored help, shunned people who wanted nothing more to help him feel okay. He remembered the days when he used to play in the rain and drench his father’s pants in muddy water. Those nights ended with four year old Simon in tears in his closet, blood oozing down his face from a cut on his forehead from his father’s rings. Simon remembered those moments with perfect detail. Every age, every time he hid himself under his bed, in his closet, in the fox hole behind the house, Simon was nursing wounds that should have had him in the hospital since he was two years old.

Simon Riley looked at his daughter and the sky blue hood over her head, the large bouquet of flowers clutched to her chest as her ladybug boots stomped in the puddle, splashing his jeans more and more.

He doesn’t feel anger. He doesn’t feel upset. He held his daughter’s hand as they finally walk up the lane to their home, helping her up the stairs to their porch and into the dry house his true family called home. He didn’t feel upset that she didn’t put away her shoes like he had taught her for months on end, he isn’t angry that she left her sopping wet raincoat on the carpet. He toed off his own shoes, taking off his jacket while he watched her fly into the living room, where you sat on the recliner with his ten month old baby. Your arms cradled your baby Mellie, holding her head up to feed from your breast as you turned your head to see Winnie in her pretty blue dress.

His heart felt warm as he walked into the living room, smiling as Winnie began to speak.

“Mummy.”

Your smile lit up the room, he has always told you that but you never believed him. If he could show you through his eyes how he saw you, you would never doubt him again.

“Yes, my love?”

“Daddy bought me flowers so I can give them to you.” The five year old placed both of her hands on the plastic outside of the bouquet, rain dropped off of the side of it as your eyes widened.

“For me?” You looked up to your husband, whose heart jumped to his throat. “Daddy thought to buy me flowers?” He has bought you flowers almost every two weeks, the bouquet of roses he brought home a couple days ago sat on the kitchen counter in your favorite vase.

“No no!” Winnie giggled, dropping the sopping wet bouquet onto your lap as she cheerfully said, “I wanted to buy you flowers so I can tell you how pretty you are, Mama.”

You looked back at your beautiful five year old daughter, tears instantly falling down your face as you removed an arm from underneath Mellie to reach for Winnie. Mellie made a grunt of disapproval as Winnie laughed, climbing onto the recliner to be held by her mother.

Simon could never lie and say that he could try and put himself in his father’s shoes, not when Simon witnessed moments of true love like this.

He had two days. But with how you were laughing and pressing kisses to both of his daughters, he felt a pang for warmth in his belly. Simon knew you would be alright.

taglist: taglist (ignore that tagging hates me): @sigynxlokiwifelover @lumpypoll @multitargaryen @chloeforde @blueoorchid @vir-tual @lolis-pikt @theverycelestialgemini @simpingforleoandnico @prodyng @royalty-purple @projectdreamwalker @tiredweeb7

Copyright © 2023 lethalchiralium. All rights reserved.

[sssarrrra]

Dostoevsky's origin story: the first time he didn't die, and the Demon was born

Imagine Fyodor Dostoevsky, young and alone. He is religious. He's faith is his light, he uses it as a compass to navigate through the everyday uncertainty. There are no adults to tell him what's right or wrong. Even if they do, their judgment is tampered with selfish cruelty.

Every so often, Fyodor wonders what makes him so different from other kids. Why is everything that he does is met with cold disdain? Even if he mimics other kids' behavior, adults still see him as a threat. Dostoevsky can't remember doing anything so irreparable that could upset them. But no matter how he tries, the only response to his efforts is disgust.

Maybe, he isn't meant to be loved. At least, right now.

If the family isn't ready to accept him, Fyodor starts looking for the meaning elsewhere. The bible clearly says to honor your parents. But how can he do that if they're so uncaring? Unless this is how it should be, and it's all God's plan.

The older Fyodor grows, the more he forces himself to look past his limited sensations, experiences, feelings. There must be more to the bruises, scars, aches in the stomach, cold sleepless nights. They're all a part of something he has to discover with his mind.

A meaning. He'll grasp it with his bloody fingertips and hold it until they finally feel warm. Until pain in his body will bother him no more.

Eventually, Dostoevsky realizes: it's all part of a trial.

The holy book was right about his parents. He has to respect them for all the efforts they've put in to teach him about pain. They relentlessly test Fyodor's resolve, strengthening his belief in God. They prepare him to become one of his most righteous servants.

This realization helps Dostoevsky cope with everyday struggles. Abuse paired with neglect becomes less painful, when he sees them as a part of a training. They're just shaping him to become better: less attached to his body, no more worried about his earthly life.

When Fyodor finally departs from home, he believes that he knows what God has for him in store. A painful life on earth as a path to Heaven. But still, he sometimes catches himself praying for better days, even knowing, he shouldn't selfishly desire them.

But that's alright. Because Heaven exists. One day, Dostoevsky will be there. He should be grateful for his place in Paradise, the one that's been promised to Fyodor through the suffering God has bestowed.

The only thing is left is to wait for a signal of departure. A moment, when God will call for him, and he'll gladly place his life on the altar.

And then this time comes.

Dostoevsky never forced himself to be careful about who or how he confronted. He was almost curious about which sinner would be the one to lead him to the martyrdom.

Fyodor lived from one plan to another, taking a corrupt society apart, making sure no sin would ever be overlooked or forgotten. He even forced himself not to fear skill users. They were demons all the same, albeit their abilities were quite flashy.

Dostoevsky occasionally wondered what would it feel like to have one of their powers? Maybe, he could enact a bigger change. But he tried to erase thoughts like that. His body, even at its weakest, was still made in God's image. He shouldn't wish any changes or distortions upon this form. Unless, he wanted to be cursed and abandoned by God.

Eventually, Dostoevsky picks an opponent who he can't defeat. He knows it, but the fight is still worthy of risk. He tries his hardest, but that's still not enough.

When a dagger is plunged into his heart, Dostoevsky locks eyes with the enemy and realizes: they're terrified. He almost smiles. His body will die, but the words he has said will hunt them forever, until the end of their days.

Fyodor's chest hurts unbearably, but that's a satisfying finale. His body is screaming its goodbye, but his soul feels lighter. Soon, pain won't be able to claw itself into his flesh. He's waited for it for many years. He's prepared. Is it happiness?

Despite that, part of Fyodor wishes he could stay alive longer, so he could continue his servitude to God. It's a sinful thought. If this moment is meant to be his last, he should comply.

There is so much more to a soul than a life on Earth. The endless beauty of light, the vast landscapes of paradise. Fyodor is ready to see them with his own eyes.

There is so much he'll never miss about his existence. All of his emotions: fear, desperation, grief. They're all soon be gone, caged in his dying body, away from his mind. God will take Fyodor's soul back. It will finally experience the touch of its creator. He will never be alone again. Soon Dostoevsky will be engulfed by a warm wave, leading him away from this reality. Fyodor welcomes a warm embrace of God, a being whose love is bigger than the Universe. He is ready to meet him.

But then He doesn't die. He opens his eyes in another person's body. He survived.

Fyodor almost feels relief, and is disgusted with himself for it. Does he really treasure his life more than heaven? Pathetic.

Dostoevsky lives on. He's forced to stay alive. He doesn't know what to think. Everything seems unreal.

A prolonged life. A second chance. For anyone else, this would be wonderful. A blessing. For him, it turns out to be a tragedy. An ultimate rejection.

Throughout his life, Fyodor was told so many times that he was “strange”, “not human”, “not like others”. But God wouldn't abandon him, right? That's what he believed in.

Now, looking at his new, freshly restored body, Fyodor started to wonder: what if he was the one who was wrong all this time? What if God didn't see him as a human at all? Even Judas died. But he could not.

Why couldn't he see heaven after working so hard to get there? Did he do something so terrible, even death couldn't accept him after that?

Dostoevsky spiraled deep into his mind, obsessively dissecting every bit of his identity. Which part of Fyodor was the one that doomed him to hell, to this earthly suffering forever?

There was only one answer. His special ability.

When Fyodor used to envision his path to Heaven, he calculated everything, except for that. He was simply unaware of being a skill user himself.

It was the most distinguishing element of his existence. The one that couldn't be overlooked easily. It was probably what others thought too, even without realizing it consciously.

“Crime and punishment”, this is how Fyodor decided to call that. It was so inherently inhuman it made others fear him, hate him, hurt him. They sensed that something was deeply wrong with him since he was a kid, even without knowing about his special ability.

This is why they pushed Fyodor away, even when he tried to help. This is why no matter how hard he studied the Bible, he was only a mere “Demon” in their eyes.

And they were right.

Dostoevsky's ability was a truly heretical curse. It dared to define God's plan and distort the time of death that was given to Fyodor by his Creator.

"Crime and punishment ". Like a ticking bomb with a set timer, like a festering wound ready to overflow with rot, it was always inside him, all along. It slept inside the body like a parasite. It curled around his heart like a snake, waiting for it's chance to poison his soul and cast him away from heaven.

Maybe, Dostoevsky always knew it too. That nothing he ever did was good. That's why he's so desperately sought God everywhere. As if trying to ask for forgiveness beforehand.

But could God ever give him that?

Fyodor's “gift” was with him since the moment he was born.

Did it mean that Fyodor had been the “worst sinner who ever lived”? Was he marked as such during the very first second of his life?

Yes, it was probably that.

Everything about Fyodor, even his thinking and breathing, was repulsive. It was a crime. A sin. A disgrace, truly. And staying alive was the punishment he didn't dare to define.

And there was the only way out.

If he's already the greatest sinner, he has to become the greatest martyr, the one who'll make a sacrifice like no others.

Maybe, Fyodor will finally earn the God's forgiveness. God will gift him death, the one that'll reunite him with humanity.

But purifying his own soul won't be enough. God won't forgive him for such a small miracle. His life is barely worth anything. It won't change reality, if he just throws it away and allows his body to perish. He needs more than this to make a change.

What if he purifies all sins? If his ability is the one that's made him evil, made him unworthy of forgiveness, he needs to clear world of all special skills.

It's his responsibility.

It's the only way Fyodor can be forgiven for existing.

If he tries hard enough, God will let him go to heaven.

Dostoevsky will die, and then he'll be finally good enough to stay dead. Forever.

[almondemisewriting]

doomed to repeat

prologue: original sin

This story happened a long time ago in a galaxy far, far away. It is already over. Nothing can be done to change it. - Matthew Stover

notes: as mentioned before on my main blog @almondemise, I recently watched the acolyte while recovering from an infection and became rather obsessed with it. I fear this might be my roman empire. star wars had never really interested me but you can count on the fact that I watched every single of those movies after finishing the acolyte. although I haven't written fanfiction in years, I better put this english degree to work. no oshamir as I fear I can't do them justice. / banners are by @cafekitsune & gif by @goodsirs

summary: after Osha and Mae had banded together and betrayed Qimir in the forest of Khofar, he killed them. now, once again, he was alone. how good that he had already been working on another plan. on the other end of the galaxy, there was a girl born out of pure force. a weapon raised for one reason only: to kill him. but the force works in mysterious ways.

word count: 3.6k

pairing: qimir x female oc; the stranger x female oc

warnings: english is my second language, jedi evil arc, manipulation, psychological abuse, physical abuse, violence, martyrdom and other religious themes, probably inaccurate star wars lore & deviation from both plot and general worldbuilding, explicit content and other sensitive themes in following chapters

She had never chosen to be the Chosen one. Her destiny of martyrdom was forced onto her as retribution for her original sin: being born. All the suffering Amalthea endured throughout her life never could quite make up for it.

In fact, Amalthea had never made a decision, she was simply an amalgamation of all the choices made for her. She had no particular feelings about it. It was not like hate was a feeling that was allowed for her to feel anyway. There were dozens of rules for her to follow, a hundred things being forbidden to feel, a million things not allowed to experience, all for her safety.

If pride was allowed, Amalthea would have been proud of being good at following rules. It made her life easy, but it also made her lonely. Late at night, she lay awake, a blanket of unhappiness weighing her down, the viciousness of isolation gnawing on her bones so tangible that she bit her lips bloody. There was no one she could talk to. Amalthea was not allowed to speak to anyone unless spoken to. Emergencies excluded, of course. An easy rule to follow.

But at Anantore Point, only a couple of people were authorized to talk to her at all. Her days were spent in perpetual silence, thinking, listening. Often she went days without talking to anyone. It helped that people usually ignored her, acted like she was part of the furniture, her Cortosis ring and the veil helping to keep her hidden. Amalthea often imagined the others not being able to see her at all.

Until a year ago, no one bothered to correct her daydreams. It would have been worse if there were people who actually wanted to talk to her. A connection. Any connection. Amalthea vastly preferred being invisible. At least that is what she often told herself.

With time, not being able to talk to anyone made her into someone who was an excellent listener. And she was eager to listen. Going into most of the rooms of Building C and blending in to eavesdrop was easy.

"..heard that Team Three did not come back from their mission. Apparently they sent a message that they found him and then just vanished. They couldn't even track their ships!" "And they won't try to find them?"

Kiani and Odessa were low-stationed officers who mostly did administrative work but had a hang for gossip. Amalthea became acquainted with most of the events at the station thanks to them. Usually, it was just who slept with who, complaints about what food they served in the canteen, and other inconsequential things. But sometimes Odessa had interesting news thanks to Nyseth. Amalthea did not know exactly what his job was, but she did know that they tried desperately to hide their relationship.

Knowing so many secrets of the people living at the station did not make her feel bad. It was not like she could have told anyone. And with news like that she could not help listening in a bit more closely. Sinking into a plush brown chair close to them, she acted like she was reading one of the books she always carried around, but focused on their mouths. Conversations like these were often whispered and she was lucky that the veil hid her stare. 

"No, I heard Yavin say that they will not send a recovery ship. It's too dangerous. He is probably on some other planet already, but all kinds of cultists will be searching for him. He says that having multiple ships in the same vicinity will end up with us losing more teams."

Odessa's voice was hushed and taut. When she named him, she almost stumbled over her own words, her fear transforming her dispatch into a jumbled and croaky mess. Amalthea heard Kiani gasp. There was a short silence after.

"I guess it will be time then soon," Kiani mumbled. Both she and Odessa started looking towards Amalthea. The insinuation made her sick to her stomach. She promptly lowered her gaze down to her gloved hands. Had the others seen her staring? Were they still looking themselves?

Trying to sink deeper into the chair, her shoulders slumped forward in an unnatural curve, her veil almost touching her knees. Now, standing up and going anywhere would have made it obvious that she listened in. So she agonized in the awkward silence, trying to make herself invisible again, the feeling of uneasiness leaving behind an uncomfortable prickle on her skin.

Suddenly, loud chatter outside the door interrupted them. The metal of the double doors crashed into the sandstone walls next to it and in came a whole barrage of people back from their missions and other work, ready to storm into the canteen to fill their grumbling stomachs. 

By now, Amalthea knew all of them. At Anantore Point there were less than fifty people employed and even less than that were allowed to enter the buildings on a permanent basis. The less people knew she existed, the better.

The loudest group of all were Brom, Qimir, and Kona. Qimir was today's good news. During a mission over the last couple of days, his ship suffered sudden engine failure while in hyperdrive, and while going back into realspace he got unlucky and landed in an asteroid field where he got cut off from the rest of the group. Just this morning he was able to find them again, his ship completely beaten up, but his mission completed.

Amalthea did not know what to think of him. He was unprofessional, goofy, carefree, and not the smartest. But he knew his way around ships and various planets better than more experienced explorers at Anantore Point and he had come here on personal recommendation by Senator Fasmum. Most importantly, he was her anchor point when the time came.

Qimir's job was being responsible for getting her safely to him so she could do her job. Perhaps the last person she would ever see. Still, he was the reason she had to wear the Cortosis ring. At least that is what Amalthea guessed. Until Qimir showed up a year ago she never had to wear one. But like her, he was Force-sensitive, although he never studied it. They tested him and he could barely even light a lamp. Master Xylter said that the Force was wasted on someone like him. But Qimir could still observe it. 

