#the religious guilt!au I didn’t know I needed

[patolemus]

i don’t know why i am the way i am (there’s something in the static, i think i’ve been having revelations)

Rin has always been a believer. Both he and Yukio attended mass every Sunday at the monastery all their lives, grew up listening to Shiro and the other priests recite from the Bible—and this is the only book Rin knows almost by heart. The twins were baptized when they were younger, and despite his rebellious attitude, Rin has never wavered over that belief - whether that is because he was always surrounded by it or not - and it’s Yukio who’s gotten more skeptic about it as the years pass.

After Shiro dies, and Rin finds out he’s the son of Satan, Rin stops going to church. He doesn’t believe he’s welcomed at God’s house anymore, son of the original sinner that he is. He mourns the loss quietly, spending Sunday mornings in the quiet of his and Yukio’s abandoned dorm hoping he could be somewhere else.

(Alternatively, he could go to the chapel obsessively, turning his believes into a quest for absolution. Maybe if he behaves like a good Christian boy ought to do, if he follows the rules and proves Rin has not abandoned him, God will forgive him the sin of being born.)

Rin would want to have his confirmation—maybe he was in the middle of that process before Satan possessed Shiro. But now that holy instruments harm him, it’s like another sign that a demon isn’t welcomed, and that God has forsaken him. For that same reason, some of his favorite Bible verses harm him, and it’s through gritted teeth and clenched fists that he recites them in class and to himself, refusing to give them up because he’s turned tainted by his demon blood.

(When he first awakens, the night before the funeral, Rin takes a bottle full of holy water from the monastery’s reserves and tries dousing himself on them, thinking he might be able to cleanse himself of this curse with it. It burns, making his skin splotchy red and his eyes water from the pain. He’d always been able to touch it without issues before, but now it repels him. Rin falls to his knees in front of the altar, head bowed to the sculpture of Jesus crucified on the cross, and wonders for the first time if God has left him.)

(The burn fades within the hour, and Rin hates that most of all.)

Rin avoids mirrors the first few weeks after Shiro’s death, not wanting to see how he’s irrevocably changed. He hates the feeling of his longer canines when he runs his tongue over them, grimaces at the new, sharper shape of his ears, can’t barely take a look at his tail to stuff it under his shirt. He looks like he’s only just rolled out of bed, appearance shabby and unkept, but Rin prefers that to watching himself now that he’s no longer one of God’s creations.

He prays by his bedside every night - even more so now that he can’t go to mass, Rin has started praying obsessively since Shiro died - has his rosary around his neck even though it makes his skin itch and takes it everywhere he goes. He always blesses the table before eating, thanking God for the food he’s provided for them.

Every time he uses his flames, Rin feels like a sinner. This are the flames of Satan, the flames of the original sinner, God’s antithesis. Using them feels like forsaking God just like God has forsaken him, but Rin finds no joy in it. As the flames die out and Rin’s freaky demonic features recede, he bows his head and prays. “Forgive me Father, for I have sinned,” he says, trying and failing to feel better about himself.

His friends notice, after all secrets are out in the open and Rin doesn’t have to hide them anymore, and they look at him strangely for it, like his apology to God is out of the norm. Maybe they don’t think Rin would be religious, as the son of Satan. Maybe they just think it’s strange that he’s looking for absolution. They don’t comment on it until much later, when Bon tells him that he’s not a sinner just because he uses Satan’s flames. Bon is much smarter than Rin, so infinitely smarter, so Rin tries to believe him. He never stops praying though.

When he first realizes his feelings for Bon are less than platonic, his first instinct is to go to the confessionary and confess his sin. But the only priest he’s confessed to is Shiro, and Shiro is dead (Shiro is dead), and what priest would give absolution to a demon? So Rin doesn’t go, stewing on his guilt and thinking about it obsessively (“Forgive me father, for I have sinned. This is my first-tenth-hundredth-thousandth confession.” “Forgive me Father, for I want, and I do not know how to stop wanting.”). Is it because he’s the Son of Satan? Was he born a sinner, always meant to stray from God’s path like Satan did? How can he follow God’s will when he’s fallen in love with a boy?

Later, he realizes Shiro would have probably been fine with it, and if Shiro approves… maybe it’s not so wrong. Maybe Rin isn’t sinning when he looks at Bon feeling butterflies in his stomach, isn’t straying from God’s intended path when Bon’s laugh makes him happy. And if this is not a sin then maybe being a halfling isn’t either. Maybe it’s not God that has forsaken him, but the Catholic Church.

(The Vatican will never love him. They have casted him as the villain before he could even prove himself one of God’s believers, and they’ll never let him forget who his father is, and what he’s done. He’ll never be able to visit freely, to marvel at the beautiful structures and the holiness of it all. It hurts. But it hurts less than thinking he’s beyond saving, that God has given up on saving him.

The Vatican can suck it.)

Rin tries going to church again. It’s a daunting task, after days and weeks and months without stepping foot inside a chapel, but Rin finds himself sitting on the third row at the Sunday mass held near True Cross Academy, and feels the knot in his stomach loosen as he listens to the priest. It’s familiar. It’s liberating. Rin feels a little more like himself. Bon is waiting for him at the school gates when he’s done, looking immensely proud and Rin takes his hand in his and lets the feeling of contentment wash over him.

He still prays. He still blesses the table. He still recites verses of the Bible even if they hurt him, and he still refuses to go to a confessionary.

But he can stand to look at himself in the mirror now. He resumes his confirmation process, even knowing he may never be allowed the actual sacrament. He lets himself see a world where he can be the son of Satan and a good Christian, where he can love a boy who’s beautiful and good to him without disappointing God. It’s a different world than the one he lived in before, but Rin thinks it’s a world Shiro would be proud of.

It’s a start.

——————————

(This is my interpretation as I was raised Catholic and went to a Catholic school all my life. I’m nowhere near as devoted as I’m making Rin here lol, but I grew up around Catholic religion and know people who are very hardcore Catholics, so this, as well as my own religious education, is where I draw my knowledge from.)

(Also, I want to clarify that a lot of Rin’s thoughts are in no way healthy, and he will grow to let go of them in time. This is the result of a very traumatic situation that left him stranded with no sense of direction, and some of his actions stem from a need to overcompensate for being half demon. He’ll get better as he learns to deal with that reality.)

Update: my brain won’t stop eating at me so this has turned into a thing (tm). Let’s call it revelations au because I think I’m funny. You can find all my posts about it through that tag in my profile.

[chxrrysangel]

Thots on What Best Friends Do

So I’m not technically planning an AU but I will probably write at least a pt 2 or 3….

Regardless, this plot has been brewing in my consciousness for months. I would say how many but I’d feel bad.

Eddie basically starts a Sex 101. There’s just something so…ravenous about someone who has no idea what they’re doing but is so eager to please.

He really plays into the whole religious guilt thing with you, especially considering how many people associate him with demonic rituals. “Poor little angel begging for my cock, how pathetic. How’d your parents feel knowing you’re fucking the town devil?”

He’s such a perv, but only for you. Whether that be stealing your underwear to jerk off with or sneaking pictures of your face to fantasize about later, he has very particular taste and no one could make his eyes stray. Sometimes his devotion gets him into trouble with your friend group, ditching hangouts to go follow you around and stare.

Being best friends with Eddie didn’t go over too well with your folks, but he at least pretends to be an “honorable godly man” in their presence. I actually headcanon that Eds is a devout agnostic/atheist bc how could he still believe in any god faithfully with all that he’s seen

He enjoys sneaking up on you while you’re home, climbing up the semi-sturdy branches of the tree closest to your bedroom window. Sometimes it’s just to spend time with you, other times to make you cum on his tongue while you whimper into your pillows to not raise suspicion with your parents.

Sometimes he “accidentally” walks too close when trying to get past you, making the outline of his erection very evident against your body. He intentionally tries to rile you up, knowing you don’t have the words to describe how you’re feeling besides the fact that he needs to take care of it. And he’s very generous.

[bigbadripley]

Chapter 8 - All I Wanted

Marc Spector/Steven Grant x Female!OC

Summary: Marc never expected to see his childhood friend Simone ever again. To Simone, Marc may as well have been dead. However, when Simone met Steven 15 years after Marc disappeared, she couldn’t help but notice how familiar he was.

18+ | 2kish Words | Third-person omniscient | Dark?fic/Angst | AU/AT |

Warnings: Heavy language, OC with religious trauma, childhood trauma, sexual trauma. Physical and emotional abuse of a minor, lots of angst, death mention, prison mention, slut-shaming, threat of inspection, kissing, alluding to the possibility of sex, trauma related breakdown, violence TBH if you’ve read this far, you can handle this chapter just fine but proceed with caution because these kids make me sad.

A/N: There are periodic flashback chapters, this is one of them. I update warnings with each chapter. Only proceed if you can handle the themes included in the warnings. I wrote this entirely as a trauma dump.

Minors DNI, DL;DR, if I miss a warning, please let me know.

Chapter list

"I could follow you to the beginning Just to relive the start And maybe then we'll remember to slow down At all of our favorite parts All I wanted was you" -"All I Wanted" by Paramore

 Marc had spent his Saturday night writing a note for Moni. Unlike the stuff she writes, he didn't think it was any good, but he did his best to express himself. According to her, that's all it takes. 

Writing from the heart.

He had noticed that she was a little more upset this week and wanted to make her feel better. She always tries to do that for him, at least. His options were limited on what to do, so he decided to tell her everything he liked about her.

The problem for him was that once the note was written, he needed to grow a pair and give it to her. 

I can't do that! What if she hates it? 

Marc ultimately decided to leave it somewhere for her. Moni's mom always makes her go to church every Sunday morning, so he already expected them to be gone when he cut through the woods to get to their house from his. 

As always, Moni's window was unlocked. She always left it unlocked in case he had a bad day and needed to get away or couldn't reach her on the walkies. 

He pushed the window open and slipped through, not minding the noise he might make because the house was due to be empty. 

"Nosotras vamos a tarde, Mija!" Marc heard Moni's mom yell. It startled him into almost yelping, but quietness was vital now that he knew the place was still occupied. 

Marc pulled the note out of his pocket, heart thudding to move as quickly as possible with every footstep he heard echoing through the house. 

"Okay, mamá, I'm still getting ready!" Moni yelled back from the bathroom, sounding frustrated. There were two things she hated: church and being rushed. She wished her mom would let her say home. "I really don't feel good." She added, sounding like she was pleading. 

Marc could only think to put the note inside that bear of hers with the rest of them. He grabbed it off the bed and tucked the paper inside the best he could, ensuring that when Moni pulled from the bear again, it would be the first one she picked. 

"You're going to church! You're only sick because you hold guilt in your heart." Moni's mom yelled again, this time much angrier. From there, Marc heard footsteps grow louder and louder until a door creaked open. 

Moni was still sitting on the toilet, crying, when her mom swung the bathroom door open. 

Jesus, why did she have to replace every doorknob in this house with unlockable ones?

"You aren't even dressed!" Moni's mom yelled when she saw her daughter still in her pajamas. 

Marc knew he needed to jet. He sat the bear back where he got it, and as he stuck one foot out the window, he heard something that sounded like something he would hear at his house. 

"Mom, please!" Moni screamed, followed by the sound of a slight struggle. 

Moni's mom grabbed her wrist and yanked her off the toilet, tossing her to the cold tile floor. "You will go put on your dress now!" Her mom ordered. 

Though Marc couldn't see what was happening, he imagined precisely how it happened. He wanted to march out and do something, but he continued to slide back outside. 

I can't even help myself. What good could I possibly do for Moni?

Moni pulled herself off the floor, feeling pain in her ribs from the impact, and took herself to her bedroom. There, she noticed her window was open, but there was no sign of anyone coming in. 

Marc motherfucking Spector, what the hell were you thinking?

She did as her mom told her to and dressed in one of the many Sunday dresses that her mom insisted she needed. Every single one was a bright or pastel color made simply to make her look more childlike. 

Today's particular one she chose was a periwinkle color with yellow and pink flowers that stopped below her knees. The dress made Simone feel awful, but it was the perfect thing to wear to a church full of old people who looked at the developed girl with the conclusion that she was-

-A whore. 

-A troublemaker.

-Up to no good with that Spector boy.

Marc didn't understand how Moni was so sure that was what people thought of her. Sure, her mom said that, but Marc never took any flack for being involved with the girl. On top of that, his dad found Moni to be-

-Polite.

-Bright.

-The daughter he never had.

How could Moni be anything different? Did people just look at her and assume she was bad news?

In Moni's eyes, the answer was yes.

Ever since the pair became friends when Moni was 5 and Marc was 6, their relationship was regarded in a way that children should never be, assumed to be each other's "little boyfriend and girlfriend" from the start. 

Marc knew Moni never wanted that growing up. They were just kids.

Two kids who were normal until one day, they weren't. 

Marc's brother died. His mom snapped.

Moni's dad went to prison. Her mom snapped.

The events that turned these kids' worlds upside-down happened within eight months of each other. Nothing would be the same again, the only exception being that they still had each other.

 When Moni got home from church, she and Marc arranged to meet at their thinking tree. The tree was the biggest in the woods and close to the clearing where they normally stomped around. 

There, they daydream about running away and becoming famous, buying homes next to each other, retiring to the same place, and playing bingo together with gray hair. 

It didn't matter to Moni where they met, just so long as she got out of this house and away from her mother. 