And that was the problem. Although Amalthea could not see it, she exuded massive amounts of the Force and that was distracting for every Force-sensitive person who came close to her. Close in this case was relative. Depending on how sensitive someone was to the Force, they could feel her from hundreds or thousands of miles away, even if they were strangers.

She wondered what it looked like, but no one had ever bothered to tell her. And Amalthea did not dare to ask. Master Xylter had said that it was because more important guests would visit after the recent happenings, but it was obvious that Qimir could not concentrate on his job with her around in this state. Amalthea did not mind the Cortosis ring. Sure, it was heavy, but having it rest on her collarbones was strangely comforting sometimes.

However, not even the ring could make Qimir stop looking at her. She felt the weight of his stare bearing down on her without mercy. And she just didn't understand why. Most of the people at Anantore Point didn't even give her a single glance, never mind a second one. Meanwhile, it was like he could not rip his eyes away from her.

Sometimes, when she sensed him, she looked back and it was like he could stare straight through the veil into her eyes, making the hairs on her neck stand up. At least, he was good at concealing it in front of others. Amalthea was not ready to be lectured on being too noticeable. 

So, like many days in the last year, she decided to eat her dinner in her room. Nobody looked at her when she got up and made her way to the door. Except Qimir. His gaze was glued to her. When she walked past him to exit, she could have sworn that their eyes met. Knuckles white and straining, she clutched the front of her robe in her hands and got out of Building C as fast as she could, stumbling over elevator entrances, stairs, and her own boots.

Could he see underneath her veil? That was impossible unless you were a Jedi and had enough control of the Force. And there were only five Jedi living at Anantore Point: Grandmaster Torinn, Master Xylter, Yavin, Ecla, and Amalthea. Shuddering, she tried to physically shake off the feeling, her dense robe rustling in the desert winds outside. The way from Building C to Building A was, as usual, completely empty. Out of all of the people living here, only four had access to Building A, Amalthea being one of them. Only Ecla was standing in front of the entrance ready for her night shift and nodded at her. "Meditation?"

She simply nodded back and made her way to her room. As her guard, Ecla was allowed to talk to her. When she first came to Anantore Point six years ago, Amalthea was really excited but soon understood. Ecla was here to do her job, not make friends. She would later quietly enter her room to put down dinner and then leave as quickly as she came. The same routine as most days. Only after closing the door behind her, she realized that her books still laid in the employee room.

Although Amalthea was bored a lot, she was grateful. The Conclave of Light had saved her life when she was a baby, housed, fed, and trained her. In exchange, she did what she was born to do and it was an honor. There might have been many rules, but they were all there to keep her safe from Rebels, Wildlings, and, in the worst case, the Sith.

Most people believed them to be extinct, but you could never be too sure. And suspicious events over the last years had proven the caution of the Jedi right. Soon it would be time for Amalthea to go. A nameless Sith had been slaughtering people. Jedi searched for him and ended up dead too. He was not a dark user with many followers, but he was amassing amounts of Force that made it clear that he was a danger. Not just to the Jedi, but to the Republic at large.

Just a month ago he had executed multiple Jedi and civilians on Khofar, then vanished without a trace. It was Amalthea's responsibility to stop him. A final fight. It was all Amalthea had been working towards. The climax of her entire life. Her purpose. Her dream? She had never asked herself that. She would rather not. The choice had been made for her, the Chosen One. Her immaculate conception would either end in immaculate victory or immaculate death. Before her thoughts could get any louder, Amalthea assumed her meditation pose, closed her eyes, and concentrated.

Amalthea did not know how much time had passed since she started meditating when she heard Ecla enter her room. She often lost herself in her concentration, not knowing when and where she was when she awakened, saturated with Force and strengthened with knowledge. Ecla did not put her dinner plate down or leave the room. When Amalthea turned towards her, Ecla did not even hold a plate.

"Master Xylter requires you in the main office in Building B."

Immediately she knew what this would be about. Actually, Amalthea had already expected to be called in soon. It was time. The feeling of finality grabbed her by the throat and squeezed. But there was no time to acclimatize. She put her gloves back on and followed Ecla outside, struggling and breathless.

Amalthea could have found the way to the main office herself, but it was night, and Anantore Point, being the only cluster of buildings in this desert and desolation, stood out. Not having others around made it safer, but the lights flickering could be seen far away. So as soon as the sun tinged the sky with hues of pink and orange, Amalthea was not allowed to walk outside alone. She moved gingerly behind Ecla, almost hiding behind the broad shoulders of the experienced Jedi warrior, becoming invisible in between her massive strides.

Often, Amalthea pictured Ecla before Anantore Point in her head. She knew nothing but her name. Nevertheless, she trusted her. And, while she could not tell anyone, she admired her. She knew that Ecla would always keep her safe. Amalthea had personally seen her finish off intruders before. Secretly, she wished Ecla would come with her on her mission. She knew she was sinning heavily with that wish. Personal affections were forbidden. Any outside help during her mission was forbidden. But no one would ever know what she thought. No one ever asked. 

Master Xylter was not the only one waiting in the main office. Amalthea had a look at the others. Grandmaster Torinn. Yavin. Qimir. So it was as she expected. Master Xylter cleared his throat and she quickly got down on her knees and looked to the ground. "Greetings Master." Amalthea could hear Qimir swallow loudly. When she got up and glanced at him, he was glaring at her. Was he angry that she didn't greet him? But there was no time to contemplate.

"You know why you are here. Your mission is in three days. Say yes if you understand." Master Xylter had never been patient. "Yes, Master."

Amalthea pondered for a moment. It was now or never. "I don't know if I am ready for the mission yet. I still have not been knigh-,", she began.

Master Xylter reacted fast. "Insolent!" His voice was so loud that even Ecla flinched. Immediately, Amalthea fell to her hands and knees, her veil brushing the dirty ground. Not a second later, Master Xylter's boot secured it there. Desperate, Amalthea pleaded for forgiveness. She should not have acted so rashly and the humiliation of her audacity stung worse than a cut.

"How dare you question the decisions of the Conclave! I must have spoiled you too much. You have not been knighted because you're simply not worthy. I do not care if you do not think you are ready, you are ready when I say you are. You will do your duty and you will do it gladly," Master Xylter exclaimed. 

"Stand up." Slowly, Amalthea got back on her feet, her posture demure, her arms hanging aimlessly at her sides. They were dirty and bruised, but it was too mortifying to openly try to brush them clean on her already ruined clothes. She decided to get this done quickly.

"I have been ill-mannered, Master. I deserve punishment."

When she was younger, Amalthea cried every time this happened. But she quickly learned it would just incense Master Xylter more. By now, she had more control over herself. Calmly, she lifted her dirty veil, her face as tranquil as an undisturbed lake at dusk. When her Master struck, not a single soul in the room dared to move.

But the corner of her sight showed something interesting. Qimir's hands, tightly curled into fists. Did he want to hit her as well? He was an explorer, after all, a job that sought people with a hang for violence.

"Thank you, Master. I will do better," Amalthea said softly. As she put her veil back down her unobstructed gaze fell back upon Qimir. His eyes seemed to bore themselves into her, his dark blown-out pupils reeling her in like the gravity of black holes. It was the first time their eyes met directly. The moment was gone as quickly as a shooting star and Qimir straightened his gaze towards the empty space in front of him, his jaw unclenching and his back loosening. 

Yavin spoke up. "You will leave Anantore Point at dusk together with Qimir. He will take you to the designated place, deploy your pod, and wait for you to finish your mission. You will kill him. You will wait for further instruction," he stated slowly and clearly.

Yavin had been the commander of the explorers ever since Amalthea could remember and he was good at his job. He was deviant and did not want to be found. Commander Yavin did so anyways. He prided himself in his work, but he had gotten older as well and Amalthea could hear in his voice that he was glad that he could soon retire. It all came back to how successful Amalthea would be. Grandmaster Torinn laid a calming hand on Amalthea's veiled hair.

"Remember, Padawan. No weapons. Your Force will provide. Do not doubt the Conclave. As a last resort, please make use of this."

His old croaky voice was barely above a whisper, and still, everyone listened with reverence. Grandmaster Torinn had trained Jedi for decades, was highly respected, and had been specifically chosen to instruct Amalthea in the Force. He dropped a small green crystal in Amalthea's open hands.

"This is an Artusian crystal. It will strengthen your Force when you need it."

Next to him, Master Xylter grew impatient. "You will finish this mission. You will be successful. You will be allowed to talk to Qimir during the mission. Flight emergency situations only. Now go back to your room. Do not expect rations for the next twenty-four hours. Dismissed," he bellowed.

Amalthea clutched the crystal in her hand and felt the sharp edges press into her skin as she wordlessly left the room, bowing slightly. Of course, she didn't expect to get fed any time soon. Denial of food was Master Xylter's favorite punishment.

The three days were over faster than Amalthea anticipated. Ecla came into her room to wake her, but Amalthea had not been able to sleep and was already meditating, her new clothes equipped and her bag next to her. It was her first time to leave the building complex ever since arriving here over twenty years ago and the airfield fascinated her. There were thousands of little lights blinking like stars on the ground, dozens of ships awaiting to soar into the gradually lightening morning sky.

Amalthea felt electrified by what expected her, her stomach churning, her body slack and glossed over with cold sweat as she dragged herself behind Ecla towards a small exploration ship. Qimir was already waiting for her, greeting her shyly. Once again, his eyes wandered all over her body, fixing themselves on her face. Today was the second time he saw her without her veil.

She would not need it anymore from today on. There was nothing that could keep her safe now. So she lost her protective layers shielding her slender, bony figure and her dark curls. Qimir watched them billow in the artificial wind of the ship's engine, seemingly unsure of what to say. After some deliberation, he asked the worst question possible.

"Are you ready?" Ridiculous. Did it matter? Had Amalthea been anyone else, she would have probably laughed. Alas, she had not laughed in years. So she responded in the only way she knew and silently climbed into the ship that would deliver her into the hands of her destiny.

[thisgirlnamedblusy]

Holy moly, your last story had me feeling feelings.

The sentence about the unborn baby being jealous got me thinking tho, what if their kid inherited some of Donna's possessive traits, like always wanting to be by y/n's side, much to the chagrin of poor Donna, who hasn't been able to cuddle reader at night without a (sometimes two) little body wiggling into their bed. And as their daughter grows, she kinda sees Donna as a threat, someone who takes her moms attention away. Donna doesn't rightly know how to deal with the feeling of love for her child, and annoyance at not having reader for themselves.

UNTIL one day when reader and child is taking a walk through the forest, and a couple of men comes up and threatens them, only for mama Donna to turn up and rescue them. Both Donna and her daughter have a revelation that day: Donna from how scared she would be if anything happened to both her love and her child, and daughter from how she now sees Donna as her mama too, who would always protect and love her. And they make an unspoken pact about protecting reader always xD

You don't have to write this if you don't want to, I just got the mama Donna brainrot lol

Thanks for feeding us starving queers some quality Donna content

Yesss!!!! Thank you for your words, and for your request! I'm glad to read you enjoyed that one!!! I hope you like it and sorry about the language mistakes!!! :))))

A long road to motherhood

Pairing: Donna Beneviento x Fem! Reader

Warnings: G!P Donna (implied), slightly dark themes, Donna's POV

Word count: 7,112

Summary: How I can be jealous of my own daughter?

N/A: Sorry about the language mistakes!!! Requests are open!!! This is a sequel to this one!!! I love you all!!! :))

As they say, time heals wounds.

After almost losing you, after seeing how life became more and more distant from your sight, I was able to get you back.

A miracle, the sign that my sins were forgiven, I couldn't say what exactly it was. I have always thought that coincidence doesn’t exist, even when I met you, a bad deed that was rewarded, a trip to hell of having you immobile in a bed. I could never forget the two weeks when I almost lost you, when my whole world almost collapsed, because of me.

But no, life stopped torturing me, you woke up, you woke up wanting to make me feel good, to forgive me, to continue loving me as I didn't think you did.

If I had to keep a memory in my mind, only one, I would choose the moment in which I turned my head and saw your eyes open, your sweet look from that stretcher, life shining in your eyes again, looking at me.

I made an effort not to torture myself, to not let the nightmares make my nights impossible. It could be because I was still mentally ill, I couldn't separate myself from what life had given me, but I had to be strong. It was no longer you and me. There was someone, someone much more important to care for, someone to fight day and night for with my demons, with my jealousy, with my stupid and sick way of being: our daughter, Giovanna.

Born from my mistakes, from my pathological possessiveness, that girl represented everything pure that was missing in my life. My family, our family had been formed thanks to the biggest mistake of my life, thanks to that horrible afternoon in which I took what I thought was mine.

Luckily, the girl kept me away from your screams of terror, from the way you resisted my actions. Little by little I began to forget it, especially when I saw that childish smile in the girl's eyes. She had no hard feelings. If her birth was a mistake, it would be the best one in my life.

Maybe not the way she was conceived, but I could feel proud of the change that little Giovanna Beneviento made in our lives. I almost lost you because of my selfishness, but I got you back because... Well, I couldn't say why exactly. Maybe you forgave me, maybe you never could. I didn't know, with you it was impossible to know.

The years passed, the girl grew up and with her everything we had formed by chance, because of me, settled into routine, like a new way of living, of caring, of loving...

“Asleep,” you said amused, entering the bedroom, closing the door, wearing that smile on your face, the one I didn't think I deserved.

Luck smiles on the wicked, it smiled on me, the luck of having you, of having you and our daughter. I was not worthy of such honor, such light that had appeared in the darkness of my life.

“She’s alright?” I asked, getting under the covers. You nodded, motioning with your thumb, joining me.

“Yes, she's with Angie,” you answered, kissing me quickly. I frowned, with an amused look.

“That doesn't answer my question,” I whispered, kissing her shoulder, thanking with my lips that you never left, that all my flaws seemed like just an illusion to you.

“Well, I told her the story of the princess and the eel, it is her favorite,” you said with an interesting look. I shook my head, laughing at that attitude you had, that attitude that didn't disappear even in your worst moments. I didn't deserve you.

“The princess and the frog,” I corrected, narrowing my eye, with a sinister smile. You laughed, disapproving of my correction with a wave of your hand and a tired sigh.

“No, no, Donna,” you whispered, with a mocking tone. “You heard me correctly. Eel.”

“What difference does it make?” I asked curiously, admiring your imagination, your ability to make Giovanna fall asleep every night with those made-up stories. Only you could do it.

“Oh, I'm glad you’ve asked me...” you whispered, darkening your voice, making me pay more attention to you. “Well, when the princess kisses the toad, it becomes a prince, right?”

I nodded, listening to you with curiosity, trying not to let my eye go to the scar on your arm, the one that showed the worst two weeks of my life, the ones in which I was on the verge of losing you, because of me.

“Well, in my story, when the princess kisses the eel, the prize is… an electric tickle attack!” you said loudly, attacking me mercilessly, running over my body with your restless hands, making me laugh involuntarily.

“(Y/N)...” I said, grabbing your wrists to end your torture.

“Do you like my story?” you asked, climbing onto my lap, with that shine in your eyes that made me tremble, get excited. You were so perfect, so sweet... So... Fiery.

“Is that the end?” I asked, hugging your body, keeping it close to mine, rocking it. You pretended to think about the answer, which came in the form of a tender, but hot kiss on my lips, one that made me sigh.

“Well, that's the all-audiences ending,” you purred in my ear, forcing my hands to scratch the fabric of your pajamas as a result of the subtle but perceptible movement of your hips against mine.

“Is there an alternative ending?” I asked with a low voice, impatiently putting my hand in your pants, keeping your gaze, which drifted to my lap while you nodded.

“Yes, but it can't be told,” you whispered, reacting to my touch with erratic movements of your body.

“Maybe you can show it to me,” I said, with a smile close to your lips, noticing your nervous breathing, your desire to love me once again, to let yourself be loved, this time for real, that time without arguments, without terrible ideas going through my head.