"I'll be back before dark, mamá!" She yelled out as she rushed for the backdoor. 

Typically, when she could get the door closed before her mom responded, she was in the clear. This wasn't one of those times.

"Where are you going, Simone?" Her mom yelled back. This stopped Moni in her tracks. She wished she hadn't said anything at all. 

Wished she would have just left. 

"I'm going to Marc's." She mumbled, standing fully upright, and eyes drifted to her mary-janes as she heard her mom's heavy footsteps thudding closer.

"Speak up, mija." Her mom said sternly. She was right behind Moni now. The girl cleared her throat,

"I'm just going to Marc's, mamá." She repeated more clearly this time. It was the lie she told her so her mom wouldn't know she met with Marc alone nearly every time. For some reason, the security of Marc's family being there didn't satisfy her mother this time.

"Should I be worried about you and that boy?" Mom asked, her accent rolling her words more aggressively. Moni shook her head,

"No, mama. We're just gonna go over our history packet." Moni said, tugging her backpack strap in hopes of her taking it helped. She was glad her mom hadn't made her turn around and face her, not wanting to cry and give her mom a further reason to yell. The 17-year-old girl reverted right back to 10 in these moments. 

"History packet," She spat, making Moni wince. "Boys his age only want one thing. I expect you home before dark, and I will make sure he didn't get it from you myself." 

Moni almost let out an audible gasp at this. Her mom wanted to examine her? The violation of her body and privacy made her heart beat with rage, and her stomach flew up into her throat. 

She wanted to yell that she couldn't do that to her, but couldn't get the words out like when you try to scream in a dream. Moni could only think of pushing through the back door and running, so she did. 

I can't go back there. Simone said to herself, fresh tears rolling down her face. If Marc was serious about running away, today must be the day. 

She got to the thinking tree to see Marc sitting there, waiting. She pushed herself forward to him like she was crossing the finish line in a race and skidded on her bare knees through grass, dirt, rocks, and twigs just to meet him where he was. 

Marc didn't expect to see her in a dress, particularly one that looked like that. He thought she looked beautiful, aside from the crying. He assumed her breakdown had to do with what he had heard that morning, and without a word, he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her in the rest of the way. 

Her arms were draped over his shoulders as she buried her face into his neck, wailing like a small child. He held her, caressing her back and smoothing his hand over the chiffon fabric, trying to console her. 

Marc hated seeing her like this.

"I wish I could just disappear." She spoke softly. 

"I'd miss you if you did," Marc replied. 

Moni felt comforted by this and sank deeper into him, relaxing her muscles as her breath shuddered. His embrace was the most incredible warmth she had ever known, and she felt safe there.

Marc noticed her starting to calm down as he squeezed her tighter, trying to snuggle out as much sadness as he could. Though he did it for her, he felt happier having her in his arms. 

Every breath Simone took filled her senses with an essence of Marc. His clean clothes, his freshly showered and soft skin, the reverberation of his voice in her ears when he would speak. It was clear he even put on some sort of cologne before coming out here. Somehow, everything was perfect right then. 

"You look pretty, by the way," Marc said, testing to see if he could push the envelope further. He expected her to hit him for that but was met with an airy giggle that tickled his neck instead. 

She slowly pulled away from him, meeting his eyes in the middle and noting how close they were.

Without a moment to spare, she kissed him. 

It was terrifying and terrific all at once. 

Marc was taken by surprise but found the rhythm right away. 

Moni felt her previous anguish wash away from her body as butterflies took over. 

Jesus, am I actually kissing Spector? This is so wrong. 

She backed out of the kiss and looked at Marc with an expression that alarmed him. She seemed genuinely baffled. 

"This is... weird." She said, laughing nervously. Marc nodded in agreement,

"Yeah, it is," He replied. 

It was weird as hell, but they started kissing again on impulse. Moni swore she was physically floating as her emotions got fuzzy and happy. It wasn't her first kiss, but the first that made her feel good. 

If it's so wrong, why does it feel right? She thought. Maybe mamá was wrong. 

Then, without thinking about it and taking a moment to pull away and see if Moni was okay, Marc slid a nervous hand down her hip. She seemed okay with it. She wanted to keep going, leave the shit at home behind, and be her own person. 

What if Marc and I had sex? Would that be so bad? She thought to herself. The idea made her heart race before she heard her mother speak up in her mind.

Boys his age only want one thing. Men only see you as a means of satisfaction. Don't be floozy. Don't be a whore. 

Marc felt Moni tense up suddenly. 

I know what you and that Spector boy get up to. Nothing but a jezebel! I'll make sure he didn't get it from you myself.

Moni kicked herself back from him unexpectedly. Her heart was thumping in her ears but drowned out by her mother's voice. 

"Don't touch me! I don't want to!" She yelled shakily. Marc instinctively put his hands out to try to calm her down. She was frantically hugging herself for protection. When Marc attempted to touch her shoulder, her right hand balled up and met his jaw swiftly. 

Marc fell back into the grass under them as Moni stood up, not taking a moment to brush the dirt off her dress or notice her cut up knees. She backed up slowly, seeing what she had done,

You were supposed to protect him, you idiot!

And ran back through the woods.

Marc sat up, sore jaw and angry at himself for being a traitor, feeling no better than those assholes at school. 

[fang-wife]

»» — { ♡ } —— { ♡ } —— { ♡ } — ««

voyeur | m. izuku 

➳ tags ;; sub!izuku, dom!reader, watching hentai together?, reader is mean and nice </3, quirkless college au!izuku, corruption kink/religious guilt, unprotected sex/creampies, established relationship, afab reader

➳ wc ;; 2.1k

➳ a /n ;; @/sems-diarie made a post abt this a while ago n my brain wouldn’t let it be so. here we are </3 

➳ plot ;; izuku didn’t sneak you into your dorm to watch.. this with you. but he has a habit of letting you do what you like. 

»» — { ♡ } —— { ♡ } —— { ♡ } — ««

This is embarassing. 

He knows this is embarassing - more embarassing than he really cares to admit to. He should really know better by now then to let you do as you please. You’re always stringing him along with your schemes and plans and he loses sight of his morals. His standards. 

Then again, he doesn’t have any at this point. The point of him paying for this single dorm was so that he could have space to focus. It wasn’t to sneak you in when his R.A. wasnt looking. Even more then that, it wasn’t to do.. whatever this was. 

It’d be one thing if he was having sex. That’s a normal thing to do in college, to sneak your partner in and smash. But you’re you, and all you ever seem to have planned for him are hair-brained schemes. It’s what this feels like - when you sit on his twin size bed and pat the empty space next to you. The distrust in his expression makes you laugh.. He sighs and does what you’ve asked. 

“What’re you doing?” 

He sounds exasperated. You laugh - too pleasantly for him to be comfortable. You type something into the search bar. Green eyes widen, skin warm and blushing. 

“Wh-what’re you doing?” 

You laugh as you prop the computer on the bed. You grin at him, tucking yourself under his arm. The website mocks him, all black background and animated women with huge tits covering the screen edge to edge. 

“You know something, after you’re done using incognito mode - you’re supposed to switch out to regular search, you know,” you explain. Your hand rests on his thigh. Deku freezes. 

The sound of your voice has always been something of a vice. It gets a little raspy like this - sultry in a way that has him squirming. He doesn’t know what to do. He can feel the heat of your body. 

“Would you know my surprise when I borrow your phone to look up when the convience store closes,” you inch closer, press further “only to see..” 

He knows what you saw before you announce it. His skin feels like it’s on fire, tuning out whatever description you’ve been giving of what he chose to watch. 

Maybe it was the way he was raised - but he always had such a specific sort of guilt towards pornography. Always told himself he shouldn’t watch things like that, shouldn’t touch himself. Izuku had always been a good, well-behaved boy. Done the right thing even when it was hard. 

Meeting you had changed that, changed him. He found his body craving you when he couldn’t control it and he ended up here - watching porn and jerking off with his shirt in his mouth. It’s all come back to haunt him, really. 

“I’m not mad, y’know,” ― and your tone goes soft - it’s assuring enough that Izuku can whimper out an okay, but you’re not done ― “I’m just curious. Can’t we watch it together?,” 

“That’s ― !” 

You flutter your lashes him. 

“That’s?” 

He has a million words that he can say. That he should say. Bad, wrong, immoral. Words that belong at the end of the sentence to describe what he’s doing with you and what he’s considering. 

None of that comes out. 

“That’s.. too much” 

You grin at him. 

“Do you not want too?” 

“..I didn’t say that, it’s just -” 

Your hand squeezes his thigh until your stiletto's dig into them. Your mouth trails his jaw with hot, open mouth kisses until your turning his head to face you. A hand splayed on his face, tongue deep in his mouth. French kissing makes him pant - hands twitching eagerly to touch you. He watches, dazed - the spit trail of saliva that stretches between you two. 

He’s so easy, it’s cute. You press forward with a chaste kiss. 

“Show me what you were watching, Izuku,” 

His hand trembles as he leans forward. He remembers the title - doesn’t know if that’s good or bad. Within seconds, it shows up and he clicks. You lean forward too, observing the tags with a small smile on your face. 

“Milf, NTR, Gangbang,” 

“S-stop reading them!” 

You giggle. 

Without warning - you press play. Izuku finds himself frantic. Worried about the sound, the time, all of it - but you don’t seem to care. The AD comes on and you skip that too. It’s on. A familiar arousal blooms in his chest, the memory of what he’d seen appearing. You settle between his legs, your back pressed to his chest. You bring his hands around your waist.

“Let’s watch ~” 

Izuku face twists with displeasure. The plot nothing to ride home about - a lonely housewife goes out to a club and finds someone to take care of her needs. At first it’s just one stranger at the club - then two, then she’s surrounded and its too much. 

Izuku assumes you’re gonna find him disgusting, but when he looks at your face - you’re smiling, heart-beating in your chest. His eyes blow wide when you take his hand between your legs. You’re wet and you’re letting him touch you and he’s trying his hardest not to show how much he’s shaking. 

A little sigh of pleasure leaves your mouth when Izuku very carefully rubs your clit. It throbs under the pressure of big fingers - you hold his wrist and moan. He can hear the porn in the background but it doesn’t serve to distract him from you. 

“You want me to go n’ get fucked by a bunch of strangers, ‘zuku?” 

He shakes his head furiously. 

“Then you just like watching depraved shit, huh?” 

Unable to argue with you or with the the way his cock twitches and jumps in his jeans, he opts to whine. You can feel his it against your lower-back, the little wet-spot that presses to your thin tshirt. He’s too turned onto think properly - watching the way your body jerks and twitches. 

The woman on screen is stuffed to the brim with cock - it’s all over exaggerated he knows, but he thinks that’s why he likes it. Maybe he just likes the idea of fucking someone that stuffed fulled of cum, how it leaks and pours onto every surface and the way her cunt just seems to take it. And Izuku is such a good, well behaved boy - it’s never crossed his mind to think about doing it to you. 

And no, he doesn’t really want to see you get fucked by so many men but if there were more than one of him he’d be more than inclined to let you. His chest feels tight forgetting to breath. 

He thinks maybe you’re some kind of witch because you always seem to know what he wants before he does. The right way to push all of his buttons. 

“Oh, I see’ ― and he’s afraid of whatever words come out of your mouth next ― “you wanna fuck me full of your cum, Izuku? Wanna know how it feels raw?” 

He moans - loud and shameless and needy against your ear. A breathless laugh leaves your mouth because that’s exactly what he wants. He wants to fuck you full of cum, just picturing how good it might feel. 

You sit up on your knees and bend over a little - pulling short-shorts beneath the curve of your ass and thickest parts of your thigh. Your panties are drenched, clinging to your folds. He inhales sharply, frozen till as you lean forward - pulling them to one side. 

“Take your cock out ‘n fuck me then, baby” ― you challenge, dark and dangerous. Everything about you is so sinful and too tempting for him to ignore. His cock aches ― “Do your best”  

His body moves before he has a proper chance to feel shame. Whatever devils been whispering in his ear (read: you) has won whatever leftover dignity he has left. Without a proper word, his cock stands to attention. His hands are fidgety but they mange to settle on your waist. He guides you down on his dick, bottom lipped pulled between his teeth hard enough to draw blood. 

“Oh, fuck” 

He’s going to cum right away if he doesn’t take a breather. This is the first time he’s feeling you, and it feels so much better than he could understand. The lingering thoughts of the dangerous act silence by how tight and how wet and how willing your pussy is for him. The way your walls twitch - ache shamelessly around his cock. He’s fucking sliding in and out of you - it feels like a special privilege he’s done nothing to earn.

He’s shivering, over and over. When he looks down, he’s not all the way in. He’s not sure if he’s praying to god for the right reason - for forgiveness. All he can think about is how good it feels to be inside and how he absolutely doesn’t want to do anything else. 

“How’s it feel, Izuku?” 

He groans at the sound of your voice, the way you clench down on him and stretch so tightly around his shaft. He’s too wrapped up in the feeling of your cunt - like heaven and silk. 

“F-feels so, so good” 

Part of you thinks you should ride him, but another part of you is more interested in seeing how he fucks you. You snap the laptop closed and push it to the other side of the bed, before flipping around and laying on your back. His cock slips out and he snaps into reality - the way you have your legs in the air and your arms out. 

“I’ll let you fuck me as many times as you want today,” ― your legs reach and wrap around his waist, easily forcing his cock back inside ― “go on,” 

Izuku is a mess, really. His pants are only half-way pulled down and he’s wearing a nerdy graphic t-shirt. He’s borderline in hysterics over how good your pussy feels and can’t do anything other than thank you repeatedly and fuck you with an animalistic need. It’s clumsy like you’d expect, but he makes up for it with sheer enthusiasm. 

His cock is long and pretty - hits every spot you need it too. Izuku fucks you with shallow, sloppy thrusts - so needy and chasing his orgasm. Selfish and inexperienced. Every time he pushes forward, you can feel he’s throbbing. Aching to cum inside and unload. 

You reach a hand between the two of you to finish on your own time - planning on cumming before him. He doesn’t seem to care. 

“Ngh, ohh my god, feel’s’good” 

“Yeah? Gonna cum inside me, handsome? Makin’ such a pretty face for me” 

His stomach churns at the way you call him pretty. It sounds so sweet and adoring - but he knows that you’re a bully. He knows that about but fucks you with all his strength anyways - overly frustrated and fucked out of his mind by the feeling. Like a drug. He likes you so much he feels stupid over it. 

“Yeah, yeah ‘m gonna” 

Your own orgasm washes over you in a pleasant wave, squeezing his cock with force. He gasp and goes faster - all the thoughts washed away from his head. He needs to finish more than he needs anything. More than he needs to sleep for his 6am work-out and 8am class. More than he needs to be quiet because the walls of his dorm are paper thin. More than he needs to exercise self-control, he needs to cum so fuckin bad. 

“Look at me,” 

He follows your command, like always - and you look amused and fucked out just like he is. And Izuku has really never been this into anyone before so seeing you evokes feelings he can’t understand. 

“Oh, fuuck“ 

Briefly he understands that he really just came by looking at you, but nothing really makes sense to him. His eyes are heavy and he’s drooling onto your shoulder, spasming and clinging to your body with the most needy little whimpers. It’s so lewd, how he can feel his cum spurt out and coat your insides and his cock. It’s all so sinful but it feels so good, he can’t bring himself to care. 

“So,” ― you smile, full of mischief ― “if you want to be like that, we’ve got a few rounds to go” 

Izuku splutters at your comment and you laugh. He knows you’re not joking and he whines. You really are a bad influence on him. But with the way his cock is twitching to life again.. 

He might not be any better. 

»» — { ♡ } —— { ♡ } —— { ♡ } — ««

[kirozai]

First of all I'm really sorry to ask you to write about this but can of please write : the Archons and the reader are like having a small banquet and Baal's servant actually took or mix the wrong ingredients so the God! Reader got poison and wake up not so long after

The reason why i said im sorry earlier bcs i just randomly found this when I was searching for genshin x reader and I found this Sagau but it didn't got saved sadly so until now I'm still searching for it sad yes that's the reason why now I'm obsessed with SAGAU genshin

aaaaa im kinda iffy on this stuff as you may or may not know but since your intentions are pure ill do it

banquet of mistakes

synopsis: the results of the deadly mistake venti, zhongli, and baal make. (the aftermath of the archons fucking up)

CW: hurt/comfort, religious themes, cult au, sagau, self awareness, yandere themes, profanity

type of reader: gn!reader, kindbutkindasalty!reader, darling!reader

“do you believe in the unknown? or does it have to be seen to believe?”

gosh how to even begin this?

baal

how did this happen? everything was so perfect but it just had to be one of hers that messed up. the shame from the others were unbearable and not to mention… you. you were still in a sleep

it’s unbearable for her, but the constant stares and guilt keep her up at night. why did it have to be you who got poisoned? and why did it have to be one of HER servants who messed up

the servant was captured and their punishment will be chosen by you, not only that her punishment, she hopes that you can still love her, still love her like you used to.

after you woke up, she pushed you to drink water, partially because she didn’t want you to be dehydrated, and another part is that she doesn’t want to hear what come out of your mouth.

you are a kind god. yet she can’t help but worry.

“it’s okay baal. thanking you for the apologies but it was a mistake, also please let the servant go zhongli.”

it’s.. okay? it’s. okay.. it’s okay!

god she didn’t expect to hear that!

trust that now, you precautions will be much higher. there will be no chance at all for you getting sick. and also, during the recovery process, expect her to be at your care no matter what.

zhongli

something was.. off. but he couldn’t sense it. nothing seemed wrong. so why was he feeling this way?

he should’ve listened to his gut. and maybe, just maybe. you wouldn’t be completely passed out from that mortal sin the servant committed.

how could baal let this happen? does she not train her servants. no zhongli knew in the beginning there should be no one but him to care for your goods.

every second that went by he wanted to rip the servant to shreds. but he knew how you would think about it. you never really enjoyed them doing anything without your permission.

he blames baal for most of it, yet he himself should’ve known and listened to himself. and he should’ve listend to himself to rip the servant to shreds anyways because he would be going punishment-free!

your kindness, he always said, was given to the wrong people.

he was one who was there when you were waking up.

he has this habit where he sorts of, bombards you with questions.

“are you alright?”

“how are you feeling?”

“do you need anything”

it takes a bit for things to go back to normal, everyone is on alert ready for it if it comes. yet through your words, things come back in to place.

venti

i’d like to say venti is probably the most clear-headed out of the three in my opinion.

with the only one with some type of common sense in the situation, he finds himself trying to calm the archons and himself, without getting sliced by lightning or thrown a meteor at.

the “poison” was just an ingredient that you reacted negatively to.

you’d be okay. he knew that, you were strong.

he plays soft harp music while watching over you.

he’s right you know?? it really wasn’t that bad i mean to be honest, you were only out for a couple hours.

he still is quite mad at baal and the servant though.

he agrees with zhongli that they both should get harsher punishments.

but, who is he to question your word?

he tastes your food a bit first, and although getting scolded is a pain, at least he knows the foods you eat are safe.

just this once though. he will only be normal once, and if it happens again? the winds of teyvat won’t be the ones you and venti enjoy walking in.

holy cheese this was really long and i just noticed my last post was eleven days ago…

kirozai out!

tips! (very appreciated!)

[cloudninetonine]

I'm back (Are really fast considering my writing time-) with the next part of the Tethered au series. I've written this one really fast because I wanted to bang it out because this one had been in my head for a while! It actually contains some lore for the au that I've been debating whether to put in or not (May change in the future depending on stuff like plot holes and whatnot) so I hope you like it! (Hope it's not cringe ahaha)

@yandere-linked-universe this one's for you babes!

Tw: yandere content, bad language, talk about death, talk about unhealthy obsession, possessive language, threatening language, talk about violence, intimidation, manic episode (?) panic attack (?) some cringe (?), mentions of religion and religious language, talk about possible hallucinations and losing sanity (derealization?)

-----

Wake up.

Refresh yourself.

Morning prayers. (For those who wished to thank her)

Breakfast.

Training.

More training.

And more training.

Lunch.

Training once again.

Dinner.

Wash yourself.

Evening prayers.

Sleep.

That was the typical day for a knight of Hyrule Castle.

Warrior had learned it well in his years' training, his years that he now, looking back, wasted to a kingdom that dropped a burden on his shoulders and left him to deal with it alone, no friends, no family, no love- nothing. Sure it could have been argued that Impa, Lana, Zelda, were his companions on the upcoming tragedies that fell the country but ultimately, it was the hero’s, his, duty to defeat Ganon like he and his predecessors (His brothers) had done before.

Once again, was the man cursed to live that gruelling nightmare. No brothers by his side to keep him company, no beautiful goddess to guide his way, to be kind and show him empathy, that she cared, that she was always proud of him, even when he messed up like people did.

You weren’t there to tell him everything would be okay.

You would never be there again.

You were dead.

And Warrior felt like the world around him had crushed in on itself with his grief, guilt pulling him down into the murky depths below.

Again that day, Link felt a practice staff jab into his stomach violently. The hero’s breakfast begged to be released as he was thrown, back meeting the cobblestone of the training yard following a suppressed groan as pain bloomed around his belly.

“For the sake of the goddess- LINK! I told you to pay attention!” His commander bellowed, marching over to yank the blonde up by the scruff of his shirt and tossing him forward, Warrior stumbling a few feet before snapping back into position “Stay out of practice until you can stop daydreaming your life away! Knightship is about people who are serious about defending this blessed kingdom”

‘I’ll kill you old man’ He growled in his head, dragging himself to the sidelines of the practice fights to collapse against the giant castle walls, sliding down until he sat on the ground.

He’d always hated that commander, even before his journey as the hero, his journey alongside the others, his journey by your side, commander Haze had always been a demanding prick.

“Link, buddy” One of his fellow knights-in-training had called over, wandering over to his side “What has been troubling you? You’ve been acting off ever since this morning! You have a nightmare or something?”

“Nightmare?” Warrior parroted. No, it hadn’t started off like that, it felt like a beautiful dream, his brothers by his side, your kindness pushing them forward but the way it had ended… “...You could say that”

The guy beside him huffed “Well, whatever it is that has you in this hump, you need to snap out of it! You and I both know Commander Haze will kick you from the knights without a second thought!”

When he walked away, back over to a group discussing whatever he didn’t care to find out, Warrior felt himself let out a dry laugh “Kick me from the knights? That doesn’t sound too bad”

The sound of fighting echoed through the courtyard.

---

Warrior wanted to scream.

An enraged sweat was gathered on his forehead, pupils were shrunk in obvious hatred and his clasped hands shook from how hard he was holding himself back from jumping at the statue of Hylia situated at the end of the room.

He had already dreaded his way through morning prayer, well, more like he had been in shock for way too long for morning prayer, in a dazed state as the knights whispered their prayers to that wretched hag who he had once dutifully served, to that murderer who had taken his angel, his goddess away from him-

Warrior released a shaky breath, willing himself to hold on for only a little longer. Evening prayer was almost over, lasting about five minutes and then he could collapse onto his bed, his old creaky bed that felt like his only comfort in this horrible world which Hylia (That disgusting, evil witch-) had forced him back into.

Almost there-

“-I thank the goddess Hylia for all she has given Hyrule and I thank the Hero of old, Link and the Patron Saint (Name) for protecting that gift-”

Warrior’s head snapped to his bunk buddy so fast it would have snapped if he hadn’t been more careful.

His bunkmate kneeled beside him, positioned in a similar stance to the hero as he continued to whisper his prayer, not sparing the blonde a glance despite the piercing gaze that Warrior’s eyes had caught him in.

‘No’ The captain had thought, turning back to glare at the statue of the goddess close by ‘It wasn’t possible, I’m just imagining it’

He hated the thought that the idea of you made him manic. Sure, he had killed in your name, ridded the world of filth that dared displeased you, thought about you when he awoke in the morning till he fell asleep, even then dreaming of your beautiful soft face smiling at him like you always did. But he wasn’t crazy, he wasn’t what Cia had become, he didn’t mutter your name like a mantra under his breath, nor did he wish to keep you away from the world for himself…

Who was he even kidding? He had run past those signs way long ago, so far they weren’t even a pinprick in the distance.

Warrior was insane about you to an unhealthy degree…

That’s why you had left.

He had driven you away, they all had, and with their obsession marked as affection until you finally had enough and left them- left him.

Warrior heard another whisper your name, then another and another and another and another-

He was officially losing it.

No.

He had already lost it.

It had just taken him way too long to realise it due to his heavy weighted denial.

When it was finally time to sleep, to wish away the world using heavy imagination and unconsciousness Warrior laid awake, staring at the bunk above him with burning blue eyes that twitched with repressed emotions.

Link fell into a restless sleep eventually though.

‘Link…’

…

‘Link’

But not for long.

‘Link!’

The man snapped up in his bed, hands practically tearing at the bedsheets while his heart pounded in his chest, breaths coming out in unsteady pants with eyes glancing around the room of sleeping knights as he tried to steady himself slowly.

Warrior had hoped he would awaken in your arms, shaking him gently to stop one of his nightmares that plagued his mind while he slept, the phantom feeling of your hands running through his golden locks as you told him that ‘it was okay, I’ve got you’ because you wanted to protect him, you wanted to protect them all with your kindness.

The blonde held back the tears in his eyes when he realised he was still there and you weren’t, only the echo of your voice calling him the only thing left.

Until he heard it again.

‘Link!’

It sounded far, very far, almost too faint for him to have heard: but he heard it.

“...(Name)?”

‘Link!’

The captain didn’t hesitate, jumping from his bed and racing to the door.

He practically ripped it open, not caring if it woke any others (the training practically knocked everyone out anyway) then tore down the corridor. Warrior wasn’t sure where he was going, nor did he know why he was even running, after all, it was obvious that the man had gone insane, he was merely imagining it all like he did earlier…

Right?

‘Link!’

With each step your voice got louder, with each corner he turned or each door he tore open your voice would raise an octave, sound clearer until it sounded like you were calling for him clear as day, not sounding scared, nothing of the sorts, only as if you were calling for his attention, for his presence and the knight was more than ready to give it to you.

‘Link!’

Warrior skidded to a stop in front of a set of doors, once again barging through without a second thought and stumbled into the room- a bedroom.

“(Name)!?”

…silence.

“...(Name)?”

…silence once again.

The room was empty, save for a few items that clearly belonged to someone, evidence that someone already clearly occupied this space.

Someone that wasn’t you.