“Maybe I can,” you whispered, melting into me in a passionate, hot, wet kiss, dancing with my body, caressing my hair, my back, comically fighting with your pajamas so they would disappear from our path.

 “Mom, mom!” a shrill voice sounded behind the door, causing you to move, to turn away from me with scared eyes.

Small steps approached the bed and with the strength that a 6 year old girl could have, Giovanna climbed up to meet us.

“Gio, what are you doing here?” you asked, your face blushing. “Why did you get up?”

“I've had a nightmare...” the girl murmured, looking at me out of the corner of her eye, with a strange feeling that made me raise my eyebrow.

“Oh, a nightmare?” you said, taking the girl in her arms. “You just fell asleep, darling.”

“Yes, but I had the nightmare,” she said, looking away. Was she lying?

“Oh, poor Gio, the evil monsters again?” you asked with a tender voice, placing the little girl between the two of us.

I couldn't help but sigh tiredly. It might seem like a tender moment, a moment when our daughter needed that coveted motherly love. Well, it could be like that, but I knew it wasn't.

When she was born, she was a good baby, who cried like a normal baby, who let herself be rocked, who fell asleep in my arms. That changed over the years. Somehow, as if she had noticed the absence of her mother in the first moments of her life, she could no longer live without her.

Always with you, the girl was always with you, she cooked with you, she bathed with you, and, of course, she slept with you.

The nights stopped being a small bastion of intimacy between us when Giovanna had enough capacity to reason. Sometimes I thought she did it on purpose, to annoy me. She couldn't think that way. I really was trying not to think that way.

“Yes, mom...” the little girl sighed, causing another hug from you and a look of helplessness that you gave me over your shoulder. “Can I sleep here?”

“No, tesoro,” I said, taking the girl in my arms, in a furious outburst at that interruption.

I wouldn't have acted like that if it hadn't been the countless times it happened. “Come on, let's put you to bed.”

“No! I want to stay with mom,” the girl protested, breaking free from my grip, crawling comically across the bed to reach your arms. You laughed, shaking your head.

“(Y/N), tell her something,” I said, showing clear displeasure at the situation. My patience grew as the girl did, but lately it was slowing down, maybe too fast.

You shrugged, hugging our daughter, who seemed to be having another of her usual tantrums.

“Oh, come on, Donna, poor thing. It's okay. She can sleep with us,” you said, giving in to the little girl's emotional blackmail, to those fake tears that ran down her cheek.

“It's okay if it were the first time, (Y/N)” I said, sitting on the bed. “She has to learn to face her fears.”

“Mamma mean... Mom, mamma is mean...” Giovanna said, hanging on to your pajamas, looking at me with eyes that I wished I had never seen. They seemed full of hatred, irrational hatred. Why did she remind me so much of me?

“No, don't say that, honey, mommy Donna isn't mean, she cares about you,” you sighed, cradling the little girl in your arms.

I laughed nervously and crossed my arms, shaking my head. Despised by my own daughter, was this the punishment that awaited me for my horrible acts?

“Well, then she has to let me sleep with you,” the girl said, without bothering to look at my face.

“She's going to do it, right, Donna?” you asked, looking at me. I couldn't do anything else. I had to nod in defeat, for my own daughter.

“Oh, okay,” I huffed, getting under the covers.

I looked at the girl, the girl looked at me and did something that made me sit up again. Her face radiated the sweet taste of victory, sticking her tongue out at me mockingly.

“Hey!” I protested, annoyed by that unpleasant gesture. “(Y/N), the girl stuck her tongue out at me.”

“Oh, come on, stop it and let's go to sleep,” you said tiredly, turning off the light on the table, enveloping the room in the deepest darkness.

I wanted to protest again, to punish Giovanna for treating me that way, but I did nothing, as always. I just crossed my arms again, pressed against the edge of the bed.

Silence finally reigned in my head, and in my ears. Frustrated and nervous, I thought about everything that was happening, about my daughter's unfair attitude towards me. You said that perhaps she had inherited that possessiveness.

 I trembled to think that it could be that way.

Of all my flaws, that was the worst. Just thinking that my daughter could become someone like me... My entire body trembled with terror at that idea, my stomach clenched as I imagined it. Giovanna had inherited almost all of my looks, that wasn't a bad thing. But that her mind worked like mine, that she thought she had to have you to herself...

No, that was something that horrified me, something I tried to ignore in each and every one of her tantrums.

With my eye open, thinking about that possibility, I spent part of the night, well, until a small foot hit me in the face, snapping me out of my own personal torture.

“Mamma, move, I don't have room,” the girl protested, causing me to grunt, pushing her small leg away with an angry gasp.

“You have plenty of room, Giovanna,” I said with a serious voice, perhaps too serious for such a young girl. She didn't seem to care and she continued kicking my body until she forced me to fall off the bed with a thud.

“Mamma, you fell,” my daughter whispered, with a malicious tone, with a tone I hated hearing.

A mocking laugh reached my ears. It wasn't the girl. It was you, (Y/N).

Did you really find it funny that my daughter looked down on me like that? My dark mind lurked in my thoughts, but I was stronger, at that moment I could control my impulses, although I didn't know for how long.

“Do you find it funny? Your daughter kicked me out of bed,” I said furiously, suddenly getting up from the floor.

“No, no, not at all,” you said, not knowing how to hide the mockery that appeared in your words.

I sighed again, running a hand through my hair, shaking my head.

“You know what? You can stay there, I'm leaving,” I said furiously, grabbing one of the cushions from the bed, leaving the room, stopped by your mocking hand on my wrist.

“Come on, Donna, stop acting like a child and go back to bed,” you said, your voice tired. I opened my eyes wide, offended by that reproach.

“Do I behave like a child?” I asked, with my hands on my hips. “Tell your daughter, she hasn't stopped until she kicked me out of bed and...”

“Donna, stop it,” you scolded me, leaving me glued to the wooden floor. “I don't know which of the two is more childish, really...” you sighed, turning around, letting me go.

I opened my mouth to say something, but my insides were churning furiously. I knew I was right, but I couldn't help but feel that it was internal rage, an uncontrolled rage that clouded my disturbed mind was the reason for all your suffering. I would never hurt you again, (Y/N), ever again.

“Buoa notte,” I whispered before disappearing down the hallway, walking towards the office.

Lying back on that old sofa, I thought about whether all of that was really a punishment, if the happiness I felt from having you next to me, from having a family, was just the illusion of reward, instead of a macabre game of hell itself.

“Hello, hello, hello, exiled again?” a familiar, too familiar voice asked, Angie, who entered the office with an amused step.

“What do you think?” I asked, settling down on that horrible sofa, looking away from that annoying doll. “If you did your job well…”

“What job?” the doll asked, jumping into my stomach, with a maddening voice that I didn't need to hear.

“Giovanna has had nightmares again,” I commented in a low voice, forcing Angie to get off my body, turning around, trying not to stick the wood of that sofa that little by little was becoming my new bed.

“Oh, I didn't know,” she muttered, climbing up again, just to annoy me. Why would my own conscience want to annoy me? It seemed like everyone was against me, as always.

“You didn’t know? You sleep with her,” I said incredulously, suspecting something I already knew. Angie shrugged, shaking her head from side to side. “Piccola bugiarda…”

“Don't blame her. She wants to be with her mother,” the doll said, downplaying the fact that my daughter was a little liar, something admirable at her age, but equally irritating.

“I'm her mother too,” I protested, sitting up, saying out loud a truth that my own daughter seemed to deny from the moment she said her first word, from the moment she decided not to separate from you.

“That's quite obvious,” Angie murmured, making me roll my eye and cross my arms, pressing my nails into my skin.

“But it seems like I’m not... Giovanna doesn't see me as such,” I said with a lower voice. “Cazzo, Angie, I can't even spend a moment with (Y/N) alone...”

“Oh...” the puppet sighed, forcing me to look at her. “I don't think you're jealous of your own daughter, Donna.”

“What? Of course I’m not,” I said immediately, separating that possibility from my head, the possibility that had been tormenting me for some time.

“Well, it seems like it,” Angie rebuked, earning a strong push from me to took her off the couch.

“Don’t say nonsense. I'm sure it's a phase or something...” I muttered, grabbing the cushion to channel my anger into that piece of fabric instead of losing my nerve.

I hadn't lost my mind for too long, I wanted you to be proud of me.

“Well, well, what you want is to be alone with (Y/N) to make more babies to get on my nerves,” the irreverent puppet commented.

I huffed tiredly. Of course, Angie was part of me. She was just as possessive and jealous as me, as Giovanna...

“You don't understand,” I said in a dark tone, looking away from her. “I adore our daughter but I would like to have time for (Y/N) and me and… Besides, I'm afraid of…”

“Of what, Donna?”

“I’m afraid of Giovanna being like me”

That night I barely slept. The erratic thoughts in my head wandered freely thanks to the lack of your body hugging mine, your heat dissipating my demons. No, I couldn't be jealous of Giovanna, I couldn't feel hatred towards the person I loved most in the world. Or maybe I can, I didn't know, I was incapable of controlling everything that was going through my head, I was incapable of not seeing myself in my daughter's hateful glances.

“Good morning, darling...” your soft voice, your caresses on my hair woke me up from my recurring nightmares, some in which my old self took control of my actions, some in which I hurt you, again. “Have you been able to sleep?”

“Yes, well, I'm used to that horrible couch,” I murmured, yawning, sitting up to return those precious caresses, that kiss that I wanted to give you to calm my senses.

“Donna,” you sighed, with a sad look, lack of that fun that always guided your life. “Come on, don't be mad.”

“I'm not mad,” I said defensively, bringing my knees to my chest. “How did the little princess sleep?” I asked, unable to prevent irony from coating my words.

“Well, well, it seems like she doesn't have nightmares anymore,” you commented, oblivious to the mockery of my question, or rather, wanting to be oblivious to it.

“Yeah, sure,” I said, shaking my head, with a fake smile on my face.

“Don't be like that with Gio, she's a little girl, it's normal that she wants to be with her mother,” you explained, never ceasing in your attempt to calm me down with your caresses.

 I wish it had been that easy from the beginning, I wish your love could have put an end to my jealousy.

“With you, of course,” I murmured angrily, squeezing my fist tightly, a fist you grabbed, undoing its shape before it hurt me, again.

“Don't have a hard time, my love. You know what Giovanna is like, she's like…”

“Like me,” I interrupted, making you sigh intensely and lower your gaze. That was what you were going to say, it doesn't matter if you denied it.

“Yes, but not in the way you're thinking,” you said, lying, I could see it in your eyes, you were lying.

Liar

“I need to take a shower,” you commented, leaving aside that interesting and dangerous topic of conversation. “Why don't you give the girl breakfast? So you spend some time together.”

“She’s going to to bite me,” I murmured, unintentionally earning another of your tender laughs, another of your quick kisses on the lips, caresses and kisses I never deserved.

“Stop protesting and act like a mother,” you said amused, leaving the office.

I growled, uncovering myself and going to look for that little monster.

“Come on, Giovanna, drink the milk...” I said, tired of the girl's obvious refusal.

Already dressed, I prepared to fulfill the task you gave me, bathing the little girl and giving her breakfast. To say it was easy was a dirty liar. It was not.

Giovanna's protests grated in my ears. She loved her mother, she loved you.

“I don't want to, where is mom?” Giovanna asked, in a childlike posture, crossing her arms and dodging each of my attempts to bring the glass to her mouth.

“Mom is taking a shower, come on, obey,” I said, already tired from that infernal bath, from the kicks and punches of protest from my daughter, from our daughter. If she didn't look so much like me, I'd think she was just yours.

“I don't want to,” the girl said, looking at me proudly. I snorted, getting angry.

“Giovanna...” I hissed threateningly, sternly. She shook her head. “Come on, don't make it more difficult for me.”

“What have you done to mom?” she asked, leaving me stunned, leaving me breathless because of that horrible accusation.

“What are you talking about, tesoro?” I asked incredulously at those words, at that question. Did she remember she existed because I forced you to? It didn't seem possible.

“Mom's not here, I'm sure it's your fault,” the girl repeated, without looking at my face, gracefully avoiding my attempts to get her to eat breakfast.

“Don't talk nonsense and have breakfast at once,” I said tiredly, ignoring that horrible accusation.

“I don't want to, I want mom to come,” Giovanna said, kicking in the chair, threatening with another tantrum.

“I told you... Mom is taking a shower,” I whispered, losing my patience. “Eat breakfast or I won't let you play with Angie.”

Apparently, the threat of punishment had an effect. The girl clumsily picked up the glass, drinking some milk. I sighed in relief, but not for long. With a mocking sound, the milk in her mouth shot into the worst possible place, into my face.

I blinked in shock at this evil act and tried to ignore the boisterous laughter of the Angie doll, who seemed to be writhing on the floor, amused at my expense.

“It's over, you're punished,” I said furiously, grabbing the little girl's arm, who protested with an exaggerated scream.

“Let me go! Mom!” the little girl yelled, disconsolately calling her mother, calling you, her savior.

“Stai zitto, Giovanna,” I said furiously with a dark voice, but maintaining my composure, wiping my face.

“Lasciami in pace!” she screeched in response, moving erratically.

“Io sono la tua mamma, ascoltami, Giovanna...” I whispered, stopping that protest as best I could, being totally incapable.

“Tu non sei la mia mamma, sei una stupida!” she screamed, insulting me, making it clear that she didn't love me, that she only loved you.

That was a hard blow for my fragile mind, too hard.

“Hey, hey...” your voice resonated to calm that bloody battle, appearing from the hallway with a gaze fixed on the girl, with a frown. “What's going on here? If you're going to fight, at least do it in my language, will you?”

 “Your daughter, (Y/N), that's what's happening,” I said furiously, unable to get rid of the strong accent that anger made me have. You approached, shaking your head, running a hand through my hair.

“What happened to you? Has a cow fallen on your face?” you joked, making the girl laugh in amusement, being picked up by your protective arms.

I didn't know what to say, I simply tried to fight against my wounded heart, against the tears that threatened to slide down my cheek.

With a growl, I walked away from you, quickly, ignoring your calls.

“Donna! Hey, Donna! Come here,” you shouted, calling me. I turned to look at you, but I could only see the girl's triumphant eyes, ones that almost made me lose control.

I ignored your screams, going down to the basement, running quickly towards my room, containing the rage that was beginning to build up in my fists.

Furious, I kicked a chair, kicked the bed, and pulled my hair. The situation was unbearable but... No, I couldn't lose my mind in front of you, of our daughter. I couldn't go back to being that evil woman who ruined your life, the one who forced you through her deranged mind. I didn't want it to come back, but I couldn't stop it.

“Maledizione!” I shouted, releasing all my anger in a punch that hit the mirror of the old dresser. Blood flowed from my hand. The pain was intense, but not compared to the damage to my delicate, sensitive, sick heart...

How to deal with the love I felt for you, and for my daughter? How to handle those horrible feelings that haunted me? I loved Giovanna. I loved her more than my own life, even if she didn't feel the same way.

Jealousy, possessiveness, yes, there was no longer any doubt, it was my fault. Giovanna was born for that reason. She came into the world because of my pathetic and crazy obsession with keeping you by my side. Just as it happened with me, it happened with her. My desire not to lose you, to keep you close to me had passed to Giovanna, turning her into my reflection, into an adorable version of the monster that I considered myself to be.

The situation was getting out of control. I should never have been a mother, I didn't deserve it. I didn't deserve to have you by my side. Your words, the love you said you felt for me were no longer enough.

That was my punishment for keeping you. That was my punishment for all the harm I did to you, creating something wonderful, a beautiful daughter, only for me to be nothing to her, just a nuisance, a threat that stood between her mother and her.

I looked at the blood that flowed from my knuckles, that blood that reminded me that I was still a human being. I shook my head, I buried it in my arms and there, in the solitude of my room, far from my family, far from the most important things in the world for me, I cried inconsolably.