…Had he just run through practically the entire castle to look for a person who couldn’t have possibly been there? Listen to an imaginary voice that called his name? Had he forgotten what had happened earlier? Had he forgotten what happened to you? Oh, he was losing his mind for sure from his grief, falling deeper into the hole he had carved himself and when the realisation washed over to him, Warrior pulled away from the door.

He needed to go.

The hero turned away.

Then a strong breeze washed through the room, followed by a soft thud that had him turn again to the source of the noise.

A book sat perfectly on a desk a few feet away, the pages dancing in the wind from the open window just in front of it, somehow dragging him closer and closer until he was looking at the hardcover, narrowing his eyes.

‘The completed history of Hyrule’

…What?

This had to be a joke from Hylia herself- he already knew about the history of Hyrule!

With an angered huff, Warrior leaned over to shut the window then once again made his way to the door.

Only for the windows to burst open once again, the breeze stronger this time, ruffling his hair and making him shiver from the cold, reminding him he only wore his sleeping clothes.

“For the golden goddesses’ sake” Warrior growled, marching right back over to the desk again and glaring down at the pages the book had flicked to.

Ah, yes! The first hero and the Demise! The one everyone ever knew about! Not Sky, no, his predecessor! Hylia’s little servant, the one that had been tricked and tortured by the ‘merciful’ (cruel) goddess herself! Her toy! Her plaything! That poor bastard! That fool-

Warrior stopped.

The breeze stopped, the pages finally relaxing onto the flat surface of the desk as the title came into view, the full title.

‘Hylia, The first hero, The sorceress and The Demise’

…The sorceress?

Warrior hadn’t realised he had sat down until the feeling on the chair was against his back, leaning over the book.

He began to read.

It went on about the hero, the first, Hylia’s chosen hero, the story he already knew, the story that everyone knew, everyone learned but then it moved.

‘The sorceress, once a mere street magician who retold stories of old and entertained the crowds within the castle district, was Hylia’s right hand during the time of Hylia’s reign and the war of Demise.

Nurtured under the goddess’ loving hand, the sorceress grew in power and surpassed any goal set out by Hylia, proving herself a valiant and loyal individual to the divine woman. The human girl was later gifted a blessed sceptre for her hard work, dubbed the name “Holy protector of Hylia and the people”, guarding the people alongside Hylia from the evil that the Demise forced upon the land.

Each day she grew stronger, demonstrating time and time again her faith as the forthcoming of the Demise’s attack.

Then came the day she and the first hero finally met.

The two served under Hylia closely, loyalty undying and power almost unyielding as they shared a bond like no other, many believing that their time together was heavily influenced by a love they shared.

During the great battle against the Demise, the hero fell short due to the evil entity’s great power, being gravely wounded before handing the sword given to him by Hylia back to the goddess for her to send the remaining Hylians to the skies, along with the triforce. The great hero died with the sorceress by his side, unable to mourn and only repel the hoards of monsters that tried to stop Hylia.

Tired, alone and heartbroken, the sorceress used her remaining life source to keep The Demise at bay, knowing she was unable to defeat the monster herself until Hylia descended once more to seal away Demise.

The sorceress finally passed away beside her beloved and Hylia wept.

It is said that the golden goddesses recognised her combined power, courage and wisdom and in her honour formed the triforce of protection, centred in the middle of the full triforce as a symbol of her respected sacrifices to keep Hylia and the world safe.

The goddess of old acknowledged her as something beyond mortal.

A goddess in her own right.

Powerful, courageous, wise and kind.

The sorceress was then said to be reincarnated by Hylia’s hand, just as she did the first hero. Link, the hero from the sky and his faithful companion, (Name)-’

Warrior slammed the book shut.

Hands shaking, he pulled away and leaned back in the chair.

…What had she done? What had that tyrant done? What had the goddess, the one who had forced him and his brothers on such journeys, what kind of shit had that tainted woman done!?

The book was opened again, returned to the page before, where the tale had ended and his eyes ran to the next page with the delicately made illustration of the four. Hylia, above them all, her hands outstretched with eyes closed, the demise at the bottom, unimportant and conquered, the first hero, his famous red scarf seeming billowing in the wind with the sorceress by his side, features way too similar to your own for it to be coincidence: your hair, your eyes, your skin, goddesses, that smile- he felt sick.

Warrior turned to the next page and began to read, muttering Sky’s name softly under his breath then reading on, catching your name in the story then skimming to the next story, peace, blah, blah- Four’s journey with your name, peace, blah, blah, blah- Time’s story with your name once again mentioned, peace again, then Twilight’s with your name again-

Warrior stood, holding his stomach with a hand over his mouth.

He was gonna be sick, he was gonna be sick.

Was this (Name), were you- was this some sort of sick joke from Hylia? To remake you again beside his brothers as a form of torture? She was once such a light in his life, so kind and soft, what had happened? What had she become?

A voice in his head told him that Hylia had always been like this, he was just too blind to see it.

Hurrying back to the book, he once again skimmed through taking in all the details of his predecessors. Each described in detail, the captain felt questions bubble in his head the further and further he read into them: close friendships, fighting together, great adventures where you were glued to one another’s side- potential love lives!?

This…this didn’t sound like torture.

No, this didn’t make any sense? Why would Hylia allow you by their sides once more? Was…was she torturing you? Was she forcing you to relive lives because of their infatuation with you!? You had done nothing wrong! You were innocent in their unhealthy obsession! You were the victim to their mania-

But then, was falling in love with them, as described in this book, a…punishment?

Did you see their love as something to fear, to hate?

Tears bubbled at the corners of his eyes, teeth biting down on his bottom lip to keep away the whimpers that threatened to escape him, water falling down his face.

…Did you hate them?

Is that why you left?

Did they really go so far?

But he loved you.

He loved you.

He loved you.

H̵e̸ ̵l̷o̷v̴e̶d̷ ̴y̴o̵u̵.

Ḫ̷̥̏͘e̶̻̤͒̀ ̵̧̜̑ĺ̴̦̦o̵̼̦̔v̷̦͊͌e̴̯͌d̵͕͋ ̸̺̚͠y̶̪̖͂͝o̵̖̕ų̴̗́.

H̴̬͇͙͍̙̓̍E̴̢̼̖͉͑̍̔͘ ̵̫͘ͅL̸̜̹̳̉̂̏͝Ô̵͓̘̠V̵̛̫͕̓͊̐Ě̶̺̫̺D̴̨̨̤͊͐͛̉͠ ̶̻͔̹̦̾̍̈́Y̷͓̖̖̬̝̓̆̄O̸̮͆U̵͚͋͝͝

Ḧ̸̩͓̩̖̭̺̞̯̞͒̓͗͌͗̍͂̚Ę̶̝̲̖̹̪̦̊̽̔̌̈́ ̶̧̼͖̟̲̲̹̀̀͋̉͒̑̄͋̒̉̄̄̉.

L̶̳͓̘̿̋́͛̎̀̕͠Ő̴̹͔̜̝̤̞̖͎̬͔͜V̶̡͎̱̜̠͉̈̂̌̈́̚̚̕͜͠Ȇ̷͇̩̮̝͇̟̭͔̮̩͖ͅD̵͖̅̅͝ ̸̖̗̜͎̲͓̮͕͙̼̭͛̽̓̔̄͘̕ͅ.

Ÿ̷̤͎̝͉́́̄̓̓̆̄̽͆̎̚͝Ö̶̭̠̮͖͎̹̓̐̒̈́ͅU̸̠̫̪͂̈́̓̎̍͠!̷̖́̽̔-

“Are you okay?”

Warrior spun around fast, wiping his eyes furiously as he tried to keep the oncoming attack at bay. He wanted to scream, he wanted to cry, he wanted to burst into hysterical laughter while rocking back and forth on the floor.

“Now, now” The voice returned, closer this time, gently pulling his arm away and rubbing smooth circles into his shoulder “Breath, dear knight, breath”

His eyes were blurry, he couldn’t see, he merely followed the voice’s instructions, feeling himself being led somewhere different until the feel of the soft, plush bed of the room made contact with his body. The hero almost felt himself sinking into it, falling back and relaxing into the plushness of the bed hoping it would swallow him whole.

Warrior just wanted to sleep.

“Relax, Link, you’re safe”

He paused.

His eyes became clear.

“There we go, how are you feeling?”

Warrior swallowed the spit in his mouth, but it was no use as it had already dried up.

“Oh, you look like you’ve seen a ghost” You laughed, placing a hand delicately over your mouth “There’s no need to look so afraid, my dear, I’m not going to bite your nose off”

Yes, of course, if all the others had their version of you…

Warrior of course was gonna get his own version too.

“I-...I-” The man felt his gut churn, horror, excitement, relief- every emotion he could ever feel hitting him violently at once in a way that made him actually want to lean over and hurl “(Name)...-”

“That’s me!” With a giggle, you brushed some of his hair away from his face “You must be a little confused, you seemed disoriented when I first called you a little earlier! I’m sorry for using your name, I know it must be a little weird, someone you barely know calling for you”

You…didn’t remember.

“It’s…” Horrible, gut-wrenching, sadistic, painful, torture- “..fine”

“Ah, good!” You clapped in relief then stood, softly trotting away and he almost reached out for you, almost dragged you back in, wanted to plead with you to remember everything, remember him but he held himself back “I actually learned your name from the captain of the army! I’ve heard a lot of great things about you, Sir Link! ”

‘Sir Link’ Despite the situation, he felt a wretched glee from within him.

The door to the bedroom- your room- was closed and you were padding back towards him, a silver tray holding a teapot and two cups within your hands “I heard you scurrying around earlier, frantically running through the halls I’m surprised you weren't caught by any guards! Haha, though I already knew you wouldn’t, not yet at least, you were bound to show up here after all! So, I made us some tea while we chatted”

‘You were bound to show up here?’ What did you mean? You knew he was coming? You prepared for his arrival? How did you know he would show up? What led you to believe he, who apparently was someone you barely conversed with, would show up at your door in the middle of the night?

You placed the cup of hot tea in Warrior’s hands, seating yourself back beside him with a smile just as warm.

“You’re confused”

After a moment, he nodded “Very”

You took a sip of your drink “I did foresee that too”

‘Foresee?’ Once again you laughed at his uncertainty and Warrior couldn’t help but bask in the sound, letting his eyes close softly to imagine you two back with the others, the man himself had cracked a joke that had you howling, as well as some of the others. Legend snarking him in return with that damned smirk, leading a battle of the wits that Time would break up with that look of disapproval-

“I am a Saint, Sir Link, not to mention the High Priestess of the Temple of the Golden Three and Hylia-” You were what- “-The goddesses foretold of your appearance to me in my dream, confused and a little frantic at that”

You could speak to Hylia?

Hylia was speaking to you and she hadn’t bothered to tell you anything?

…She really was a cold-hearted bit-

“Did she- they say why I would come?” Warrior asked a little desperately, coughing into his hand when you jumped “Did they say anything?”

Your looked grew with concern “They-... Hylia didn’t tell me anything, she only said that you weren’t yet ready to confess your sins-”

Warrior almost choked.

What did that mean?

“How did you know I was talking about Hylia?”

Your gaze met his, bright and beautiful, strong and hypnotic, the captain almost felt the need to fall under your spell, to collapse to his knees and devote his life to you (not that he hadn’t already, you just didn’t know) and your eyes pulled him in.

“I can see it in your eyes” Your hand landed on his face, brushing your thumb against the apple of his cheek “You hold hatred for her, don’t you? Do you blame her for a tragedy in your life, Sir Link? Is that what you wish to tell me? I won’t judge you for harbouring distaste for our goddess, not everyone can see the good that comes with her plans”

Oh, he blamed her alright. Blamed her for your death, blamed her for his brothers' disappearance, blamed her for all the torture she put him through, blamed her for sending him back, blamed her for your painful reincarnations, blamed her for having you under her thumb- blamed her for every bad thing within his life.

Warrior didn’t just hate Hylia, he despised her.

…Though he did have to thank her.

After all, here you were, no need to share with 8 other people who were also desperate for your attention. No overly possessive Four, no clingy Wind, no feral Wild nor obsessive Legend.

You were all his.

But he wouldn’t take that for granted, he wasn’t going to mess up like he had last time- he was going to be the best man he could be while you were here in his grasp-

“You’re beautiful” He blurted out, almost feeling the need to slap himself.

He was crossing a line-

“Changing the subject?” You chuckled “I know not to pester when it is not wanted, but please know Sir Link, you may speak with me any time, all you need is to ask-”

Your bedroom door burst open, the call of ‘High Priestess!’ leaving the night guards lips as they entered the room, glaring over at Link who felt a dark cloud pass over him at the sight. Who dared disturb you two? Enter without your permission and get in the way of his alone time with you? He would cut them down where they stood, tear them apart, watch their struggle and hear them beg for mercy-

Impa walked into the room, also glaring at him down with her usual protective ferocity before glancing over to you, face softening “Saint (Name), are you well? I heard of someone running about the halls, I was unaware it was a troublesome knight”

Warrior once felt a tinge of fear when the Sheikah woman had looked down at him with disapproval, but at this moment, with all that he had been through, all he could feel was rage as she got in between the both of you.

“I’m fine-” You chirped, pulling your hand away from his face (missing his almost inaudible whimper) as you stood “You needn’t worry, Sir Link is merely feeling a little poorly and ran around the castle in a fevered daze. I’ve given him some medicinal tea and I’ll be walking him back to his chambers to rest”

“I don’t think that’s wise, (Name), maybe I should-”

“Impa” Placing your hands on her arm (It was undeserved, she was unworthy) you sent her a reassuring smile “It’s fine if I was in danger you and I both know I would be able to protect myself”

Impa’s stature faltered “I know”

“Good” Glancing back at him, you gestured for him to follow “Come, Sir Link, I will walk you back to your chambers to make sure you do so safely”

You sent him a cheeky wink that made his cheeks flush “Yes Saint (Name)”

“I’ll be coming to” Impa piped in when Warrior walked to your side, getting between the both of you despite your whine “So that I can walk you back safely (Name). Guards dismissed”

It was awkward. Very awkward. The walk was filled with a horrible tension from both Warrior himself and Impa, glaring one another down while you walked ahead, blissfully unaware (Or maybe you were?) on the situation behind you until you had finally returned to the knight’s quarters, pulling open the metal handle slowly so as to not wake the other sleeping soldiers.

“It was very nice conversing with you Link, I look forward to talking more with you tomorrow” Impa looked pained at your words, hissing out the air between clenched teeth while Warrior hid his smirk behind his hand, softly grabbing your own to press a kiss against it.

“I look forward to it”

He loved the shine that took over your gaze, bashful embarrassment while you avoided eye contact with a smile.

‘Potential love lives, huh?’ He wondered if those words applied to him as he entered his room, pausing when you called out to him again.

“There was something else the goddess said” You started, looking a little…troubled as you spoke “Her words, what were her words…- oh, yes-

‘Act accordingly, dear hero or the darkness will take away that which you love again’”

Impa shut the door in his horrified face.

….Warrior knew a threat when he heard it.

Behave or it won’t end well for her again.

He wondered if it was too late to go to the bathroom to empty his stomach.

[stardustgreta]

unforgiven | jake kiszka

chapter two - cherry

pairings: jake kiszka x reader

word count: 5.2k

genre: strangers to lovers au

chapter warnings: jake kiszka being a flirt, church, toxic religious parents

"Hey sugar."

You read the message ten times over to be sure you were reading it right. There was no clear contact name, it had been an unsaved number but the pet name told you everything you needed to know. You looked around comically, knowing there wasn’t anyone around you. Guilt pervaded, you felt that the text alone was a sin worthy of penalizing. You took a second before you felt your fingers tapping a message on the keyboard. What were you supposed to say to that? After he’d been so impudent only a few hours before did he really deserve a response at all?

“How’d you get my number?”

This was the best you could come up with, you sent the message before you could analyze it for too long. You stood in silence, waiting for a response. Still standing in your room, wet footprints followed from the bathroom. Small drops of water that leaked from the ends of your hair slipped onto the floor, the silence that filled the room made the water hitting the floor louder than it should’ve been. You waited in angst, unsure as to why you cared so much if he had responded. You shouldn’t have responded at all.

You threw the phone back onto the bed, walking over to your dresser picking out the usual nightgown for sleeping. Your night routine went as it usually did, and still no message back. Finally, the sound of the front door opening and closing woke you up from the daze you had found comfort in. The distant sound of your name being called from downstairs forced your feet down the staircase and into the kitchen, where your parents had begun unpacking various groceries from the brown paper bags that had been placed on the kitchen island. They made casual conversation with you, a conversation you weren’t exactly fully indulged in as you aimlessly replied.

“Karen was telling us about how Jake was back in town, did you hear about that?” Your mother spoke and the name had made you look up from your feet. You made fast work of your expression, putting on a false confused look. With a furrow of your eyebrow and a look toward your father who had returned your glance, you spoke.

“Oh, Really? No, I hadn’t heard about that. Did she say why?” You regretted the tinge of interest that splayed in your voice, your mother seemingly catching on but waving it off.

“She didn’t. But that boy is trouble.” Your father hummed in agreement, and you gave a curt nod.

Ding.

The sound could be heard ever so slightly from the kitchen, your heart stopped. It’s probably just Josh. You tried to tell yourself to excuse the slight increase in your heart rate.

“Well I’m off to bed. Goodnight.” Your parents were distracted with their own conversation and finishing up the groceries to notice you leave. You heard something about not forgetting to pray before bed but you were already halfway up the stairs before you could respond. Entering the room and closing the door behind you, you watched the phone for a second before crossing the room to pick it up.

You were embarrassed, the slight thrill you got when you saw the contact pop up made you feel dirty. You knew you shouldn’t text him back and you knew that you shouldn’t have responded to begin with. As if all those lectures from your parents about predators, and strangers when you had gotten your first phone at seventeen meant nothing. You opened the message anyway, biting the inside of your cheek.

“Church records are a beautiful thing.”

After an hour of waiting for his response, you couldn’t help but respond right after you read the message. You mentally cursed yourself for hitting the send button without a second thought.

“Those aren’t for public viewing.”

“Oh I know.” He responded swiftly this time, making a slight blush rise to your cheeks.

“See anything interesting?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know.”

Your eyes widened slightly, realizing exactly what it was that you were doing. You shook your head and closed the message, putting your phone on your bedside table. You weren’t going to let him influence you so easily, so you decided to end the thread all together. Like one of the three fates, snipping the fine thread to end a life. Climbing back into bed and tugging the covers over yourself, you screwed your eyes shut and freed your mind of any thoughts. While you forced yourself to push the images of Jake away again, you slowly slipped away and let the heaviness of your eyes take over.

†

Waking up the next morning was significantly more dreadful than the day prior, because today was Sunday and Sunday meant morning mass. With the invading light through your window, you ripped yourself from out of bed. Even if you wanted to, you couldn’t miss Sunday mass under any circumstance or your parents would make you spend an hour in confession to repent for it. Asking God if he could forgive the insubordination and complete negligence you showed in not fulfilling your duties as a faithful catholic girl. You had never missed a mass, every Sunday you were there sitting on the front pew because it’s what would keep you close to God. By design, church was important to your parents so it was important to you too.

Your feet brought you toward the bathroom to shower, quickly getting ready for service. You found yourself in a black long sleeve, another cream colored dress thrown over it and a pair of slip on shoes. Around your parents you had no choice but to dress like a prudish catholic girl because if you had dressed any other way you were subjected to brutal lecturing and judgment from your parents. So instead you decided to spare yourself from a harsh start to your morning and made your way downstairs in the overly modest outfit. You hadn’t bothered to look at your phone again before you slipped it into your shoulder purse and made your way downstairs. Your parents were seemingly ready, your mother gathering her things before you all walked over and into the car. You sat in the back, leaning your head onto the door to soak up the early morning Michigan sun. The sound of a soft John Denver song played on the car radio, your father putting the volume a hitch louder after he heard the song start playing. He hummed along, tapping his fingers along the steering wheel.

You had always found your father to be the lesser of two evils when it came to your parents. He was always the one to offer a kind shoulder to cry on, helping with your math homework despite him not being the best at it either. You knew you got your feebleness from your father because of his inability to speak up to your mother though, she walked all over him and he thought it best to not say anything in fear of sparking an argument.

Hebrew 13:4 said marriage should be honored by all. And in a weird sense your father did all he did to honor this very passage, if there was anything good that came out of the religion to you it was your father. He was an honest, god-loving man and you couldn’t hate him for that. On the contrary, you loved him greatly for his ability to be so faithful and honest. But what you did hate him for was how he let your mother treat you, and how he could stay quiet when she did the opposite. What broke your heart further was he used to try, he did his best to defuse any situation but something about him now reminded you of constant exhaustion. Like he had run out of the energy he was using before and now he was simply staying quiet to stay awake. The thought of him letting her walk all over him because he was simply tired made you want to pack up all of his things and take him far far away from where he laid next to her. You had an overwhelming feeling that this would not only make him feel young again, but let him think for even just a little bit of time that he didn’t waste his life on a broken marriage.

Your mother hadn’t always been a horrible person, she was nicer when you were younger. She took you out to shop for new clothes every weekend, and would attend every recital you had when you were a kid. She was even a big part of the PTA committee so that she could make sure you were getting everything you deserved throughout childhood. But eventually the faith took over her, and you used to tell yourself it was just because she wanted you to be equally as faithful to God. But as you matured you realized that when she had gotten pregnant with you she seemed to have forgotten that kids don’t just stop aging after 6. It was clear that she signed up for having a child, not a teenager.

Eventually the familiar church came into view, and people began stepping inside in their nicest church clothes. It had always been humorous to you how nice people came dressed up for church because it was supposed to be the place where you are the most bare and real form of yourself.

After getting out of the car and walking into the church with your parents, you had naturally separated from them. Josh sat in the front pew while his and your parents took their usual spot on the pew across from you. You slid in next to him, the comforting sound of background chatter and casual greetings filled the cathedral. You gave each other a soft smile in recognition, not really having to speak to greet each other. You sat relatively close, your legs brushing together and knees bumping together whenever he fidgeted, which was often.

Thankfully this specific service didn’t last excruciatingly long like it usually did. You and Josh had made your way out of the church, people usually gathered around the front of the church to socialize, or speak their piece to Father Carlisle. You and Josh stood on the last step of the church stairs, making conversation about nothing in particular when Father Carlisle made his way over to where you two had stood. You both greeted him with kind eyes, but his expression was rather stoic like usual.

“I’m sorry to bother you so soon after mass, but there have been some things that have raised concern. I trust you two with the church of course, but it is only a formality that I ask you two first.” You both nodded, motioning him to continue.

“There seems to be a few church files missing from the cabinets in my office, nothing of too much importance but it is still something that was not of my doing. Would either of you happen to know what happened? I’m sure you don’t.” He said assumingly, an almost passiveness about his voice made you nervous.

While of course you couldn’t say it outloud, you knew exactly what had happened to those church files and the fact that Jake had taken them completely was sloppy and further proof that he was selfish and haphazard.

You and Josh shook your heads no simultaneously, which to anyone who could pick up social cues, would almost look slightly suspicious. He gave a weak grin, and thanked you both for your time before he walked away. You had turned to face Josh again and he opened his mouth to speak before being interrupted by the loud sound of a roaring engine, you cocked a brow and turned toward the curb to see where the sound was coming from.

A black convertible had pulled up to the front of the church, a familiar man sitting in the driver's seat. Your eyes betrayed you, scanning over the way he looked so villainously gorgeous in an all black outfit, a black button up shirt that had been barely buttoned, exposing his chest that had been coated with a small sheet of sweat as the brutal sun struck him. A pair of unrevealing black sunglasses lay on his face, one hand on the steering wheel and the other arm draped across the top of the passenger seat. He had an enormous amount of confidence in even showing up to the church when he knew everyone would be there, but to make such a grand entrance was worse. You found your bottom lip tucked between your teeth in nervousness, your hands grasping together to occupy them in any way possible.

The sound of a shriek and the clicking of heels came from inside the church and quickly made its way down the steps. The sight of long blonde hair and a yellow summer dress flying past you rapidly as Cherly Goodman ran down toward the car. Opening the door to the convertible and jumping next to him, placing a kiss on his cheek before she closed the door again. The look of absolute astonishment on her face, he hadn’t bothered to look at anyone standing in front of the church before he put the car in drive and sped down the street. His car grew farther and farther until you couldn’t see it anymore, the sound of the roaring engine eventually far enough to be silenced. Everyone that surrounded looked around in confusion, not only had he just made it known that he was officially back in town but he had also showed up to the one place he knew he wasn’t welcome.

Your hands grasped together harder now, a tinge of jealousy flooding your senses as you focused on the sight of Cheryl getting into the car like she owned it. He had only just come back into town and he already had a girl wrapped around his finger? What was special about her? That he’d make such a scene of picking her up. Was she worth the reactions he got, what did the two of them possibly have in common. What would they talk about when they were alone?

Or did they not talk at all? The thought alone made you sick.

Everyone else had seemingly resumed normal activities, surprisingly Josh included. He turned to you with a soft grin, a warm hand running up your arm.

“Hey, it’s pretty hot out today. Did you wanna grab ice cream or something?” He asked with a furrowed brow, waiting for you to say yes. He knew you could never say no to him, so you nodded. Letting your parents know, you had both made your way to his car and jumped in. The small outdoor ice cream parlor wasn’t far from the church so it had become a frequent hangout spot for you and Josh. The place held a lot of significant memories, and a whole lot of embarrassing ones too.

This very spot held the memory of your first kiss, the first kiss you shared with a boy you had hardly known your freshman year of highschool. Josh, of course, wasn’t far when it had happened so he made it his mission to remind you of it everyday for months. Little did you know you had gone home and cried that day, you told yourself it was a betrayal to God and his plans for you. You got over it eventually, but you still regretted letting your first kiss be with someone you didn’t really ever like or know for that matter.

You decided to grab your usual bench while Josh ordered your usual, you heard your phone go off from inside your bag. You slipped it off and onto the table and dug into the small purse to find the source of the noise. Eventually grabbing it, you slid open the lock opening the notification.

“Following me?” The familiar contact popped up and you furrowed a brow. You scanned the vicinity around you and to your dismay there he was. Cheryl under his arm as they both ordered ice cream at the booth adjacent to Josh. He had a look of disinterest on his voice being with her, until his face perked up and his lips curved into a smirk at your response.