“Quando ci vuole, ci vuole, mm?” I repeated that phrase looking at myself in the broken mirror, demanding a bit of fortitude from myself, gaining enough strength to get up and return to your side.

No matter how hard the path was, my duty was to walk along it. That was my penance.

“You shouldn't treat mommy that way, honey... She loves you very much.” Your voice caught my attention, making me hide before revealing myself again.

“She doesn't love me, she just wants to take me away from you,” the girl said, sobbing. That made me squirm again, but I managed to stay calm.

“No, that's not true, darling. Donna would do anything for you, for us… Remember how she made you Mrs. Freckles? She's your favorite doll, right?” you asked, giving Giovanna that doll, one that I made her when she was three years old, when she didn't hate me.

“Yes...” Giovanna said, hugging the doll tightly. That was the closest I'd come to her to give me some love the last two years. I cried again thinking about it.

“Besides, you don't remember but... Thanks to your mom, you're healthy and strong now, I'm sure you didn't know that,” you commented, with a soft voice, cradling the girl, calming her tantrum.

Giovanna shook her head, curious.

“I don't remember,” she said, with her hand on her mouth, in an adorable way. Well, at least it made me smile.

“Of course not, you had just been born and I... Well, I got very, very sick... I couldn't take care of you, but do you know who did?” you asked, with a voice similar to the one you used when you told her a story.

 The girl shook her head.

“Donna, your mommy, she took care of you until I got well again. She fed you, changed your diaper, sang lullabies to you to make you fall asleep...” You explained, making the knot in my stomach grow stronger. I didn't want to remember those two weeks, I didn't want to.

“Mamma Donna?” the girl asked, lowering her gaze.

“Yes, honey, she was very kind to you, you should be a good girl and return her favor, don't you think?” you said, with a softer voice.

The girl seemed to think about it, but finally, just as I suspected, she shook her head.

“Go to play with Angie, okay?” you said when you looked at me out of the corner of your eye, when you realized my presence. “Then we could take a walk in the forest, would you like to?”

“Yes, yes, a walk!” Giovanna said, excited about the idea, running around the room, passing by me without even looking at me.

“Donna, darling,” you sighed, walking slowly towards me, looking down at my wound, still bleeding. “Oh, my love… Have you hurt yourself again?”

I nodded, trying not to look at her, feeling ashamed, feeling that I was the monster you seemed to fall in love with once again.

“Gods, what have you done? Come, let's heal you,” you sighed, with that look you had when my mind went crazy, something that hadn't happened for too long.

Slowly, with a sad look, you bandaged my wound, not wanting to say anything, looking at me from time to time, with pity, thinking you had lost me again.

“Giovanna said I wasn't her mother,” I murmured while you worked on my wound. You looked at me, sighing, closing the bandage around my hand, holding it in yours.

“Don't pay attention to her, she's a little girl. You know that children say a lot of nonsense,” you commented, lifting my chin so you could see my face damaged by crying.

“It's not nonsense,” I said, furious again.

"Of course it is. Giovanna loves you, even if she doesn't tell you, I know,” you said in a soft tone, trying to convince me to abandon that shameful jealousy, that lack of your love that girl was forcing me to feel.

“You think so?” I said, turning around, looking on the coffee table for one of the many drawings my daughter made and showing it to you superbly. “Where am I here?”

“Oh, well...” you said, taking the sheet of paper, looking at the figures of Giovanna, Angie and you. “Oh, look, here you are,” you said smiling, pointing to a small black figure in the corner of the paper. I raised my eyebrows.

“There are lint in this house bigger than that black stain,” I said ironically, becoming defensive again.

“That black stain is you,” you joked, nudging me. I looked at you with a burning gaze, making you step back.

“Exactly, I'm just a black stain in our daughter's life, and in your life,” I murmured, looking away.

“No, that's not true, you know I love you very much Donna. You know that I...” you said, almost begging for me to listen to you, too late.

“I have to work on my dolls,” I said, getting up from the couch, rubbing the bandaged wound on my hand. “Thank you for healing me.”

“Donna, honey, wait...”

Nothing you said could be enough to calm the tide of my dark thoughts.

Just a black stain, a monster that wanted to separate my daughter from her mother, that was me in that family, nothing else.

“We'll be back before it gets dark,” you said, kissing me on the cheek as you said goodbye, heading out the door. “Come on, Gio, give mommy a kiss,” you ordered the girl, who was tugging impatiently at your dress.

“I don't want to,” the girl murmured, taking refuge between your legs. “Come on, mom, come on.”

You looked at me, apologizing for her, I shook my head. Not even Angie stayed with me.

With nothing better to do, I leaned on the porch railing, watching you walk away, letting my mind think that this might be the last time I saw you. In my hands, I held the black veil with which I used to cover my face, imagining a fleeting hope that would allow me to go with you.

I'm just stupid, like my daughter said. I didn't deserve the fantastic family I had. I never did it, it was all my fault.

“Look, Donna, what a kick... It's incredible...”

“Do you think we should paint the room? It's a bit dull for a girl, or a boy...”

“I want to see what it's like...”

As I looked somewhere I didn't notice, I remembered those moments, those horrible moments of your pregnancy, horrible, yes, but also tender, adorable. I was to blame for your suffering and your smiles. The harm that little Giovanna did to you was the first of my punishments.

I sighed, letting a tear fall onto the wooden floor, shaking my head, denying myself the truth of a terrible thought. You would be much better off without me.

“Donna, Donna!” A shrill voice derived that horrible thought from my head. My Angie doll appeared from the trees, clumsily running towards me.

“Angie? What's going on?” I asked, shaking my head as I ran to pick up the puppet, who was panting comically from that impromptu run.

“(Y/N), (Y/N) and Gio are in trouble, you have to help them, quickly!” the doll shouted, pulling the fabric of my dress. I, scared by that phrase, calmed the puppet by shaking it so it would stop babbling.

“What? In trouble?” I asked scared, with my body trembling with fear.

“Some bad men have trapped them in the forest, you have to do something, run, run!”

Frightened by that revelation, I put the black veil over my face, lowering the doll to the ground. My gaze darkened.

Nobody touches my family.

“Okay, take me there, Angie,” I whispered.

The doll nodded and led me by the hand into the depths of the forest.

“Do you want to stay still, you damn brat?” A deep voice reached my ears. This horrible vision appeared behind some bushes.

Two men, probably from the village, were holding my daughter, holding you in the same way while you kicked, trying unsuccessfully to get out of their grasp.

“Ah! Damn! She has bitten me!” The fatter one yelled, protesting against Giovanna's surprising attack against his hand.

“Let my mom go, you silly! Let her go!” the girl shouted, now in the arms of that evil man.

“Damn child!” the other man shouted, trying to keep you still.

“Gio!” you screamed, watching how the girl kicked tirelessly. My whole body burned with rage. “Let her go, you asshole, she's a child!”

“I will if you give me what I want, young lady,” the bandit murmured.

“I already told you that we don't have money!” you screamed again, growling, fighting with the hands that went to your neck.

“I think so, look at that girl's doll, it must be worth a lot of lei...”

“No, Mrs. Freckles!” Giovanna yelled, when that vermin snatched her doll.

“You're screwing up quite well... You don't know where you've gotten yourself,” you growled, your eyes burning with helplessness.

I couldn't take it anymore.

“Mamma!”  Giovanna  said when I, with a calm, threatening step, appeared from the shadows.

“Ah!” the fat man shouted, receiving a well-deserved kick in the crotch from my daughter, something that made me smile.

“Damn... What the hell...?” the man murmured, now moaning in pain, while I picked up my frightened daughter in my arms.

“Oliver, look who she is...” the man holding you said, pointing at me, who was trying to comfort the little girl's crying.

“Oh, shit...” the fat man sighed, eyes wide open, kneeling in the snow. “Lady Beneviento…”

I didn't say anything, I just sighed, cradling my daughter who, for once, clung to me disconsolately.

“Donna,” you whispered, with a triumphant smile.

“Greg, I think you should let the girl go,” the kneeling man said. His friend, unfortunately for him, didn’t seem to pay attention to him.

“Are you stupid? She can't hurt us, she's just a nutcase,” his partner said, with a crazy look, putting a knife to your neck. “Don’t, don't move or the girl dies.”

“Greg, no...” the fat man said, pulling on his partner's clothes.

“Are you a coward or what's wrong with you?” this Greg guy snapped, smiling in a horrible way, holding the sharp blade to your delicate neck. “One, one step back, you doll psychopath…”

Of course, I didn't obey.

“Don't insult her, dude... Don’t do it...” his partner lamented, closing his eyes and bowing his head.

“Get up, now we have the control. She won't do anything if she doesn't want the girl to get hurt,” that stupid man said, making me laugh. “Give us everything you have if you don't want us hurt her. I will do it, I swear...”

“No, you won't,” I whispered, extending my free hand toward them.

“Ah! Snakes!” the fat man shouted, rolling on the ground. “They are everywhere!”

The girl looked at me smiling curiously, just like you, who was no longer trembling.

“What do you say, Giovanna? What do you think can scare that stupid guy so much?” I asked amused, looking into the scared eyes of the man who was still holding you.

“Mmm,” the girl murmured, changing terror for amusement. “Coccodrilli!”

“I like it,” I said with a dark look, walking towards that man who was threatening you. His eyes changed to ones of terror, especially since his partner continued to struggle with his hallucinations.

“No, no, wait, wait,” he said, letting you go and putting his hands up. “It, it was a misunderstanding, I... Ah! It has torn off my arm!” He said horrified, when he finally succumbed to my powers.

You ran to my side, into my arms, with a smile of relief, the three of us watching that pitiful spectacle together.

“They’re everywhere!”

“It ripped off my leg! Help!”

I approached them slowly, putting a hand on your shoulder, holding little Giovanna in my arms.

“The next time you mess with my family I won't be pious,” I threatened, giving as much fear as I could, being that monster I hated so much being, to protect my family.

“That’s right!” the girl said “Fools!”

The rats fled at last, leaving a small moment of tension behind them.

“Gods, Donna, you showed up,” you whispered, removing the black cloth from my face, kissing me quickly and then our daughter. “Gio, are you okay?”

“Mrs. Freckles!” the girl screamed. I lowered her to the ground so she could run towards her doll, now with a broken arm.

“Don't worry, honey, Donna will fix it,” you said, you now being the one holding the girl, as expected. “Come on, let's go home…”

The way back was silent. Your hand in mine expressed gratitude, love, what I didn't think you felt for me. Even Giovanna's distrustful look seemed to change, looking at me embarrassedly over your shoulder, as if she were sad, or sorry for something.

The next day the routine continued, but not before talking at length about that incident. Miraculously, Giovanna didn’t seem to have nightmares that night and, surprisingly, according to you, excited by my bravery, you allowed me to make love to you, for the first time in many months.

That small release seemed to mark the beginning of a new stage, or maybe it was just that the girl was too sleepy to want to annoy me. I didn't know.

Like every day, I worked on my dolls, well, that time, on poor Mrs. Freckles, repairing her arm in silence, with the only sound of the workshop clock keeping me company.

A tug on my dress distracted me. I hadn't heard her, but my daughter had entered the workshop like a silent breeze. I assumed she wanted to check the state of Mrs. Freckles' injury.

“Mamma...” she murmured, with her head bowed. I sighed, smiling, pretending that I had no hard feelings, pretending I didn't care about her attitude toward me.

“What do you want, tesoro? She's almost fixed,” I murmured, looking at the doll again. The girl tugged at my dress again, now catching my attention.

Giovanna didn't say anything. She just moved her hands up, opening and closing her fists with a sad look, asking, surprisingly, to be held in my arms.

I, without hesitation, obeyed her silent request, sitting her on my lap while I fixed her favorite doll.

“Will she recover?” she asked, observing my work. I smiled sincerely, nodding.

“Of course,” I said, amused. “Mrs. Freckles is very brave, don't you think?”

Giovanna nodded profusely, with a hand on her mouth, a hand that I slowly withdrew, so I could see the precious daughter I conceived.

“You are also very brave,” she murmured, as if something was stopping her from saying that. I stopped sewing, looking at my daughter's sincere expression. “You saved us.”

“I only did what I had to do, tesoro, protect my family,” I said with a slightly serious tone, accommodating the girl in a more comfortable position.

“I have a gift for you...” Giovanna whispered, taking one of her little hands to the pocket of her dress and taking out a sheet of paper.

I picked it up slowly, frowning when I saw one of Giovanna's drawings. Mysteriously, I seemed to be the protagonist.

“Look, mamma, it's you, see?” she explained, pointing to my dark figure in the  middle of the drawing, rising triumphantly over two evil bandits. “Look, that's mom and me, smiling because you saved us.”

“Giovanna, it's... Amazing...” I sighed, trying not to get too excited, looking over and over again at the surprising details of that drawing.

“You will always protect us, right?” she asked with a low voice, as if she was also about to cry.

“Of course, tesoro,” I said, wiping away a tear that finally ran down her cheek. “Mom and you are the most important things in my life.”

“And will we always be?” the girl asked, a little more worried.

“Always, my love,” I said, with a smile.

“Won't you let them hurt mom?” she asked again.

 I shook my head.

“Never,” I said, with a more serious tone. Giovanna smiled and, with an unexpected gesture, jumped into my arms, hugging me tightly, with an affection that I could never imagine or deserve.

“I love you so much, mamma...” she whispered with a tender voice, finally making me emotional.

“I love you too, my beautiful girl...”

[shcyc]

! ETERNAL DEVOTION

synopsis: zhongli finds you worshipping him and offers you a contract

cw; sub fem! reader, god / mortal dynamic, fingering, vaginal penetration, size difference, age gap, mentions of mind control, also slight monster fucking

controlling a mortal was as simple as a snap of his fingers, you'd be under his spell doing everything his way — but one look at you tells him he doesn't need to do that because you'd succumb to him the moment he appeared in front of you, just like you were born to be his, body and mind

zhongli's eyes follow you as you place the last piece of offering beneath his statue; the young rex lapis would have asked for more, for you to kneel and pray, but he's aged, he's no longer at his peak and he’s tired of all the arrogance he once had

however, you, this young and innocent girl with such a strong devotion to your god, has that part of him vacillating once more, a part of him determined to make you his, to feel greater again

he is selfish when he reveals his identity to you one night, handing you a contract on what he wants out of this ‘relationship’ — and you were so quick to oblige, so obedient, so good for him, just like how he predicted the moment he laid eyes on you

zhongli feels like he’s ascending to celestia when he pulls you onto his lap, ass soft and plush on his aching dick, giving it just the right amount of pleasure like you knew what it needed

his clawed hands finally appears after years of hiding in the facade of ‘the human zhongli’, and he sighs in pleasure at the feeling, leaving light scratches on your already naked body — he thinks the way your moans and whimpers spill from your mouth is downright sinful, but he can't deny that it makes him want more

when you nod meekly and bring his hand to your dripping core, he tells you that it'll be okay, that he'll make you feel good if you give him the chance — and he's grown bigger without his knowledge, so big that he thinks if he pushes himself in, he'll split you apart

his fingers work magic on your pussy as he frees himself from the restraints of his pants, letting the leaking tip press against the crevice of your ass, golden cum smearing on your untouched body, burning into your skin; a sign that your god is marking you as his

he deems you ready when you cum around his fingers for the second time, body spasming in his embrace — his eyes roll involuntarily the minute he presses his dick into you, so wet, so tight, so warm and perfect, squeezing him so deliciously that he may cum on the spot

no mortal or celestial being had ever made him feel this way; it made him realize what 'making love' really meant, rather than just ‘sex’ which he had been doing for the past 6000 years of his life

zhongli effortlessly flips you around, forcing you to face him as you struggle to adjust to his sheer size, the stretch painful yet addictive — you're clinging on for dear life as he bounces you on his cock, hands holding you in place to prevent you from fleeing, not when you're both on cloud nine — so you allow yourself to sink deeper into the feeling, relaxing and surrendering your body to morax, allowing him to show you his promise from the start

“gonna cum—”

warnings sputter from you as you bury your face into his chest, and he groans at the view; the size difference along with the way your gummy walls spasm around him pushes him closer to the edge as well

his fingers wrap around your neck to force eye contact with him before kissing you roughly, his longer dragon tongue dipping into the warm cavern, tangling with your own

“cum. cum for me, mortal.”

white surrounds you the moment you hear the command, body freezing up at the orgasm that knocked the wind out of you — zhongli’s own high has him seeing stars, something he’s never experienced before

it took him sometime to regain consciousness, his gaze immediately trailing to where the two of you are connected as he watches golden streaks of cum drip out in amazement

for a while, he let himself become vulnerable, allowing the two of you to stay like that as you fall asleep on him, bathing in the silence of the night and the warmth of another, something he hadn't had in a long, long time

[josukegappyhigashikata]

Not every character is meant to be likeable: Jake Disventure Camp.