“I got here first.” Was all you could muster before Josh made his way back over to you, handing you your usual strawberry ice cream cone. You thanked him, before starting at the top as usual. Your eyes scanned over toward Jake again, his eyes were on you this time as you licked the side of the ice cream that had dripped down. You tensed up, averting your gaze away from him this time and instead using a napkin to clean the sides. Josh had struck up a conversation that you could only half pretend to be listening to, your mind suffocated with images of the man only a mere fifty feet away from you with his arm around another girl.

“Your brother is here.” You said, interrupting whatever he was trying to talk to you about.

“Oh really? I hadn’t noticed.” He says with a humorous scoof, you register this as sarcasm.

Before you could continue the conversation they eventually made their way over, Cheryl still under his arm with an ice cream in her hand. Her arms snaked around his waist, gripping onto him as if at any moment he could slip away from her. She looked amusingly content under him, his expression seemed to be the opposite. His face as always was nonchalant, cool almost.

“Brother. Sugar. Did you two enjoy mass today?” Cheryl laughs, you press your fingernails into your palm. You tell yourself she’s too dim to realize that he’s using her, again you find yourself jealous, angry even. You refuse to look at either of them, the sound of her soft snickering replaying in your head as your hand threatens to crush the ice cream cone still in your hand. Before Josh could respond, the both walked away, returning back to his car again.

“Sugar?” He says accusingly, his eyes burn holes through you. You’re afraid to respond, fearful that it won’t come out the way you intend it to and he’ll be able to catch onto the nervousness that floods your vocal cords.

“You know as much as I do.” You lie again, thankfully it had come out convincingly enough for him to let it go.

“y/n. Promise me you’ll stay away from him, ok?” Josh’s voice returns to its soft volume, but this time he sounds worried.

“Josh-” You speak up, you’re insulted at the fact that he felt he had to say that to you at all. You knew to stay away from him, you didn’t need to be reminded like a child.

“No. Just promise me.” This time he speaks with a bit more assertiveness and you have no choice but to nod.

After finishing the ice cream in a comfortable silence, you both decide as the sun starts to set that it’s best you head home. Returning to the car, the drive back to your house was fast. Thankfully, you didn’t want to give him anymore time to think or ask any more questions. You thanked him for the ice cream and the ride, and made your way inside. Your parents were never home at this time on Sunday, they usually helped out at the community farmers market all day so again you were welcomed by stillness and the tranquility of an empty home.

Making your way back upstairs and tossing over the flat shoes you wore, tossing yourself onto the bed. You held your phone in your hand this time, it lay flat against your chest as you replayed the thoughts of today. If it hadn’t made you so angry you could almost feel yourself lure at the sight of Jake in the car, the tease of his shirt and the softness of his skin as the summer sun hit him perfectly. His hair and how easily it lay on his shoulders, the different shades of brown clear in the day time. But instead, you focused on Cheryl Goodman and the mean things you had to say in your mind about her despite the fact that she really hadn’t done anything to you at all. You shouldn’t care in the slightest, but you did and that scared you.

Your chest vibrated, a small glow arose on your phone at the sight of a sound of another notification. You rolled your eyes this time, unsure if you really wanted to know what or who it was. But you picked up the phone anyway, and to your annoyance it was the familiar but unsaved contact.

“Have fun on your date?”

How long should you wait to respond, or should you wait at all. You didn’t want to look desperate but you also didn’t want to wait too long. You waited a minute, considering what to respond.

“Have fun on yours?”

Your reply seemed a little bit too jealous, didn't it?

“You aren’t jealous are you?” You could just picture the smirk he had plastered on his face as he typed and sent the message.

“No.”

“Hm. What if I told you I was jealous?”

Your heart stopped for what seemed like a lifetime, you could feel yourself hold your breath. Him? Jealous? What could he possibly be jealous about?

“I shouldn’t be texting you.”

“But being bad is so fun. Isn’t it?”

You felt a tiny grin slip onto your face uninvited. Quickly you shook it off, could just texting him really be so bad? What sins were you really committing? But who were you trying to convince?

“That girl you were with. She’s pretty.”

You weren’t really sure why you had said it, but you did.

“Mhm.”

“Is she your girlfriend?”

You hated how different he made you, a simple text from him could make you completely jump out of your character.

“Sure you’re not jealous?”

“I’m not.”

“Cherry’s just a friend, sugar.”

Bullshit.

“You touch all your friends like that?”

“You know why they call her Cherry right.”

“It’s short for Cheryl?”

“Oh sugar.”

You furrowed a brow at the screen. It had only been common sense to think that Cherry was just a shortening of her name.

“What?”

“They call her Cherry because she tells every guy she’s ever been with that she’s a virgin.”

Your eyes widened slightly at the screen, shutting off the screen. Why would someone lie about that? Did she think it made her more attractive, or did she enjoy the game she played. Every guy? Has she been with a lot of guys?

“We can’t be friends, you know.”

“Did you have something else in mind?”

“Jake.”

The messages seemed to flow, he took no longer than a couple of seconds to respond and you reciprocated. You hated how much you enjoyed the back and forth, you knew if anyone had ever found out you’d be shunned. For a community that believed in a religion that preached, “thou shall not judge thy neighbor,” they sure do judge a whole lot.

“I’d like to see you.”

Your bottom lip tucked in between your teeth again, harder this time. Your cheeks felt hot, you shamed yourself for the school girl behavior you were displaying over a couple of flirty text messages. But you knew you would never be able to hang out with him, nor did you want to put yourself in that situation.

“I don���t think so.”

“Don’t pretend like you don’t think of me.”

“I don’t have to pretend.”

“I think of you.”

You read the message over and over again, making sure you read it right. Before you could let it get to your head you reminded yourself of just hours before when he had Cheryl in the passenger seat of his car, and under his arm. This was just his thing, he had no true interest in getting to know you or being your friend. You ignored the message this time with a sigh, turning off your phone and throwing it on the bed next to you.

The front door opened and in came the familiar sound of your parents entering the house. You hadn’t bothered greeting them this time, you decided to stay in the comfort of your room. Eventually you dozed off to sleep, your mind falling asleep to Jake’s last message.

†

The soft hum of a vibration filled your senses, you had fallen asleep face first into your mattress and you heard the sound of your phone ringing close to your ear. You struggled to open your eyes, you had thought it to be morning but when looking out at the bright moon outside your window your brows furrowed in confusion. Grabbing the source of the noise and bringing it to your voice, hissing at the sharp sting of light in your eyes.

2:24 am

His name splayed across your screen, you had finally decided to save his contact. You kept it simple, leaving it as “J” to save yourself from any questions in case it were to come up around anyone. You considered ignoring the call, but your curiosity got the best of you.

“H-hello?” Your tired voice spoke softly, you could hear a soft breathing on the other end.

“Rise and shine sugar. Meet me at the church in twenty.” You could picture the smirk on the other end of the line, you sat up in your bed.

“Jake, I can’t. It’s almost 3 in the morning, are you crazy?” Confused as to why he had even been calling you, you paused and silence filled the phone call.

“Listen, I’m sorry if I gave you the wrong impression but I am not one of those girls.” You emphasized the word “those,” so he knew what you meant. You heard him give a breathless laugh at your insinuation.

“Meet me at the church in twenty, or mommy finds out about the dirty texts her daughter has been sending Jake Kiszka.” He spoke with a dominance that could only be explained as enticing. It lit an embarrassing fire between your legs and you couldn’t help but gulp, squeezing your thighs together in response.

“Dirty texts? What dirty texts-” Your voice was cut off by the call ending, a groaning leaving you. Your heart rate quickened, you knew you couldn’t go to the church.

You weren’t going to go. There was no way you were going to do what he said so willingly. You’d call his bluff and just go back to bed.

These were the words you continuously repeated to yourself as you pulled on a pair of jeans and a crewneck. You told yourself over and over again while pulling on your shoes and tying your hair into a ponytail. You repeated these words again as you softly crept down the stairs and quietly turned the knob to your front door. These were the words you told yourself all the way down the street and down toward the church. You reiterated the words again as you had gotten to the church, a moonlit Jake Kiszka leaned against the side of the church with a foot planted against the cement wall. A cigarette tucked tightly between his two lips, he wore the same outfit he had on earlier in the day.

The words had seemingly left your mind as you stepped closer, and he had finally realized you were there at the sound of your feet on the gravel.

“So glad you could make it, sugar.” He said, taking another drag of the cigarette.

taglist: @skankforjakekiszka @a-bouquet-of-lilies @trplshotofdopamine @aureummel @myownparadise96 @celestialfauna @theweightofstardust @theleft0ver @trafficwasabitch

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[bittermuire]

a nightlight and a bottle of wine

recently I’ve really loved nezriel and wanted to write a lil thing for them. this will be two parts, this is the first. modern au

---

It’s not like Nesta really knew what she was doing when she moved out. All she knows is that there is a rift between her and Feyre; a scar splitting their shared skin, a wound opening and reopening, never to heal.

And so she’s away. They’ve made their mistakes and let them be. They’ve hurt each other and even tried to love, but sisters love each other too much for love—and so she’s away. The guilt is still there, but farther from her, now. Nesta stirs it into her morning coffee and drinks the sleep, wiping it from beneath her eyes and the lines around her mouth.

Every so often Cassian will text her, inviting her out to dinner or to a work party, and Nesta resists the urge to throttle him. He’s a very smart, thirty-five year old man. He should know what cutting off someone means.

(He knows, of course he knows. She guesses he just thinks it doesn’t apply to him.)

His roguish charm, his smirk, his low voice, all inviting her to one thing—sex—was beginning to exhaust her. It’s a surprising relief to be away from him. She feels like she can wear tank tops and let her hair down and go out without a bra, relieved he won’t be there to stare.

(Was she really so afraid of him?)

So Nesta lives her life and drinks her coffee, wears her tank tops and sleeps in her underwear, finally a woman in the way she’s always wanted to be; she feels discrete from the rest of the world but in a near comforting way. She has no one to disappoint, no one to miss. Her world is confined to very few people and her mind allows for one.

•

But there are things that trip her up. Remaining ties.

One such: the nightlight clipped to her bed. It’s cheap, a gaudy silver. She’s sure Azriel bought it for no more than two dollars.

But she uses it every night.

(This trips her up.)

It’s a routine she’s given to herself, written into the margins of her life; she climbs into bed, smooths the blankets over her legs, grabs her book, opens it on her lap, then twists and switches on the light. It illuminates the page with a pretty, golden sun. She uses it religiously. She thinks that if she lost it, some intrinsic part of her might be lost as well, and this frightens her.

Remaining ties should be snipped. These last threads should be spooled up, put away, hidden in the bottom drawer.

She switches it on anyway, watches the light trace the letters.

(Sometimes she thinks she is the black stamp of letters. The utter bleakness of them on the smooth page. Sometimes she thinks she is what ruins the paper. She is what ruined the paper. There’s a reason she is here and they are there.)

•

November 19th.

Happy birthday to me.

She buys a cake from the supermarket and blows out the candle.

There’s a knock at the door, late at night. Not thinking to check, she goes to open it, and there stands Azriel, still in the doorway, bottle of wine in hand.

“Happy birthday,” he says bluntly.

She lets him in for some reason she still doesn’t understand, and they end up drinking a glass together. It’s from Cassian, the wine—his favorite. Azriel tells her that Cassian didn’t think she’d take it from him.

“So he asked you,” she says.

He smiles. “Because you like me.”

1:00 AM, and they’re still drinking. They barely talk. They just sit; they sit on the kitchen stools, then the rickety chairs, then the floor, then the couch, then back to the floor. His cheeks are pink, his words slurred.

“Why’d you come?” she asks, peering down at where he lays, splayed out, on the carpet.

(He’s not the kind for favors, she knows that.)

Opening his eyes, he fixes his gaze on her. He smiles sleepily.

“Happy birthday, Nesta.”

•

She doesn’t really celebrate for the holidays. Her apartment is bare, save a pair of twinkling bells on the kitchen counter, tied with a red ribbon. Sometimes when she’s cooking she’ll give them a little ring.

The letter comes in the mail—from Feyre, clearly put there by her own hand. It’s an invitation to dinner, for the winter solstice. They’re celebrating early this year because they’re going out of town for a few weeks.

(Please don’t feel pressured to come. We were going to leave you be but Az, since he’s so considerate, thought you might appreciate an invite.)

Nesta picks up her phone and texts Feyre a simple no thanks.

•

The next morning, she opens her door to a bottle of wine. Its neck is tied with a cherry red ribbon, and there’s a note—“If you’re ever lonely, give me a call. It’s my favorite.”

She doesn’t need to see who it’s from to know.

She smiles and picks it up, taking it inside.

•

It bites, the loneliness.

She wasn’t prepared for the quiet.

She traded in insults and jabs and sweaty hands at dinner tables for nothing, nothing, nothing. Silence in the shower, silence over breakfast. Over time, it’s begun to grate on her skin, sift between the strands of her hair, and she feels like she’s swimming a meter below the surface, ears clogged, vision blurred.

And slowly, she’s started to cry; she cries when the silence is too loud, when her aloneness is real, when she realizes the ugly truth of it all. She’s alone, she has nobody, she’s alone.

She picks up her phone and dials his number. “Let’s drink your wine.”

A small quiet. “I thought you’d never ask.”

“That wasn’t a question.”

“I know, Nesta,” he laughs. “I’ll be there.”

•

They don’t drink at all, actually. She starts crying again the minute she sees his face.

“Nesta?”

•

“I’m fine, really.”

They’re walking down the aisle of the grocery store, weeks later.

“I don’t believe you.”