So, as of late I've been seeing people dislike and be annoyed at Jake and like... yeah! He is meant to be exasperating but I don't think that's bad writing at all.

Meanwhile I would absolutely never call Disventure Camp a perfectly written show I will say that it has had very good character writing with having delivered some high notes on both of the previous seasons so now I wanna talk about Jake's writing in All-Stars.

First of all, Jake's writing? Very consistent. Jake's title was the naive one and yeah he is naive. He is paranoid as hell, he is gullible as sin, he is easily tricked by others, he is so easily manipulable to the point of characters pointing that out and all of those traits have been consistent with Jake through his seasons. The newest trait found was Jake's jealousy over Aiden but that jealousy was born over his paranoia and naivety which are both part of his established traits.

Also, something to be mentioned is that just like Ellie, James and Riya he has a context and background for those tough edges. We know that Jake's family life is not the best both from the show and from extra material, we also know that he was in a toxic relationship that he later got cheated on which was the breaking point of the relationship. Living with a family that you feel that you're always waiting for a mess to happen, which is implied his parents don't accept his homosexuality, would have easily made someone paranoid which now with a toxic relationship and one of the actual worst things happened to him? Jake is always waiting for something bad to happen and when that bad thing happens he thrives in his own victimization. Meanwhile this was seen in his season this has been more focused on the latest season and not only that but it has been less sympathetic towards him how easily he falls into those spirals of negativity.

Jake has had a lot of focus on All-Stars but also he is one of the characters that has his arc not be resolved at all, just like how Alec, Aiden and Gabby didn't have their arcs finished on their seasons by having other characters take priority over them. Now it seems they're taking their time to finish almost all the arcs they didn't give a proper conclusion to.

Now, I will say that I don't adore how he is a grown ass man being coddled by women which now Ashley was used for his development even though I know a character like Ashley wasn't made like Grett or Jake where they really thought of making them deep characters. It's still no excuse to have a female character that had already not had a lot of time to shine just be a stepping stone for a male character but it has a reason for it even if I dislike it.

Is Jake a dislikeable character? For some people? Yeah, he is very much dislikeable but also the traits he is disliked for are things that are written to be traits you see as negative. You're not meant to say: "Oh, yeah. It's fine that Jake is a stupid dumbass that gets clouded by his feelings at any moment." because it's obvious that his arc is overcoming those flaws in his character.

You might find Jake dislikeable and that's alright but I don't think that's bad writing, it's also not wrong if you like him since not only is he an entertaining character in his own messiness (which is that messiness why I find him an entertaining character) but he is a sympathetic character with what we know of him.

You're not meant to like every character, sometimes characters start dislikeable and you're meant to see them grow out of their flaws which after the tenth episode of All-Stars it seems that's where Jake is going.

Ever so often you have to take a step back and ask yourself: "What are the creators trying to convey with this story? Is it me not liking certain traits of a character an intended outcome?"

[portaltothevoid]

Between Breaths (An XXX Perspective) - Terzo x Reader

Summary: You're the Head Witch at the Ministry. Arguably at times you hold more power than the current Papa, Papa Emeritus III. You've always hated him and you assumed the feeling was mutual. But what happens when he calls you out on it?

song: between breaths (an xx perspective) by blaqk audio

A/N: had an idea that was encouraged by @copias-juicebox, @fishwithtitz, and @da-rulah. you can thank them or blame them for this. idk i guess i have terzo brainrot. enjoy the absolute filth that is this one shot. (pictures for the mood board all found on pinterest)

word count: 6.5k

warnings: MDNI. enemies to lovers, angst, female reader, hate sex, semi-public sex, library sex, oral m-receiving & f-receiving, face fucking, deepthroating, dom!terzo, brat!reader, edging, fingering, squirting, p in v, face slapping, unprotected sex, cream pie, using a belt as a makeshift whip, choking, lots of bickering banter before the smut, not really proofread, self-translated italian

Being the Head Witch of the Satanic Church definitely had its perks. For example, you could go in and out of the restricted section of the library as you pleased without having to provide any explanation as to why you needed a certain book, your living quarters rivaled that of the highest clergy members, and you were the one calling the shots with anything related to magic, be it a conjuring or a protection spell, a cord cutting. Sometimes your power within the Ministry rivaled that of Papa, the Anti-Pope, much to his chagrin, of course. 

Brothers and Sisters of Sin alike flocked to you, not only for your expertise, but because you were drop dead gorgeous, charismatic, feisty, and because you had power. With your office being directly across from Papa’s, you would often catch him glaring at you from his desk as the door to your office might have been a revolving one with how many people were in and out of it. And especially during major holidays, did the Children of the Ministry come knocking at your door. It sometimes seemed like they had forgotten about their darling Papa Emeritus III. They only had eyes for you. That drove him crazy and thus, your rivalry was born.

Despite seeming to have it all, it grew tiring to be constantly surrounded by so many people. Having company at night was great and all, but the connections were vapid. You had no choice but to keep any and all suitors at arm’s length; it was safer that way, both for you and for them. Your work was demanding and that would always come first. There was an aching loneliness that gnawed at you, but you refused to acknowledge it. Relationships, true connection, only got in the way. You weren’t the youngest Head Witch the church had ever seen, barely even in your thirties, because you spent time curating intimate and genuine relationships in the hopes of one day starting a family. You had ambitions, goals, and nothing would get in the way of that.

This led to quite the paradox: you were surrounded by people, loved and excelled at your job, and even craved solitude, but the loneliness that clawed at your heart could be suffocating.

Tonight was one of those paradoxical nights where you wanted nothing more than to be alone, but you wished there was someone you could be alone with – no expectations, no ulterior motives, just the mere act of coexisting with someone who had chosen you and you had chosen them. Often, you would find yourself in the library on nights like this. People would be too engrossed in their own studies to pay you any mind. Or you would just stay in the restricted section, knowing very few people had access to it. 

It was quiet enough that you found yourself just outside the off-limits occult books. You weren’t looking for anything in particular, perhaps you’d know when you found it. 

Too lost in your own thoughts, you didn’t notice the last person you wanted to see walking towards you until it was too late to make a swift getaway. “Buona sera, cara mia (my dear),” greeted the illustrious Papa as he leaned his back against the bookshelf, an arrogant smirk on his face. 

You set your book on the shelf in front of you as your head tilted back with an exasperated sigh escaping you. “What do you want, Terzo? I’m not in the mood for your bullshit tonight.” 

He put a gloved hand to his chest and gasped dramatically. “I am offended.”

“Clearly not enough to leave me alone.”

“Ah, you see, that I cannot do, because I’m looking for something, a book actually, and I just so happened to see you, and perhaps you could find it in your cold, black heart to help me.”

It was your turn to gasp dramatically as you slowly turned to face him. “You can read?!”

Terzo rolled his eyes in annoyance. “Will you help me or not?” he asked curtly. 

“Sure! The children’s section is downstairs, to the left, all the way to the back. You can’t miss it.”

“I didn’t rise to Papa with the reading level of a toddler,” he retorted with an edge to his voice.

“You’re right, my mistake. It must have been the nepotism.” 

He let out a frustrated puff as he pushed himself away from the bookshelf and started to walk away. Your quiet chuckle was loud enough so that he turned on his heel and walked right back up to you. “I don’t understand why you hate me so much.”

“Because you’re a pompous figurehead with a constant need for attention who’s had nearly everything handed to him and the fact your dick sees more traffic than the 405 on a Friday night during rush hour.” You spoke with an air of nonchalance like you were just spouting off a common factoid as you turned to face him, crossing your arms. The bookshelves now against your back.

His eyes turned to slits. “Who am I to turn down those that hand themselves to me willingly? And don’t act like your body count isn’t as high as mine. If anything, I’d bet it’s higher judging from how many people I see – and hear – coming and going from your office,” he spat. 

“Well, at least the lives of the people I fuck actually improve afterwards when the spells come to fruition. They aren’t just fucking me for clout and just to say they did only to find out you’ve already moved on to your next conquest.” Your upper lip started to curl upwards into a sneer, but you did your best to control it. The last thing you wanted to do was give him the satisfaction of getting a rise out of you.

“Oh, spare me the righteous act, dolcezza.” 

“It’s not a ‘righteous act’ to make my intentions clear to my partners. Maybe you should try that out sometime. Sure would save me a lot of work.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked, glaring at you as he took a step towards you.

“It means that your escapades upset enough people that they come to me to seek retribution. Against you. You have no idea how much thankless damage control I have to do for your pathetic ass.”

Clearly, that jab had the opposite effect you intended. A mischievous glint appeared in his eyes as he took another half step closer to you. “Are you implying you… protect me?” he asked slyly.

“Don’t fucking flatter yourself. I’m implying that I’m doing what I have to to keep Sister Imperator off my back.”

“But that is still protecting me from hexes and curses cast by the ones who let their feelings cloud the reality of the situation. And for the record, cara…” With another step forward he placed his hand on the shelf next to your shoulder, leaning in, his voice dropping to a sultry whisper. “I make my intentions very clear.” You refused to acknowledge the way that made your stomach flip and your heart rate picked up speed.

You tried to take a step away from him, but were only met with shelves digging into your back. The crease in your forehead deepened as you clenched your jaw. It wasn’t until you saw his eyes dart between your eyes and your lips did your arms uncross from your chest as you pushed him to the side. “You’re an insufferable rompicoglioni (pain in the ass), you know that?” After turning your back on him, you only managed to get a few steps away before his next question stopped you in your tracks.

“Don’t tell me you’ve never thought about it…” 

You tilted your head to the ceiling, your eyes shut, as you let out a deep breath. “Thought about what?” you asked through your still gritted teeth. He stayed silent. You shook your head and turned around to face him again. “Thought. About. What?” you practically growled your repeated question.

He stood there, leaning against the bookshelves, with his bottom lip seductively in between his teeth as he raised his eyebrows at you. “Do I really need to answer that question?” he chuckled. 

“I can’t fucking stand you,” you said as you turned to leave his stupid, smirking face behind you. Again, you didn’t get very far when you felt a gloved hand grab your wrist, his grip just tight enough to halt you and turn you to face him. 

“Have you ever thought why that is, streghetta mia (my little witch)?” he cooed, bringing his other hand to gently caress your cheek. 

“I am not your little—” you began defiantly until he interrupted you. His words suddenly became harsher, much more serious. 

“Rispondimi (answer me),” he demanded, his grip tightening on your wrist. His hand on your cheek went from a feather light touch, to forcefully grabbing the side of your neck, aiding in the way he pulled you to him so that almost no space remained between you. 

“I already told you why,” you said through your teeth. Your whole body tensed being this close to him. If it was a losing battle, you desperately tried to fight the lost cause of keeping your composure. His deliciously delicate Italian cologne didn’t affect you. The heat from his body didn’t affect you. How roughly he handled you definitely didn’t affect you. 

“No. I don’t think you did, because I don’t think you can admit the truth.” The intensity of his stare burned into you (but it absolutely did not affect you). He pulled you into the crook of his neck. Biting the inside of your cheek was the only way you could ground yourself, focus on the task at hand — not letting him win. He was so close to you that you could feel his lips moving against your ear as he murmured, “Everything you hate about me… is what you hate about yourself, amore.” 

You lost sight of him; all you could see was red. Twisting your wrist, you broke free from his grasp. Your hands flew up to his chest as you shoved him back. He stumbled slightly, bracing himself on the bookshelves. The amused half-smile on his face told you everything you needed to know: he was loving every second of this. “Seems I’ve struck a nerve, hm?”

“You fucking asshole! I am nothing like you.” The venom clinged to your words.

“You’re not? You don’t enjoy the company of others under the guise of tending to the flock when all you crave is real connection? You don’t flaunt your ‘power’ to make up for every inadequacy you feel about yourself?” He sauntered up to you, placing his hands on your shoulders as if the slightest movement would shatter you.

“You don’t know the first thing about me,” you mumbled through barely parted lips. 

“How long are you going to keep telling yourself that, hm?” he purred, hooking his finger under your chin, which you pushed away. You tried to back away from him, but yet again, you were stopped by the bookshelf.

“If you’re so self aware, then why do you still act like a piece of shit?”

He leaned forward, putting a hand on either side of you, caging you in. “Because, streghetta, the only connection worth pursuing thinks I’m a pompous pain in the ass fucking asshole piece of shit figurehead with the reading ability of a four year old. Did I remember everything?” he smirked.

His mismatched eyes burned into yours. His white iris seemed to be almost glowing in the dim library light. The heat that was starting to burn in your center made you stay put. Your only movement came from your head quickly turning to the side as you heaved an insolent breath. Breaking eye contact was the only thing you could think of doing right now, but even that was short lived. He emphatically grabbed your face, silently ordering you to look at him, your cheeks smushing together between his thumb and index fingers. “I asked you a question. Stop being a brat and rispondimi,” he hissed.

“Kinda hard with my jaw in your hand,” you managed to mutter.

“I understood you just fine.” He pressed harder into your face. The longer you were silent, the more pressure he added.

“F-fine! Yes! That’s what I think of you, stronzo,” you spat. 

“Brava ragazza. That wasn’t so difficult, was it?” he praised softly. The back of his fingers returned to graze your cheek. 

You couldn’t help but press your lips into a thin line as you mulled over when he said “...the only connection worth pursuing…” 

“Thinking about what I said?” His hand slid down your neck to your collarbone.

“No,” you replied immediately. Your eyes quickly flitted up to the ceiling at how easily you gave yourself away, which earned you a light, airy laugh. “Wait. Yeah. If this is the ‘only connection worth pursuing’ then what’s taken you so long? Did you have to test out all the others to make sure it was the right choice?” 

“You’re too busy scowling at me to notice me noticing you.”

“No, not quite. Try again.”

“This is one of the very few times I’ve been able to catch you alone.”

“Oh, please. Your office is directly across from mine. And I have seen you on multiple occasions staring at me when your door is open,” you scoffed.

“And every time, before I can even think about getting up from my chair, you slam the door shut,” he countered, twirling a lock of your hair between his fingers. 

Swatting his hand away, you said, “Still not the real answer.”

“Then what is?” He let his hand fall to your shoulder and slowly began to cascade down your arm.

“You don’t think you’re good enough for someone like me.” With a challenging tilt of your head and raise of your eyebrows, you watched as astounded annoyance clouded his eyes. “Yeah, two can play this game.” You straightened out the collar to his shirt and trailed your fingers down to adjust the top buttons with your eyes focused on your small task. They only looked back into his eyes when you mockingly added, “Caro.”

Finally, you struck a nerve. He took both your wrists and pinned them down beside you. “Before tonight’s over, I’ll show you I’m more than good enough for you.”

You tossed your head back as you laughed, craning your neck to watch his reaction. “That’s not what I meant and you know it. I’ve seen the way your conquests look when they leave your office. It doesn’t take a genius to know you’re a good fuck. It does, however, take a certain kind of person to notice how you never seem completely satisfied… like something’s missing…”

Pressing his body flush against yours, he leaned down and whispered, “Like I said earlier, amore, it’s the craving for real connection, which of course, you of all people would notice something like that.” You could feel the warmth of his breath dancing over a sensitive spot on your neck. “Because… you’re just… like… me…” he added breathlessly as he dragged his lips along your neck before he pulled himself away to stare into your eyes.

The desire pooling between your legs was inescapable. Your eyes darted from his to his lips before returning to the mismatched eyes that watched your every subtle movement. That was all the invitation he needed before he released your wrists to take your face in his hands as your lips crashed together. Just because you lost the battle didn’t mean you couldn’t win the war. 

Your hand flew to the nape of his neck where you threaded your fingers in his hair. He moaned into your mouth when you started pulling. Your other hand balled the fabric of his shirt at his hip into your fist. 

He broke the kiss only to leave a sloppy trail of kisses down our neck where he began to suck and nip at it. You let your head fall back and your grip in his hair tighten. He maneuvered himself so he was pressing his thigh between your legs and without a second thought, as a breathless moan escaped your lips, you began to rut against him. “I still… fucking hate you…” you panted. 

Before he could make his clever retort, your heads turned towards the sound of the door opening. You could hear the light sound click-clacking of heels on the floor below. Terzo couldn’t even get his suggestion out before you pushed him off you, taking his hands in yours and leading him deeper into the library. He eyed you curiously, an impish grin pulling at the corners of his mouth.  

When the sounds of the other patrons faded, you slammed back against a random stack and pulled him against you, assuming your previous formation. “Are you sure you want to do this here?” he asked in between open mouthed kisses on your neck. 

“I wouldn’t have dragged you over here if I wasn’t.”

His gaze lingered over you as if to double check you were telling the truth. He nodded once. “Bene. Safe word?”

“Rigatoni.” He tilted his head at you, a quizzical look on his face. “What? Do you prefer ziti?”

“No, just an… interesting choice.”

“Non verbal is two taps and a pinch, but first,” you said as you held his wrist one hand and started taking off one of his gloves in the other, “the Mickey Mouse gloves are coming off.” His eyes narrowed into slits as he let you remove his gloves, placing them in his back pocket. You gave his ass a hard slap when you were done, leaning back on the stack behind you, with an exaggerated and triumphant smile on your face. 

Taking your face in his now bare hand, he held it like he did just moments ago. He put his other hand beside your head, pressing his body into your and leaning forward, “I’m not going to hold back, streghetta.” He lowered his voice, making it sound husky and gravelly. He let go of you, roughly pushing your head to the side as he did so.

“Good. Don’t want you to,” you paused before you giggled, doing your best Mickey Mouse impersonation. 

That earned you a smack across the face. It wouldn’t leave a mark, but you felt the sting go straight down to your core. You looked up at him with a daring smirk. 

You could see the anger ice over his eyes. His features darkened. “Be careful what you wish for.”

You yanked him toward you, your fists grabbing his shirt as leverage as you purred in his ear, “Do your worst, papino.” 

His hand wrapped around your bicep so tightly, you knew there would be a bruise there tomorrow. He dragged you through the aisles of books to the study area. He let go of you only for a moment to turn you away from him as he pushed you down onto the table in front of you. Biting your lip, you pressed your thighs together, needing some semblance of relief. 

Mismatched eyes watching you like a hawk, of course he noticed. “Ah, ah, ah,” he tutted. You heard the faint clinking of a belt buckle and the slide of leather. Using his knee, he nudged your legs away from each other. “Brats like you don’t get anything until they’ve been properly punished.” You chewed on your lip as he folded his belt, allowing for him to have more control. 

The brisk air hit the back of your legs as he lifted your maxi skirt up, exposing yourself to him. He put the belt in his mouth, freeing his hands, so he could yank your panties off you. Your ankle lifted off the ground, causing you to throw one of your hands to the edge of the table to save your balance. The belt went into his left hand, he placed it beside you as he leaned over you, pressing his still clothed erection into your bare ass. “Mmm, you say you hate me so much and yet here you are, already so fucking wet for me.” Not giving you any chance to make a smart ass comment, he shoved your underwear into your mouth. 

Pushing off of you, he caressed your ass like he was mapping out where the belt would strike you. He went from the left corner down to the right, being mindful enough not to even graze your cunt, giving no reprieve whatsoever. Then he repeated the motion going from the right corner down to the left. 

Thwack!

Without warning, the belt made contact with your skin. Tears instantly sprang in your eyes, having been taken by surprise. The force of the blow made you cry out, but the sound was muffled; it just sounded like a poor excuse of a whimper.

“Still think you can handle this, streghetta mia?” 

“Mhmm,” you hummed as you nodded – your tone still defiant.

Thwack!

You were actually thankful for the makeshift gag in your mouth, which gave you something to bite down on as you took the pain.

“If I had known–” thwack! “ –That this is what it took–” thwack! “ –to get you to shut your goddamn smart ass mouth up–” thwack! “ –I would have done this so much sooner.” Thwack!

He leaned over you again, this time pressing a kiss to your shoulder before asking if you were okay. Blinking tears away, you nodded. You were more than okay. You couldn’t remember the last time you felt this alive.

“Hmm, I’m not sure I’m completely convinced…” he mused as he stood up. Just as you went to loosen the white knuckle grip you had on the table’s edge, you felt his thumb trail down from your taint, through your folds, and onto your clit, which he circled twice. You moaned loudly. “Mmm,” you could hear him sucking your arousal off his finger, “yes, you are doing quite alright.”

You practically squealed when suddenly one of his fingers slid right inside you. He wasted no time finding the spot that could make you scream. You whined when he removed himself from you, but it was only to flip you over onto your back. Without thinking, your leg hooked around his waist, anchoring him to you. He looked down at you, smirking, before he plunged his middle and ring fingers inside of you. Your eyes rolled back with your head that rested on the table. Your back arched.

And then he began the assault of pressure; his fingers curled up, furiously tapping on your sweet spot. You swear you had never been this wet for anyone before. The noises coming from your cunt only made you clench harder around his fingers. His movements were so hard and so fast, you were almost being lifted off of the table. You were so close, so close. Despite the makeshift gag, you were screaming. Just as the coil in your core was about to snap, he was gone. Your eyes snapped open, wide with rage. Instantly you sat up. If looks could kill, he would have been dead at your feet.

“Stand up. Get on your knees.” For the first time tonight, you followed his instruction, but that was where your obedience ended.

“Figlio di puttana del cazzo (you fucking son of a bitch!)!” you snarled, looking up at him, after throwing the gag to the side. 

Shaking his head, he gathered your hair into a ponytail, tugging your head back. You earned your second slap of the night. He undid and took off his pants, tossing them haphazardly to the side. You watched as his leaking cock sprung out. At the sight of it, your mouth immediately began to water. “If you can stop being a fucking brat and actually put your mouth to good use, then maybe you’ll get a reward,” he seethed. He shoved two of his fingers into the corners of your mouth. “Open.”

There was no getting used to him. In what felt like mere milliseconds, his length was down your throat. The only thing you could think of, for just a fraction of relief, was to open your jaw as wide as you possibly could, but even that wasn’t enough. He held your hair like he was holding on for dear life, deep growls rumbled from his chest. With every thrust you could feel whatever leftover animosity he had towards you pouring into you. 

A near constant stream of tears cascaded down your face. You could barely see his smirk as you gagged around him. Abruptly, he stopped, pulling himself away from your mouth. Your chest heaved as you tried to catch your breath. “Get up,” he commanded as he pulled you up by your hair. He only let go when you were standing. “Back on the table. On your back.” You relished the break, taking your time to do as you were told. He stayed looking down at you, a lust-crazed look on his face. Expectantly, you looked back up at him, waiting for whatever he had planned next. Grabbing you by the shoulders, he slid you to him so your head was hanging off the table. “Apri (open),” he breathed. 

Your eyes fluttered shut as you braced yourself for the second onslaught that never came. He slowly slid himself into your mouth, down your throat. You let the spit you saved from before getting on the table bubble up around him. This angle was a bit easier for you to take him. He used your ribs as leverage to thrust in and out of your mouth. A moan floated from his lips as his eyes closed, letting himself get lost in his own pleasure. You placed your hands on the back of his thighs. His lips curled over his teeth as he moaned again when you dug your nails into him. “Satanas, sei bella (you’re beautiful),” he murmured. Dragging his hands up, he wrapped them around your neck as he kept thrusting down into your mouth.

“Cazzo,” he groaned as he could feel himself in your throat. By this point, you said to hell with your gag reflex. It was easy to ignore while he incessantly fucked your face. He was slightly less aggressive with your neck bent over the edge of the table, his pace slower. As if savoring every inch of the feel of you, he pushed himself into you until your lips curled around his base. You couldn’t help, but moan. “Lucifer, fucking hell,” he growled. He repeated this a few more times before he backed away from you again, his breathing growing labored. You never took your eyes away from his as you spun around and got off the table. 

Kneeling in front of him again, you looked up at him with your tear-stained face and doe eyes sparkling. You started stroking his length before you took him in your mouth, tongue swirling around his swollen tip. Then you licked down his shaft until you took his balls in your mouth, gently sucking on them. He groaned as his head fell back. After you licked back up his length, teasingly slow, and took him back in your mouth did you begin bobbing your head up and down. When you moaned again, his hands tangled in your hair again. This time it wasn’t to cause you pain, but to find purchase and ground himself. “Fuck,” he hissed. He was close. You could see it. You could feel it. So you took his hips in your hands, digging your nails into his flesh. Looking up at him, you subtly nodded to him. His fingers curled and pulled at your hair. He sloppily thrusted into your face again and soon you felt his hot seed spilling down the back of your throat as he cried out.

He slumped forward somewhat as his high waned. You stood up, making sure to catch his dichromatic gaze as you did. You wiped the corner of your mouth and swallowed every drop he had given you. He cupped your face in his hands and kissed you feverishly. As you gripped his wrists, he pulled you to him, pushing you back toward the stacks of books behind you until they met your back. You eyed him hungrily as your hands reached for his shirt, your nimble fingers sliding down as you unbuttoned it. Not even bothering to shove it all the way off him, you let your hands explore his chest. The only thing you heard was each other's heaving panting. He was on your lips again the second you made eye contact with each other, his tongue diving down your throat, doing an exploration of its own.

You moaned as you hooked your leg up on his hip, pulling him even closer to you. Resting his forehead on yours, he held your face in his hands, thumbs caressing your cheeks. “Time for a reward, sì? La mia brava ragazza (my good girl),” he cooed softly as he sank down on his knees. 

Your breath got caught in your throat as he lifted up your skirt to dive under it. “Oh fuck,” you breathed as he dragged his nails up your thighs. Throwing your leg over his shoulder, he dove right in, his tongue lapping up your wetness seeping from your slit. You moaned again as his nose nudged your clit and his tongue dipped inside you. Your right hand grabbed at his hair under your skirt while your left was sliding up and around on the shelves behind you as you tried to find the best angle to help keep yourself propped up. 

Taking his tongue out of you, he dragged it up to your bundle of nerves that were desperate for attention and started to suck on it as his tongue swirled around it. “Shit, s-shit!” you cried out. “Right… th-there. F-fuck. Fuck, Terzo. Don’t you fucking dare stop.”

His ministrations stopped, but only to shove two of fingers inside you. You mewled loudly; it didn’t matter if anyone was nearby or not. They could enjoy the free show at this point. Just as he had before, he was hitting your g-spot as if this was the thousandth time. You were seeing stars, but what you wanted to see… was him. “W-wait, wait, stop!” you panted. You were so close, you couldn’t finish just yet. You tapped him twice and he stopped before you could pinch him. He rushed out from your skirt, a confused look on his face that glistened from your arousal. 

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” you said as you discarded your skirt. “I want to watch. I want to watch you make me cum,” you said lustfully as you perched your leg back onto his shoulder. Your hand threaded into his hair, holding on tightly as he resumed where he had left off. This time, his pace returned to that of the first time he had you like this. You bucked into his face, adding even more friction. “Holy fuck, yes. Terzo, please, don’t stop. P-please. Fuck! There! Yes! I’m cumming! I’m–” 

Removing his fingers from you, he aggressively rubbed your clit. You opened your eyes just in time to see him get showered with your juices as they streamed out of you. And that man lapped it up like it was his first drink of water after a hike in the desert. You sunk back into the stack behind you as he looked up at you through wet lashes. He looked like he got caught in the beginning of a downpour – and it was probably the hottest thing you’d ever seen. Maybe you should fuck the people you hate more often if this was the result, because… this was still hatred you felt burning inside you. It had to be…

Afraid your shaky legs would give out on you if you tried to move, you stayed frozen in place. At some point your hand attached to Terzo was helping keep you upright on the shelving behind you. He stood up in front of you, his arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you close to him. When you were secure in his hold, his finger hooked under your chin, directing your hazy eyes to him. “Can you give me one more, amore?” he softly asked you. Eagerly, you nodded. He tilted his head, giving you a warning look. “Is la streghetta at a loss for words?”

“Yes,” you said, still nodding. “One more.”

“Va bene (okay), hard or easy?”

Your eyes darkened as more lust flared up in them again. “Don’t take it easy on me.” His lips curved up into a half smile that turned into a menacing smirk. 

A sharp gasp fell from your lips as he spun you around so you were facing the books in front of you. One hand reached in front of you, circling the sensitive bud between your legs. Your head fell back onto his shoulder, while his other hand encapsulated your throat. “Do you still hate me?” he questioned through his teeth as his hips bucked up into you, using your ass to provide himself with the friction he needed. 

“Yes,” you moaned wantonly. 

You felt his breathy laugh on your ear as his grip tightened around your neck. The blood supply being cut off shot pangs of heat right down to your center just as he removed his hand from there. The whine you were about to make died in your throat as you felt him dragging his cock through your still sopping folds. With a squeeze to your throat, and a bite to your shoulder, he pushed himself inside you. You wanted to be so irritated at how perfectly he filled you up, how your walls stretched to accommodate him, but you couldn’t, at least not right now. Not when it felt so good. Most of all, there was no hiding it from him. Not when the pornographic sounds were spilling out of you. The war was lost way before it even began.

At first, his thrusts were slow. It was like he was committing how you felt around him to memory. You mewled when he hit that perfect sweet spot. And then came the attack. 

With steady rhythm, he mercilessly pounded into you. Sounds of skin slapping skin, your unrelenting moans, the heaviness of both your breathing, filled the room. There was nothing else going on in the world, not in that moment. In that moment, there was just you. And there was just him. Coupled with the feeling of ecstasy. All you could do was claw at the shelves in front of you.

You felt the coil tightening again. With your head still back on his shoulder, you could feel your legs growing weak. His arm enclosed around you. His forearm pressing against your lower abdomen introduced a new sensation of pleasure that turned your vision white. Or maybe that just from the way his hand was still constricting around your throat. Probably both, but whatever the cause was, you didn’t care. 

“A-aga– I– I’m–” was all you managed to say as you felt even more of your juices gush from between your legs. He bit down onto your shoulder again as he moaned wantonly with it. You could feel he was about to pull out of you, probably to release his spend on your face, but you managed to wrap your arm around his back, letting him know to stay in place. 

With his erratic thrusts your arm fell. The overstimulation made it so the only words you could get out were “Inside. Cum inside.” As if on command, you could feel him emptying himself into you, filling you with his seed. After his hips stopped, you both stayed as you were. The hand on your throat slid down and across your waist as he held you there. He supported you as you put your weight back on him and your hands covered his. 

Time stood still as you both caught your breath. Once your breathing returned to semi-normal, did he finally pull out of you. You sighed at the feeling of emptiness.

Hesitantly, you stepped forward. You felt shaky (in the best possible way), but you weren’t going to fall over. “Hold on, amore.” You heard him whisper as you folded your arms on the shelf in front of you and rested your head on them. You hummed in response, staying where you were. You closed your eyes, basking in the blissful peace that was settling over you.

Behind you, you could hear the rustling of his clothes and his footsteps as he walked back over to you. In your near boneless state, you didn’t even register the absolute mess that was dripping from you until you felt soft fabric between your legs. You looked down to see Terzo cleaning you up with one of his gloves. 