“I’m doing better, I am.”

He shrugs. “I don’t care. Pick a flavor. We’ll eat it, we’ll watch a movie.” He looks her up and down, brow creased. “You need two things—no, make that three things.”

She huffs a laugh, sticking her hand into the freezer and pulling out a carton. “What?”

“Sleep, ice cream, and company.” He grins. “And now you’ve got me.”

“Lucky me.”

“Lucky you.”

•

He’s seen her beautiful; he’s seen her ugly. He’s seen her in her rattiest apron with flour crusted into her fingernails. He’s seen her laugh so hard she cries, watched her slam her head into an open cupboard door, driven her to the hospital when she sliced her hand open with a knife. They’re together a lot, she realizes. They’re not halves; they’re one and one, and one and one make two, and they stand as two together on sidewalks, squinting at menus in the windows of restaurants, and they pet dogs in the park (Nesta always asks, because Az gets shy), and they take walks at midnight, and they live their lives contentedly next to each other’s. She starts to wonder if he splits his life into two—into Cassian and Rhys and Mor and Feyre, and into her, the girl who walked away. She’d like to know why he followed her.

Sometimes she’ll catch herself staring. Even before Cassian, she’d thought Azriel was the most beautiful of the three; all graceful, sloping shadows, soft and deep eyes, curling black hair. Her heart doesn’t know what to do anymore. It skips a beat when she sees him, but calms when she’s near him. It races when he leans close, falls to steadiness when he slings his arm over her shoulders. She can’t decide if she loves him like this or loves him like that. He means so much to her, means so many different things, that to give him a singular word wouldn’t fit.

She calls him Azriel, Az, Steve, Steven Shadow, Mr. Shadow, Ralph, Ron, He of the Candied Pecans, You. He responds to all of it. Recently he told her that it wasn’t because of the name, but because of the voice—(of course I don’t know who Ralph is, Nesta, but your voice, it’s your voice you use for me)—and she felt warm for reasons she couldn’t understand.

She shows up unannounced at his apartment when it’s a bad night. He does the same.

•

“Tell me the truth,” she begins, tipsy. “Did you like me before?”

“What?”

“Did you like me before?”

He frowns. “Elaborate.”

“Before you learned I’m a nice person. Back at the townhouse. When I hated everyone and was rude to you.”

“Oh.” He laughs a little. “I always liked you,” he says, and then his face settles into something like sadness. Nesta watches him closely. “I didn’t like… the way you made me feel, though. I’d see you down the hall, tired and everything, a stick of a person, and Rhys would make some joke, and I’d hate him.”

She blinks.

He looks down. “I’d never hated him before.”

There’s a tension between them. It’s common enough to be recognizable, but not enough to be familiar. She’s on edge, unsure.

The silence seeps in.

“And I hated myself, too,” he says. His eyes flick back up to hers.

Her breath catches in her chest. “I hated myself because I didn’t do anything. So I stayed away.”

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, overwhelmed. Everything is building; everything is quiet. His eyes are deep and dark and swirling. He shakes his head slightly, leaning closer, slowly, slowly, and she sees it all happen—he takes her face in his hands. She can see the stray strand of hair on his forehead, the one eyelash resting by his nose, the mole right above his mouth.

“I watched you fade,” he breathes. “I watched them pull you around.”

She twines one finger into his hair, trying to bring him closer, trying to have him closer. Come here, Azriel. Come with me. Be with me, love me, because I love you.

“I’m sorry,” she says again, because it’s all she can say.

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” he murmurs, and kisses her.

•

“Wait,” he says, reaching up.

“What?”

He touches the nightlight. “You kept this?”

She laughs, curled into his side, and says, “Of course I did.” He drops a kiss to her hair. “They all bought me books. You made it easy to read them.”

—-

@acosfisfeysandpropaganda I finally wrote it!!

[softyoongiionly]

For Whom the Bell Tolls

Just outside the boundaries of your town, deep within the trenches of the forest sits a massive tower made from smoke-stained ivory. Decrepit and ominous, it looms over your town like a warning- like a shadow...

There are opposing rumors as to what resides in the tower.

One of them, the one that just so happens to appeal to you the most, is that there is a deity living in that tower.  

The one who knows.  

The one who blesses and curses the deserving and offers wisdom that no mortal can.  

And now, faced with the imminent demise of your family- you have no choice but to seek answers in the darkness. 

What, in god’s name, will you find?

Pairing: Jimin x Reader

Genre: demi-god! au, demi-god! Jimin, mythology, slight angst, smut, fantasy

Word count: 8k (THIS WAS SUPPOSED TO BE PWP)

Warnings: likely inaccurate representations of greek mythology lmao, unprotected sex (wrap it up plz), mentions of violence/death, slightly spooky??? allusions to corruption and murder (non-explicit), JIMIN (cause he’s always a warning), probably a messy plot cause I went feral with this one. parts are unedited oops. 

A/N: i have nothing to say. this was supposed to be demon porn and now we have a completely new au. SOMEONE PLEASE STOP ME. okay anyways,,,, i love u. 

Corruption.  

It ran rampant through your town like the plague, devouring everything in its path. One right after another, you have seen it swallow those who you had come to respect; good town folk, who at one time, moved through the world with a moral compass stronger than the one you felt you possessed, had now fallen ill to the disease.  

And you understood...to an extent. The universe was not a benevolent dealer. It randomly assigns cards to its patrons and cares not about the outcome- or the losses. You understood that sometimes people were simply without a winning hand.  

But the need to win was still present.  

However, your town was spoiled with a type of greed that wafted through the streets and turned everything to mold. Neighbor betraying neighbor, partner betraying partner- even mother’s betraying their children...

All to please one man...

Lord Instinctus was the ruler of your province. Born into nobility, he took over the position after his father passed away and began turning the tides in his favor. Taxes were raised, work hours following suit and, harsh punishments were administered to anyone who dared questioned the new system. He forced your town to pledge their loyalty to him on the day he took over and sent ‘enforcers’ to hide out in the town in search of any signs of rebellion.  

However, his cruelty was not unique. Too many men have followed the path paved before them and suckled at the teet of avarice, until they were compelled to out do one another.

To outkill one another...

What made Lord Instinctus unique was the fact that he had never shown his face before. During his initiation into the noble court, the townspeople were given blindfolds and told to face away from their Lord and simply listen. Few people broke the rules but, the ones who did were immediately executed.  

You still remember the shudder that ran through your body as you heard the sound of your townspeople hitting the pavement. From that point on, the tone was set. Insubordination means death; the terms were simple.  

The lack of knowledge and the possibility of death didn’t stop speculation from blooming. In fact, the appearance of the Lord was essentially the usual topic of conversation at every pub on the main street. After the freeing of spirits, both liquid or otherwise, the rumors begin pouring into the atmosphere.

“He’s probably horribly deformed...”

“Inbreeding is common amongst the nobility; it would make sense...”

“My cousin walked by the villa the other day, he said Lord Invictus had a tail!”

“A tail you say?! So is he some sort of hybrid?!”

“Oh please, that’s preposterous- he's probably just hideous...”

You bite your bottom lip, as you wipe the whiskey from the chestnut countertop, resisting the urge to smirk. Bartending was certainly not a glamorous job but, it paid your taxes and helped put food on the table for you and your family.  

Glamorous it was not but, amusing it definitely was.  

“I bet you he still beds a new woman every night though...”

“A pretty face ain’t worth more than all that gold he has aye?”

“Maybe he’s cursed...”

“That wouldn’t surprise me either- I hear noble families make deals with the magic folk all the time.”

“If you all want to know so bad, why don’t you just pay the tower a visit?”

With that meager suggestion, the bustle of the pub comes to halt- all eyes now on the man who mentioned a topic that is normally banned from public spaces.

“What? You can’t tell me you haven’t wondered what was up there...”

“We know what’s up there-”

“Or rather- who's up there.”

Just outside the boundaries of your town, deep within the trenches of the forest sits a massive tower made from smoke-stained ivory. Decrepit and ominous, it looms over your town like a warning- like a shadow...

It’s said to be the home a monster.  

The tower was used as a prison for the most dastardly of criminals. For years, just before the establishment of your town, it served as a last resort for the rotten underbelly of society. Countless lives were taken, madness ensued- until the revolution came. The tower was set aflame by revolutionaries but for whatever reason, it did not crumble.  

The ivory merely sizzled and turned gray and then over time, it turned black. For years it was abandoned until one day, just after sunset, light emanated from the tower once more. Onlookers who were near the building went inside to see if some vagrant had moved in.  

And they never returned...

Several spiritual advisors have visited the town, including religious figures from various faiths, and they have all arrived at the same conclusion: a demon has taken residence in the tower. Despite the efforts to bless the building, the light comes on every evening.  

Thus, it is assumed that the demon remains unharmed.  

“What about Mrs. Jeon? She left offerings for the beast and her son was cured of the plague the next morning.”

“Or Mr. Kim- he left one as well and found gold in his backyard that very night...”

“You aren’t suggesting there is a benevolent being in that tower, are you? Should I remind you of how many disappearances have occurred?”

There are opposing rumors you suppose.  

One of them, the one that just so happens to appeal to you the most, is that there is a deity living in that tower.  

The one who knows.  

The one who blesses and curses the deserving and offers wisdom that no mortal can.  

“Hey here’s a thought- how about Jacob tests his theory eh? Why don’t you go down and find out yourself? Report back to us with your findings...”

The pub erupts with laughter now, the uneasiness slowly melting away from the room.  

You elect to keep your thoughts to yourself, as you finish up counting the money you had made from that evening- making sure to leave a portion for the incoming team.  

The bite of the winter wind is harsh and untamed as it scraps across your skin, causing you to hurriedly put your coat on. It feels like winter never ends in your town and if it weren’t for the fact that your family stocks up throughout the year, you would be worried where your next meal is coming from.  

Walking down the street towards your home, you catch sight of the tower in the distance. The way the windows begin to glow, almost makes you feel like it’s somehow staring back at you- taunting you.  

You would be lying if you said it didn’t tempt you.  

It always has.  

Even as a young girl, you remember being drawn to the infamy, to the danger...

Your mother always told you that being curious was a good thing, that it led the greatest minds of humankind. You kept that with you as you moved through life, trying your best to understand what your purpose was.  

But times were hard...

With a malevolent lord hanging over the morale of your town, digging his fingers into the heart and soul of your people and crippling them with eternal debt, it was causing you to look for answers.  

And you were beginning to look in some unorthodox places.

Dinner with your family soothes the aching curiosity in your chest as you try and remind yourself of all the things you have to be grateful for. After your meal, you wrestle your little brother into his bed before telling him his favorite bedtime story. Once his eyelids have kissed, you turn out his light and move into the main room to wish sweet dreams upon your parents.  

And although the pleasantries are nice, there are a few things throughout the evening that disturbed you.  

The limp in your father’s movement.

The blisters on your mother’s hands.

The bags beneath the otherwise unburden gaze of your little brother.  

Exhaustion was palpable.  

Living beneath the weight of a corrupt leadership will do that to you.

As your head hits the pillow, you can hear your mother murmur in desperation.

“I won’t have enough to pay him this week...what are we going to do?”

“I can work extra hours at the mill- we will figure it out.”

“How could you possibly work any longer-”

You feel your chest twist with guilt as you hear the crack in your mother's voice.

“You’re falling apart my love...if you continue pushing yourself this way, I’m afraid I will lose you and I can’t- I can’t-”

The muffled nature of her cries suggests that your father has pulled her in for a hug, trying to erase the inevitable with his affection.  

“We will endure, I promise. Just hang on a little longer.”

With your father’s final words, their conversation begins to die down.  

This can’t possibly go on much longer. You might be able to pick up more hours at the pub and, perhaps procure a second job but, the dues will never end.  

Your family will never exist for any other reason aside from paying to the noble family.  

So you make a decision. Hard work clearly isn’t the answer and revolution would only shed innocent blood. If the practical world had nothing else to offer then, you would seek answers from beyond.  

Your parents retired to their rooms shortly after their conversation but, you wait until you’re sure the house has fallen silent before you make your next move. Embarking on this mission would be simple but what lies at your destination is anything but; so, you try to be prepared for the possible outcomes.

Wrapping yourself in the thickest coat you can find, you slip your dagger beneath the onyx material and slowly creep out of your bedroom.  

The streets were still bustling with life; your town rarely ever rests and the pubs and shops are open well past midnight.  

It might sound like the product of a vibrant town but, it’s mainly due to the ever-present demand for profit.  

Limited hours mean limited sales.

Thankfully, no one really notices your presence as you traverse your way down the streets and through the alleyway. The noise echoing from the main street slowly diminishes and makes way for the sound of the wind dancing through the trees. The forest itself does not frighten you. You grew up memorizing it with your father as he taught you the fundamentals or foraging and gardening. The sound of the owls is expected as is the chill that runs up your spine with the increase of the breeze.  

However, as you near the tower- fear begins to slither its way into your veins. It’s quite a sickening feeling as it seems to stop you in your tracks but, you push on anyway- determined to finish what you have started.

The wrought iron surrounding the tower is stained with rust, corroded and crackling with age, the creaking of its bars alarms you, stopping you in your tracks and forcing you to look up.  

And there it is: the tower.  

It stands above you like a menacing giant and although it’s presence should deter you, it doesn’t. Making an effort to be as silent as you can, you slip past the opening in the gate and begin walking up the broken cobblestone pathway.  