“See? These Mickey Mouse gloves are good for something,” he teased.

You let out a genuine laugh. “Grazie,” you said tenderly. 

“That’s as good as we can get for now,” he said once he finished, punctuating his sentence with a couple light pats on your ass.

Playfully, you rolled your eyes and shook your head as you turned to go put your skirt back on. He followed suit. As you were smoothing out your outfit, he was doing the last few buttons on his shirt. You surveyed the scene around you. “I kinda feel bad for the Ghoul that has to clean this up,” you giggled. 

Terzo just smirked at you as he put his arm around your shoulders, guiding you both out of the library at a very leisurely pace. Wrapping your arm around his waist you said, “For the record, I still hate you.”

He rolled his eyes at you. “Has anyone ever told you that you are very stubborn, principessa (princess)?” 

“Nope, never,” you said with an exaggerated smile. 

His light laughter was cut short when you both noticed someone grumbling with their head down as they headed towards you. "Buonasera, fratello. Little late for a library visit, no?”

Secondo looked up at the sound of his brother’s voice. You could see his eyes scanning over the two of you, taking in the disheveled sight. The annoyed look permanently etched on his face deepened. “I could say the same to the both of you.” 

“I was minding my own business before this stronzo bothered me,” you said.

“Bothered is a funny way to put it, principessa,” Terzo grinned.

“Why are you here this late, Secondo?” you quickly asked in hopes of preventing Terzo from saying an offhand comment. The way one of Secondo’s eyebrows raised in suspicion wasn’t lost on you.

“An uncrossing spell. One of the Ghouls fucked up. Again,” he glowered. “And it’s falling to me to fix, since someone was unreachable.”

You tugged at Terzo to start walking again, too tired to deal with Secondo’s disgruntledness. “Of course, they did. Well, just, um, don’t go too far past the restricted section.” You and Terzo exchanged a look before picking up your pace. “Buonasera!” you added without looking behind you. 

Secondo saw both yours and Terzo’s shoulders shaking with laughter. He just shocked his head as he continued getting the book he needed. “About fucking time…” he grumbled.

[sukunasun]

WHERE OUR PIECES FALL IN PLACE | NANAMI KENTO X CHUBBY READER

instead of an expected reunion—imagines that he’ll meet you in the middle of the street randomly one day by fate. maybe in a garden among pretty flowers but you’d be the only thing he can’t take his eyes off. or by the ocean, no one else but a man confessing his sins that shall be buried below water and he’ll be anew, he'll be forgiven—nanami is only left with silence on your end.

a sequel to 'SAY IT'S HERE'

sometime in the middle of the twin's birthday party, when the candles are blown out and yuuji's tiger face paint starts to crack around the corners of his smile, geto hands nanami two slices of cake. nice thick wedges of strawberry and chocolate, alternating pink and brown towered high with rainbow sprinkles on top.

it isn't a surprise the twins couldn't decide on a cake flavour so geto layered them both, however, what does surprise nanami is that he hands it to him on a plate with ice cream on the side as well. he pokes his spoon into the melting scoop of vanilla and wonders how people have the appetite for something this insanely sweet. then looks up to see gojo gobbling down his fifth serving of cake, exerting himself in getting that last piece of boba at the very bottom of his milk tea, plastic cup contracting with these resounding pops they both ignore. not to mention that he's already gone through two pints of rocky road.

geto's face is stoic but reluctantly so, a crease forming between furrowed brows, "thanks for coming, and thank you for the gifts, the girls love them," is all he says, voice even. despite his loyalties to you, he doesn't forget that he's nanami's friend too.

which nanami could commend him for, he doesn't make it about himself, this is the day his daughters were born, he's meant to celebrate. call it common ground. geto's lips lift at the corners when he looks over to see the two of them slowly prying wrapping paper off the multiple boxes nanami had flown in. he'd been undecided on what to get because gifts are not his strong suit, he's never understood the need for such materialistic representations of love but he likes the twins, so he bought...everything under the sun. (yuuji helps them with the bigger ones and in the process, screeches so loud he almost breaks a window when it's revealed that nanako and mimiko have received not one, but two game consoles.)

"by the way, i'm not picking sides but i think you should talk to her," geto says warily, his hand clasped beneath his chin as he eases his way into the subject. to say that he's torn would be an understatement because he always does this. gets in his feelings and worries til grey hairs and frown lines appear yet, it shows. geto can't help but care for others and make it known, say it with words that don't get caught in his throat, and proves it through his many sentimental ways.

nanami almost dismisses the notion because it's not like he hasn't tried. it's been the longest time without seeing or hearing from you since...well, since you broke up with him via call, left your job, and stopped coming around the usual places. the cafe, the bakery. there had been a few missed calls in between (47 to be exact, all sparingly spaced out across weeks because he doesn’t want to seem too desperate. he's meticulous like that) some voice messages he's left in your chat that probably went unheard. he's even contemplated if he should show up at your apartment. (but he's not crazy. of course not.)

instead of an expected reunion—imagines that he’ll meet you in the middle of the street randomly one day by fate. maybe in a garden among pretty flowers but you’d be the only thing he can’t take his eyes off. or by the ocean, no one else but a man confessing his sins that shall be buried below water and he’ll be anew, he'll be forgiven—nanami is only left with silence on your end.

"i appreciate your concern, but this is neither the time nor the place," nanami's face is impassive, showing no signs of honing any hard feelings. not on the surface at least. "besides, what good will it do, she has moved on." a tugging in his chest is felt as the memories of you showing up at his favourite bookstore with another man come flooding back.

gojo interrupts his thoughts, "about damn time, she's liked you for ages, i tried warning her but who knows what she ever saw in you," he complains while geto clicks his teeth and shoots him a piercing glare because he's definitely not helping the situation.

nanami clenches his jaw, he doesn't need reminders. he of all people should be very well aware that he sits in geto's living room with pompompurin ears on his head feeling at his very lowest because he's lost you and he lives with that regret every day.

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the tokyo museum hosts an exhibition on rodin sculptures. his life's work displayed in phases, epochs depicting the best and little-known, of stories centred around great heroes and lovers. their lives and feelings depicted in dynamic poses, down to the most intimate of embraces chipped and carved into bronze, alabaster, and marble. a preserved intimacy, a history behind every look and touch. haunting and somewhat forever living...just like the image of nanami in that bookstore haunts you.

"thanks for that," you say to the man beside you. voice travelling over the loud chatter among patrons. young and old and excessively rich. looking down, you peer over the pamphlet tucked by your elbow, stepping before different sculptures of varying sizes. you're stunned by the mastery of craft and precision but the emotions evoking within you are hesitant. like it was...wrong to be here with someone else. to be looking at these figures and having no relation to them. all that passion and yearning, why is it that you feel grief instead. a part of you missing.

"i saw it in his eyes, he's guilty," higuruma strolls next to you, bored out of his mind. “i mean, he looks guilty.”

“i’ve never seen him like that," you explain. not even when there were rumors about his past breakups floating around the office. nanami only seemed nonchalant. like it barely affected him. cutting someone loose a mere task he's checked off before it's back to work.

“what did you think he’d look like?” higuruma asks.

“relieved? happy?” he looked like a shell of himself, hollow, miserable. you wished you could relish in that, take pleasure in the way he seemed so empty, so dejected. payback, you think. for only loving you in silence, and thus, he suffers in silence too. but you find that you've been feeling just as brokenhearted.

hiromi shrugs, “from what i've seen, you’re entirely capable of making him as..." he pauses—tilts his head when you both come closer to a sculpture—then continues, "...afflicted as he is with you."

whatever hiromi means by that, you don’t know. his voice almost lost on your ears when he moves away from you to examine it closer. here, the sculpture portrays the man as a figure who is fully at the woman's disposal due to the adoration he possesses for her. 'The Eternal Idol' it reads. tenderness, sensuality, submission, and humility to the world in a woman's form.

you dismiss him, “please, you say that like he was head over heels in love with me, i think he just pitied me,” luring you in with the homemade bread and leatherbound jane austen. a voice so soothing and a face you see in every other man. an urge to place him next to them in comparison, hoping they’d shift and mold themselves to be the capable salaryman with blue shirts and a suit jacket that pools over your shoulders, smelling like tea and galettes and that they’d be just like him. only that they’d love you differently, loved you more, kiss you til your lips swell, and there wouldn’t be a need to hide or to fear or make you chase after the unknown, you’d know he loves you and only you. 

"these accusations you make are unfounded,” higuruma merely states, "and it's also rather unjust to yourself." when he turns towards you, you expect to see a teasing, flirty glint in his eye. instead, you're greeted with nothing but his flat expression before he looks away. oh, he was just being factual.

“you should be his attorney," you try to joke.

his lips quirk up by the corners, “not even i could plead his case, the man reeks of remorse, even if he did deceive you, he’s not proud of it, which makes him less likely to defend himself..." his hands come up to brush over the engraved caption on the plaque. they're nice hands, rough, but a little too big, too gentle, like he could let you go at any moment if he wishes. nothing like nanami's. if nanami were to hold your hand he'd hold on for dear life.

“there’s no justice in that,” higuruma's decided he's done with this sculpture, picks his head up and moves away to the next one, he doesn't get attached. he doesn't linger. maybe that's why you never took things further, he's always seen things in black and white, like you were just another one of his cases. saw the teary look on your face, the long hours pouring over every detail leading up to the end and he couldn't leave it alone.

you sigh, wrapping a hand around his arm as you continue to walk down crowded corridors. "speaking like a true lawyer, one who's so distinguished."

he breathes out a rare laugh, not a real one, just these puffs of air he exhales along with a grin. "so depraved, haven't i told you the system's fucked?"

at that, you let out a laugh too, for the first time in awhile, "i'm afraid it's the same when it comes to matters of the heart." you look up, savouring him for now. he's just here right the wrongs, bring some perspective, and that was all there was to it.

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by midnight, your phone starts buzzing by your side, jittering against the mattress. without looking at the screen, you have an idea of who it might most likely be on the other end.

ding. ding. you reach for it to see that it's nanami again. for the fifth time today. a new voice message he's recorded for you sitting there in your messages. waiting as always, for your recognition, for your reply. you wouldn't want to give him the privilege or the pleasure. you've broken up with him after all, but you're unable to pull away from him and his futile attempts. forget that you have yet to wake from the lingering bits of a dream, or that you've got an interview come morning.

nanami's voice fills the emptiness of your room, spine-tingling and molten hot. you almost miss the intros—hi, hello, please bear with me, all the usual. you've heard it in clipped and composed tones, as if he's rehearsed these lines, must have written them down on his legal pad before pressing record, his lines spoken awkward and uncertain way, tightly wound in guilt.

only now he sounds different. the exhausted drawl, the languid pulling of his syllables, slurring and seductive. "those hyacinths..." he starts, "don't over-water them." he had them delivered to your place and you had only accepted them because they were a gift, it would be sad to turn them down after he's paid for them. plus, it would be a shame to send them back, these florists have put in so much effort.

nanami pauses for a second, you hear him taking big gulps, no doubt the whiskey bottle is empty at this point before he continues, "am i any closer to getting you back?" after a short pause, the message goes silent, like he's realised what he's asked.

you press play on another where rambles on, or whatever is nanami's version of rambling. a deep voice rumbling from his chest, a heavy sigh, a string of words you can't tell decipher. if they're genuine or not with how needy he gets. nanami never gets needy. nanami never begs. it's just the alcohol talking, you wouldn't know what he's like when in the throes of proclamation...still, his voice curls its way into your heart, wringing it tight when he drawls, "tell me so i can be put out of my misery, or better yet, come back into my life."

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geto and gojo sit across from you at the library. their bodies dwarfing the kid-size chairs and desks. close by, mimiko and nanako work on their math problems both with equal amounts of distaste but suguru's promised they'll get double the snacks as a reward for tackling their multiplication tables, hence they try their best, fingers counting down one by one.

on the other hand, you're busy colouring a page from a fairytale. a scene of a royal couple dancing at a ball, lingering by the edges is a crowd looking on happily as they twirl under glittering stars, a whole universe cheering for their union. you hold back the forlorn sigh as your hand involuntarily reaches for a yellow crayon, even here, you wish to colour in blonde locks below the prince's crown. you can't see it any other way.

"sorry about the party," you apologize, missing their birthday bash hadn't been the plan, but suguru had given you the heads up on nanami's appearance and you thought...it wouldn't be a good idea. things were still too fresh, too new, it would've been uncomfortable for everyone.

you know it was a selfish excuse, but suguru won't hold it against you. "i understand," he replies but his smile doesn't reach his eyes. 'i understand' doesn't mean the same as 'it's okay to miss out on a special day because you're afraid of conflict'. which is why you're trying extra hard to make up for it now. shifting focus to your friends instead, you avert your attention. dodging any discussion about the breakup, or nanami, or the fact that you cling on.

satoru however, doesn't fall for any of it and jumps into his interrogation. his honesty comes out sharp and biting albeit genuinely oblivious—"how long are you planning on avoiding him?" his voice is too loud for comfort and the librarian would shush him if it weren't for his charm. he's been flirting with her so they get to check out as many books as they want, plus, waiving late fees goes against geto's rules but he'll take it as a kindness for now.

you roll your eyes, he's way too good at reading you, or maybe you've just been so transparent anyone would've notice. "i'm not avoiding him, it's called moving on," you try to reason, although it's starting to sound exactly as gojo puts it.

nanami chases you down for reconciliation and nothing more, a settlement of sorts. you've already assumed it was because of guilt. he doesn't want to be the bad guy possibly. why else would nanami be leaving messages, making calls, and sending a million flowers if not as an act of atonement.

and when has he ever needed to repent, nanami's always been so aloof, you've seen him brush things off with a calm and cool demeanour, sorry is merely a word he gives to strangers he's accidentally bumped into on the train. he'll come out of this with that perfect head on his shoulders held high after the remnants of past memories have faded and no longer hold any significance to him. he could always bake more french loaves and there's more wine to be tasted. he'll continue siphoning his emotions into the separate little folders of his makeup. you've never taken up the space of his heart because that shall be reserved for someone else—"he'll get over me in due time," you say, loathing how the words taste, how it makes you hate yourself.

"geez," satoru shrugs off the tension from his shoulders, "melodrama doesn't look good on you," the jab strikes where it hurts the most.

your face falls, give it a few seconds and you'll start crying in the middle of the children's section, "i guess i wanted more," you swallow down the embarrassment, typical that you've ended up here. back to where you've always been. single, jobless, a few pounds heavier, a few more cracks in your aching heart.

"there's a lot going on—" suguru cuts in, hoping it'll make you feel better, "—it's okay to feel as you do." sympathetic as it is, you start to wonder if you've traded in a birthday for a pity party when there's a truth in what satoru says.

in the silence that passes, the scene you work on is full of colour, save for the stars you've left in white. the twins have completed their exercise sheet, and satoru stretches his limbs and yawns like a cat basking under an afternoon sun. suguru might give him a pep-talk after this and he might feel bad for bringing up the whole thing, but it has to be said— "talk to the guy, he's never looked worse."

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on the walk home, the clouds start to gather. greying skies and thunder roaring above you. behind the clearing of mist and cold, you see him standing right outside your building. not knowing how long he's been there, but judging by the steady rhythm of his pacing feet, nanami's been waiting for a while. if anything, he's patient and—god help you—persistent.

the drizzle gets heavier and rain pours down over his body, soaking through the layers of fabric; his coat, his tie, his white shirt. golden blonde hair turning into a muddy shade of ash, strands clumping together, droplets hanging off and sticking to his skin. to his foggy glasses, thin-rimmed and shining. although drenched and dishevelled, he is every bit the man you love, and you hate that you can't look away, turn him down and kick him to the curb, pretend he doesn't exist.

taking him in, your heart clenches when the light of a lamppost next to you cuts a glowing line across his sullen face, highlighting the deep depths of his cheeks. you see that he looks exhausted, more so than usual, and he's lost a little bit of weight. you think to say something, ask him if he's been skipping meals, that it's no way to deal with his remorse. anything that would break the tension but kento beats you to it.

"we need to talk," he says in a low voice but it takes almost every fibre of his being to say it, "i thought this was the only way we could do so." he recognizes what he's doing, he's being invasive, he's being desperate and when was that word ever associated with him. not til now he supposes, not before you.

“don't you know it’s embarrassing to chase after an ex?" the bite won't be drowned out by pitter-patter, it stings, but he doesn't move an inch. swallows that lump in his throat and prepares himself for the words he's about to utter.

"i am not the best with words, but believe me when i say i am not ashamed of you–" he pauses. waits for your reaction but chooses to continue, nothing will come in between, not here and now, "forgive me—for my ignorance, for my restraint, it is because of me that you felt our relationship was one-sided."

that should do it he thinks, he's laid it out on the table, he's said what he came to say. placid and concise. and at first, he's relieved, he professes and proclaims without expectation. he didn't come here hoping for more, that part of him has been tampered with and put out by his own self-doubt. he only wishes to let you know. he'll force himself to be content with solely acknowledgement.

but he starts to worry when he sees the anger seep into your features. “you’re upset,” he states, unsatisfied, "i thought it would be best if we got closure—"

“did you come all this way just for closure?" your question hangs in the air. each passing second filled with the sound of raindrops and the million thoughts bouncing off his brain. you shouldn't put him through this anymore, it's practically ruining him from the inside out. “you’re forgiven, let it ease your conscience,” you say, ready to turn away and leave him for good this time.

he sucks in a breath, frustration prickling all over, “i am a man that’s lacking, trying to convey to you the things that cannot be conveyed, i have never been a passionate person and you knew this." you can see it so obviously in his expression that you've made him this way, twisting him up into knots over the need for verbalization, for definitions and arguments he can't give.

your eyes narrow, getting defensive. you always thought you could be the exception, that you'd be the one to experience it firsthand, his fervent need for you, whatever version of it you could get. "you denied me in front of people you cared about, you were always so cautious and constipated, like you couldn't bear it, i get that you're not into big girls but—"

"that's not true!" he says quickly, voice rising with tension. his hands come up to hold your face in them, thumbs rubbing over damp cheeks and warm skin before realizing...he's neevr actually felt it. how does a man concede, he's scared, fearful of an inevitable end, "i didn't want to lose you," he admits softly. lips less than an inch away, breaths a hair's width apart.

you try to pry his hands away, shaking your head, there's no use when "you can't love me the way i want you to and maybe i'm not the one who's meant to be loved by you."

nanami doesn't let go, "i can only love you the only way i know how, it was never my intention to make you feel less than—" with no more hesitance, no more weighing speeches and consequences, he tells you the truth—"my love for you...has made me selfish. it has consumed me, i want you so much that i don't know what to do with it. why should i put you through that, burden you with me."

"you were never a burden 'ken," his name sounds so bittersweet, as if there's still a fondness there, the way you gently hold those syllables without spite but he hears the longing, the hurt. "i didn't want you holding back for my sake, i've liked you for so long, i was ready for it all, even when it came to losing you, i don't need you to be something you're not."

he's never had that ability, despite his efforts, he isn't capable of detachment, with all his distractions and defeats, he's ultimately bound to you, too well tangled in his soul. "you shall move on but i cannot do the same—my life starts and ends with you, do you understand?” 

you nod silently, looking up at him with widened eyes and catching the specks of dew on his lashes when his eyes travel toward your lips, his thumbs caressing them tenderly, benevolently.

"despite my shortcomings and the fact that you are now seeing someone else, i would like to try again, please allow me to do my best." nanami opens up to you as a flower blooms, petals blossoming, coming apart to reveal the innermost parts of himself. red spreading across his skin from the tips of his ears to his lips when he parts them under yours. he wasn’t made to hide it, all that restraint keeping him from you, from what he knows is his deepest desire. made to love, loudly and forever. there, where two lives meet again, coming together and converging.

[aristenfromwarsaw]

Story of Aristen Rosegrove

Inspired by @judasiskariot who created a full description of her Tav - Saulus, I decided to create something similar to Aristen with screenshots to make the story more "credible". 💜.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Quick Facts:

Origin: Child of Bhaal Race: High Elf. Class: Sorcery ~ Storm Sorcery. Gender: Female. Pronouns: She/Her. Sexsuality: Heterosexsual. Height: 165 cm. Scent/Perfume: "Storm Rose" - full description of the perfume by @bhaal-battle-beer-bard . Favorite color: blue. Favorite flower: rose. Favorite season: spring, she loves when everything comes to life. Favorite animal: cat.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Family: She was born directly from Bhaal. Her stepfamily:

Mother ~ Renera Oakdale-Rosegrove:

Father ~ Detre Rosegrove:

Younger sister ~ Fiona Rosegrove:

Grandmother ~ Aubriana Rosegrove:

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Personality:

~ Redeemed Dark Urge ~ Aristen is very nice and always tries to be very empathic and looks for something more in people than others. ~ Ari is very open to the world and new experiences. ~ She has a great sense of humor. ~ Aristen is very devoted to the people she loves. ~ As a child, she grew up in an elven village, so she appreciates nature very much. ~ Ari has a lot of knowledge about the world. ~ She can be bold and sassy sometimes. ~ Aristen is a bit naive when it comes to love matters. ~ She is strongly guided by feelings and emotions. ~ Ari often hides her emotions, only opens up to the closest people. ~ When she gets angry, she has no control over her magic. ~ Loves cats, likes how mysterious and beautiful these animals can be. ~ Hates her true origin and she constantly worries and thinks about that what she did when she was under Bhaal's influence. She hates herself for being Bhaalspawn and considers herself a monster. She tries to atone for all her sins by helping others. The person she hates the most in the world is herself. ~ Sometimes Aristen has bad days, she cries, thinks she shouldn't have been born and thinks she's a bad seed because of her past.

Early years of life:

Aristen was born directly from the God of Murder. When father created her, he wanted her not to be an ordinary Bhaalspawn. She was supposed to be an immortal, eternally young demigod. Her appearance was supposed to be the opposite of her destiny. Beautiful and delicate beauty, bright blue-turquoise eyes, light blonde hair. Her look was supposed to attract and inspire trust. Could an elf who looked like an innocent angel be a bloody murderer? And so it happened - Aristen was born, for now as a storm sorcery elven baby. Bhaal wanted her to be very high in the hierarchy when she grew up, but the attack on the temple by unknown perpetrators thwarted these plans. During the raid, an elven infant was found with a white, decorative scarf with the word "Aristen"  written in blood on it.

The child was placed in the elves’ village in the stepfamily of wood elves called Rosegrove. Only her mother, father and grandmother knew that she might be Bhaal's child and they decided that they will do their best to save Aristen from her destiny. Aristen developed her magical skills and she did not show any murderous symptoms, on the contrary, she showed great empathy and kindness. Ari had a great relationship with her stepfamily and was much-loved in the village. However, everything changed when she was 25. A very handsome and gallant half-elf Elwyn came to their village. Aristen very quickly fell in love with him - she thought it was mutual.

Despite the huge protest of her adoptive family, she went with her lover to Baldur's Gate. When the pair reached the city, it turned out that Elwyn was just a mercenary hired by the Bhaal's cult and his only task was to bring Aristen to the temple of the God of Murder. And so Aristen, who was betrayed by her beloved one lost control of herself, became a bloodthirsty killing machine and a puppet of her real father.

A new beginning (in-game events):

Being a Bhaal's doll could have lasted for ages if not a certain incident. One day Aristen was kidnapped by a Mind Flayer's ship. She was infected with their tadpole and lost her memory. Luckily for her, there was a plane crash, which she miraculously survived and managed to escape. Now she had a new goal - to get rid of the tadpole and find out who she is. During her journey she learned the truth about her murderous origins. But she wasn't alone in this. Aristen met some loyal friends: Gale (a human wizard who was harmed by the goddess of magic, Mystra), Karlach (tiefling who, like Ari, was betrayed by the person she trusted), Lae'zel (githyanki who was deceived by her queen), Shadowheart (a priestess of Shar who rejected her goddess), Wyll (human Warlock who sacrificed a lot to save others), Halsin (an elf druid who likes to carve ducks from wood), Jaheira (half elf and High Harper) and Minsc (Jaheira's friend who considers his hamster to be his mentor). And even though everyone supported her, Aristen felt that they didn't fully understand her, they don't know what it means to be someone's puppet. Except for one person who had similar sins as her. A men who has been a plaything for the powerful vampire for over 200 years. That toy was Astarion, high elf, vampire spawn. At first, Aristen had mixed feelings towards him, but later she realized that they were two of a kind. He was the only one who truly understood her dark urge and he truly was not afraid of her. They fell in love with each other.

One night the urge to kill become strong and Aristen had mighty desire to kill Astarion. Resisting her whisperings, she decided to do everything to save him. Aristen woke him up and asked him to tie her up. She felt that after such an incident the vampire would break up with her. Who would want a partner who could kill you in the middle of the night ? But no, Astarion didn't break up with her, he was with her all night, watching over her. He wasn't even mad at her. He didn't see her as a monster, but only as a normal person who had been wronged by fate - she saw him the same way. Thanks to Astarion, everything became easier and impossible things became possible.

While looking for salvation for herself and her companions, it turned out that she was the one who came up with the whole idea of ​​culting the Absolute. This broke her, she felt that her friends blame her for this whole situation. Only one person thanked her - Astarion. Thanks to all this confusion, he separated himself from his master Cazador and had free will. Aristen then believed that they were meant to be together, this strange chain of events was not caused by chance. There must have been some higher powers involved here. She also decided that she had to fix everything - destroy the cult of the Absolute and try to free herself from her murderous father. And so it happened - the cult was destroyed and Aristen, with the help of the god Jergal, cuts herself off from Bhaal and the dark urge. The tadpoles in the heads disappeared, she, her friends and the Baldur's Gate were safe. Aristen with her companions even killed Cazador, so Astarion no longer had to fear his master. Aristen and her lover began to live on their own terms.

Post-game events:

After defeating Nestor's Brain Aristen started to help rebuild Baldur's Gate - unfortunately - the city was badly damaged. In return, the city authorities gave her and Astarion a small apartment in the Lower City. This made her very happy, she could finally experience a normal life. She also began searching for information about artifacts that would help protect Astarion from the sun - this became her main goal. The news that she and her friends had saved Baldur's Gate quickly spread beyond the city. And so one day a wood elf knocked on her apartment. He seemed familiar to her, but she didn't know where she knew him from. He knew her name and seemed to know her very well. He gave her a Noblestalk potion and suggested that she drink it and it would help her remember some things from her past. The potion could have been poison and this elf could have had evil intentions. But Aristen felt that he was someone very important to her and agreed to drink the medicine. She regained partial memories - both bad and good. Suddenly she remembered where she grew up and her stepfamily. She realized that the elf who visited her is her stepfather.

She agreed to go with him to the village where she grew up. And together with Astarion they set out on a new journey. After reaching the village, everyone was very happy for her return. She was afraid that they would treat her like a monster, like a leper. But no, she was surrounded by care and love. To make Aristen remember all earlier life, she was subjected to a special trance made by her grandmother. After that she remembered everything, the funny situations with her sister, making flower wreaths with her mother, walks in the forest with her father and practicing magic with her grandmother.

She also remembered the man who contributed to all her tragedy - Elwyn. She remembered how he feigned love for her and he did it all of his own free will for financial gain. She hated this man in few seconds.

Aristen and Astarion stayed in the village for a while and moved on to find a way to protect Astarion from the sun. They also had a new companion, Fiona (Aristen's younger sister) who wanted to see some of the world. To have money for the trip, the three of them took various jobs. Sometimes they were mercenaries, sometimes they were doing small jobs or hunting bandits. Fiona also performed in inns, as she was a bard.

After a long time and reading dozens of old books and scrolls, Aristen, in an old, forgotten temple in the middle of nowhere, found an enchanted pendant that allowed Astarion to enjoy the sun again after many years. However, all three of them continued their traveling lifestyle.

One night Aristen and Astarion were lying on the grass and watching the stars. Then Ari suggested to her beloved one that they maybe return permanently to Baldur's Gate and start a simple, city life. He agreed and asked if she would become his wife. Aristen was surprised, despite spending so many years by Astarion's side, she was afraid that one day he would leave her. She still considered herself a monster, even though she had cut herself off from her father many years ago. Aristen was always afraid that she would somehow become a bloodthirsty murderer again. And Astarion could have almost any woman - she had seen more than once how lustfully ladies looked at him. But he chose her and wants to be with her forever.

The wedding took place in her native village. Her entire family and friends celebrated one of the most beautiful days of her life.

After their honeymoon, they returned permanently to Baldur's Gate. Fiona also settled in the city, where she began to develop her bardic career. Astarion and Aristen continued to work as a mercenary and as the bandit hunters in the city and surrounding areas. Over time, Astarion founded his own tailor shop (yes, I always saw him as a tailor :D).

What the future will bring for them? Who knows, after all, they have eternity ahead of them...

P.S. now her name is Aristen Rosegrove-Ancunín <3.

[anonymousewrites]

One Hell of a Love (Book 1) Prologue

Sebastian Michaelis x Demon! Reader

Prologue: One Hell of a Meeting

Summary: Two demons encounter each other for the first time.

Mouse Note: Welcome to One Hell of a Love! I’m so excited to share my Sebastian Michaelis x Reader series! Please feel free to comment it really makes my day and encourages me to keep writing, plus I love to answer comments and talk to you all. Alright! Have a great time!

            Screams. Shadows. Flames.

            Hell was made of very little else.

            But it housed demons.

            And sometimes, new demons were born, from brimstone and human bone, from the flames of hell and the suffering of the earthly plane. But how was a forged demon to learn to steal human souls, bind the mortals to sin, steal the blessed from the clutches of the heavens?

��           That was precisely the issue Corvus was present to fix. He lounged as he watched the newest demons being gathered below.

            “I see you were called upon this round,” said a low voice.

            Corvus didn’t move his head. Only his fuchsia eyes swiveled to observe the other demon approaching. “Yes.”

            Corvus didn’t say more. There was no point to discuss whether he liked or disliked having to instruct a younger demon. It was a fact that the Dark Lord wanted his forces to be trained well, and that fell to demons every few millennia. Corvus hadn’t been handed such labor, but it was his turn.

            “What is your plan for your apprentice?” The tall, spindly form of Aranea sat beside Corvus. He was all limbs and eyes, no concern to Corvus. “Malva took hers, and they serve her still.” Aranea licked his lips. “I plan for the same…”

            Corvus raised an eyebrow in distaste. “If a demon cannot survive on its own, then it has no value as a demon and does not serve Hell.” He drummed his long nails on the arm of his chair. He would do his job well, as he did everything else. That was the type of demon Corvus was.

            Aranea leaned back and observed the young demons below. “Some look simply…delicious.”

            Corvus rose from his seat. He didn’t like other demons, especially ones with so little taste as Aranea. Having observed for long enough, it was time for Corvus to choose an apprentice. He turned away from Aranea, still leering at the gathering below, and walked down.

            He passed through the group, seeing the different flora and fauna natures of the demons as they watched the ancient force of Hell. His stilettos clicked on the obsidian ground, loud in among tortured screams.

            Corvus’s lip curled. Snake, wolf, belladonna, nightshade, fox, vulture—boring, dull, mundane, drab, tiresome, monotonous.

            Cat.

            Corvus paused before the demon and looked at them. They met his gaze, sharp eyes lined in black. Corvus cocked his head as he regarded them. He could sense what they were immediately.

            A demon born from a human life.

            Refreshing.

            “Name?” Corvus barely turned to them.

            The black cat ear on their head flicked and their nose twitched as he spoke to them. “Felis.” They spoke shortly, no fear. Their words held a history of mortal life in them.

            Perhaps this would prove interesting for Corvus.

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