There is nothing but dirt surrounding the perimeter of the tower and other than the moon, the only light before you is coming from the very top window. It’s glowing but the color isn’t stable- it's as if it were shifting slowly from red to green to blue and then back again. Faced with the wooden French doors, you question the idea of knocking.  

If someone truly did live here, it would only be polite...right?

With a shaky hand, you knock three times as loudly as you can. For a moment there is nothing, but just as you ready your hand to knock again, the door groans and begins to slowly creak open.  

The already unstable heartbeat in your chest begins to rattle without mercy as you brace yourself for whatever horrible creature might lay on the other side. Instead, however, there is no one.  

The door opens entirely to reveal that instead of the simple but filthy interior you expect from an abandoned tower such as this one, there is a rather decadent home. Large marble pillars extend upwards seemingly holding nothing in place while glamorous furniture positions itself through the foray. Everything is cooled tone with greys and shades of blue, black often lining the borders of the funiture. There is no lantern, the moon lighting up the interior of the room just as it led your path up to the door.  

The layout doesn’t make sense.  

The tower is cylindrical and doesn’t offer enough space for such an open floor plan so, how is it that the inside looks like lavish mansion?

You swallow your fear and newfound confusion as you tentatively look around the expanse of the room.

“Hello?”

Nothing.  

You take a deep breath and decide that the likelihood of someone (or something) answering that call is slim, especially given the way you were welcomed into the tower in the first place.  

You place your hand inside your pocket, gripping the dagger for good measure before beginning to make your way towards the staircase. The moonlight is sufficient enough at first but for whatever reason, as you begin making your way up the stone staircase, the interior of the tower seems to slowly darken. Your grip on the dagger tightens as you stop walking, frozen in your steps, cursing yourself for embarking on a journey so reckless.  

Suddenly, all of the light from the room vanishes, forcing a gasp from your throat. You manage to grip the railing to steady yourself but you have no idea what you are to do next.  

And then, someone speaks.

“Well- you’re awfully far from home...aren’t you?”

The sound of the voice rushes through your senses much like the wind did. It’s too sweet for your liking but, it entrances you none the less.

“Who are you?”  

As much as you try to steady your breathing, the way your voice cracks, gives you away instantly.

Laughter bounces off the stone walls, sinister and playful all at once before the voice speaks again,

“Don’t you think that’s a question I should be asking you? You are the intruder after all...”

Disembodied or not, the voice makes a valid point. You did walk in unannounced and you most certainly weren’t invited.  

“I’m Y/N Y/L/N.” The strength in your voice comes back slightly as you grip the railing a bit tighter, “I came here because- “

“I know why you’re here...” The voice is much closer now, likely positioned at the top of the stairs, “Humans are so predictable; always looking for a handout.”

This offends you greatly and regardless of the amount of danger you might be in, you let the voice know anyway.

“I am not looking for a hand out. My family and I work from sunrise until sunset to make ends meet. I’m here to make an offering- not merely to take whatever miracles that you make.” Stronger and stronger, your voice rises to the occasion, preparing itself to either spar with the beast or scream for help.

“Miracles hm?” Sinister laughter slinks down the staircase, practically teasing the exposed skin of your neck, “Is that what you think I do?”  

You swallow the bile that creeps up your throat, “I’ve heard many stories- but I wanted to see for myself. Some of my people claim you’ve blessed them but, the clergy said a demon lived here...”

“Oh?” It rises with inquisition, “And you came anyway? Do I have a heretic in my presence?”  

Shaking your head does nothing in the darkness but it’s instinctual, “I don’t believe in demons- at least, not the kind who dwell in abandoned towers.”

“Is there a kind you do believe in then?”  

There is something in you that urges you forward, captivated by the sweet sound of the voice above you, desperate to view the owner and desperate to see the moonlight again.

“Hell is nothing but a metaphor and it’s demons all the same. There is plenty of evil here, plenty of suffering- by definition, there is a demon ruling over my town- he is draining us of our resources for his own gain. I couldn’t imagine a more accurate representation.”

Suddenly, you hear the sound of boots clicking slowly and steadily down the stone stairs. You brace yourself, still feeling frozen in your place- wishing to see whoever or whatever is front of you.

“If I did make miracles,” It muses and, now you’re able to discern that it’s only a few steps in front of you, “What exactly would you be offering me in return?”

Taking a deep breath through your nose, you place all your effort into trying to make out whether or not there was an actual owner to this voice. Finally, your eyes adjust enough to see the faint shadow of a figure which appears to be sitting on the second set of stairs.  

“Name your terms, I will do my best.”  

“Ah ah-” The voice corrects along with a side of twinkling laughter, “That isn’t how this works...”

You’re growing frustrated with the apparent mind games but, you know it’s in your best interest to be patient; you still don’t know what you’re dealing with.

“How does it work then?”

Silence passes through the air for a moment before the voice speaks again, “You must bring me the thing you treasure the most so, that I may know your true intentions- I cannot help you until I can see you properly.”

You snort, “You’d be able to see me if you hadn’t wiped the light from this room...”

Laughter comes again but this time, it’s lower and deepened with suggestion, “I’m not referring to physical sight, human. You might not be able to see in the dark but, I can.”

For whatever reason, its response sounds salacious and riddled with an innuendo that you’re slightly afraid to comment on.  

And the reaction it creates within you, only frightens you further.  

“I’ve just told you that I barely have enough money to scrape by- I don’t have anything of value to give you.”  

“I never asked you to bring me anything of value nor did I ask you to give it away- you’re not listening very well...I don’t know how I’m supposed to help you if you can’t follow instructions.”

It sounds irritated and fond all at once, prompting you to nod immediately, not wanting to upset your only shot at freedom.

“I’m sorry.” You breathe, “I’m just-”

“Don’t lie to me...”

Your gaze strains to try and make out the expression of the figure in front of you but, its futile- the darkness impeding your effort.

“What do you mean?”

“You were going to tell me that you’re scared.” The voice accuses, “But you’re not- even though, you most certainly should be.”  

It wasn’t wrong. You should have ran when the door opened on its own, when the lights began to dim, when a voice began speaking to you...

But you didn’t.

You were undeniably intrigued.  

“Are you going to hurt me?”

An insidious bought of laughter comes from the figure before it sighs, “Hmmm, maybe a little bit.”

When your lips part with something that resembles shock, the laughter comes again only slowing to a halt for the sound of the figure’s tongue tutting against its teeth.

“You are a curious girl...” It observes, “...promises of harm should not excite you and yet- excitement flows from you anyway. Why?”

It kills you to refrain from denying it but, you have no choice.

“Your voice-” A sigh leaves your lips, “it’s very intriguing.”

Maybe it’s part of the creature's abilities, you think, its voice is the main weapon to lure unsuspecting and vulnerable humans into its clutches. The only question is-  what happens once it has you.

“Is it now?” The voice sounds intrigued, “Most humans don’t seem to think so. Are you sure you’re hearing me right, girl? I’ve been told my voice is the thing of nightmares.”

This perplexes you; how could anyone possibly think such a voice was frightening? Despite this creature being anything but human, it sounds very much like a man- a warm and mischievous man who seems hellbent on getting you into bed.  

“What does my voice sound like to you?” It asks, a smile in its tone.

You ponder this question for a second, realizing very quickly that you can’t exactly tell this creature that it sounds like it’s trying to seduce you. But still, that does seem to be the only appropriate description.

“Sort of...like a melody.”

Laughter comes again but, this time it’s paired with the moonlight slowly fading back into the tower, covering every surface until it finally reveals the appearance of the figure.  

Beautiful.  

Not an it but a he...

A man with wings.  

On the steps before you, he stands, leaning casually against the railing now. Atop his head is a tousled mop of sapphire hair, just below are his eyes- nearly black and hooded with the same seduction as his voice and cloaking his figure is a black linen ensemble fitted only by the same color corset. His pillowy lips and soft skin would be a masterpiece on their own but coupled with the giant pair of onyx wings protruding proudly from his back- his visuals become simply devastating.  

“What do you see?” He smirks, licking over his lips.

Unable to resist, you shake your head in complete awe, all of the sensible words dying before they leave your throat, “You- are you an angel?”

The light allows you to see him now as his head tilts another round of laughter, “Try again...you’re very close.”

Perhaps the clergy was right...

“A demon then...” You resign because despite your previously-held beliefs, if this really was a demon, then you know very well you shouldn’t be dealing with him. “I should go.”

His smirk broadens, “But I thought you didn’t believe in demons?”

“I didn’t but, that’s clearly what you’re alluding to. If a winged man tells me he’s a demon, I think it’s wise that I return home.”  

Through your moment of clarity, your desire for him persists- especially now that you see what he looks like. But you know better than to make a deal with a demon, even if you are desperate.

“Do you think the universe is that simple? Angels and demons? Good and evil? You don’t think that maybe- in all of his vastness, there is a chance for the inbetweeners?” He presses and now his black eyes seem to glow, his gaze slightly hypnotic.  

Tightening your coat around your body, you stay staring at him for a moment before you respond, “Is that what you are? Something in between?”

He licks his lips, his eyes finally allowing themselves to wander over your figure. There isn’t much of you showing but, he still drinks you up regardless, exposing and exciting you all at once.  

“I was sent by the underworld to do business for the gods...” He drops his voice to a near whisper, his gaze burning a hole in you, which now aches to be filled.  

You take in a shaky breath through your nose, nodding in understanding, “Did you kill the people who disappeared here? Is that what happens when their judgment goes south?”  

He arches his brow, tilting his head with his inquiry- his voice dripping with darkness, “Maybe I did...maybe I didn’t. I don’t see how that’s relevant- especially since you’ve already decided you were leaving. Which of course-” He waves his hand then, the wooden door behind you creaking open, “-you are free to do.”

There is something about him you haven’t touched on but, it’s beginning to eat you up inside. He may be an otherworldly being, possessing the tower like a beautiful virus but, he is starting to look familiar. This of course, is hard to imagine because his beauty is so striking that you don’t see how you could ever forget it. But nonetheless, you feel like you’ve seen him before.  

And this is what has kept you frozen.  

“Will you not give me any answers?” You border on pleading but, attempt to keep your tone firm.

He chuckles, “You didn’t come to me for answers. You came for help- which I’ve already agreed to give you.”

The supernatural discourse that has transpired, thoroughly distracted you from the reasons for seeking him out in the first place. Your situation had not changed; you were still desperate for money, desperate for justice and desperate for peace.  

“You won’t hurt my family...” It’s not a question, and it leaves no room for any other response aside from the one he gives you.

“I won’t.”  

Nodding, you glance behind your shoulder towards the door, “I have to go home. I don’t have the item you asked for. I can be back within the hour...”

For the first time, he looks slightly disappointed but as you complete your sentence, he shakes his head, “No. Don't come back tonight.” He insists, “If you wish to do business with me- you must return tomorrow after midnight. I will wait for you at the shoreline.”

This confuses you, “The shoreline? Why can’t we meet here? The water is dangerous after dark.”

The smirk returns to his tender lips, “I know.”  

With that, he waves his hand again- causing the door to swing open and slam against the tower walls.

Jumping at the sound, your gaze shoots back behind you before returning to where the creature stood.  

But he had vanished.  

You have no choice but to heed his requests and rush away from the tower, the curiosity inside you almost too much to bear.  

Nothing is out of the ordinary as you walk back home, at least not at first. But when you pass the massive clock tower in the center of town, you realize something strange...

The clock hadn’t moved, not even a second.  

You remember very clearly reading the time as you hurried past it on your way to the tower and now, even as you’re staring at it, it stands perfectly still. Until suddenly, without warning, the hands of time begin to move again. The clicking almost startles you, your brain filling with a million questions despite your decision to turn away and return home.  

Time had seemingly stood still whilst you were in the tower.  

Slipping beneath the covers, you try your hardest to get to sleep despite being bombarded with images of the haunting man you had just encountered.  

You know you should be terrified.  

You know you should be wary.

But the familiarity of him has possessed you and, you’re determined to understand why.  

The next night, with your treasured object tucked securely in your coat, you make your way back to him.  

You make sure to check the clock tower before you do, logging the time away for later to see if last night had been more than just a fluke.  

12:32am.

The clock tower has never lied but, you’re starting to think it might be influenced by whatever resided in the tower- magic, beast, or otherwise.  

As you pass through the many trees, you begin to hear the chaotic crashing of the waves in the distance. The tower may be frightening but, few things could match the malevolent temper of the sea. In fact, you’ve always believed that nothing could. The sea was unrivaled in her cruelty, consuming the world at will, just for the fun of it- you've theorized that she likes the screams. During the day, she simmered- blue and serene, allowing boats to decorate her surface like candles on a birthday cake. At night though, her temper worsens and it’s as if she suddenly remembers all the injustice she has faced. Her waves swell to horrific heights, smashing into the seawalls built around your town, creeping over like a titan looking for vengeance.  

You’ve always felt pity for her. It must be hard: being the heart and soul of humanity, being responsible for the very nature of things- only to be forgotten. Only to be mistreated...

Your boots are discarded near the last patch of grass before the sand and, your toes brace themselves icy chill of the sea breeze. You’re especially thankful for the coat now as you suspect that your teeth would have already begun chattering had it not been for the thick fabric protecting you.  

The waves haven’t begun their violent dance just yet but, you can sense their temper beneath your feet. They will begin soon.  

“The sea-” The voice from the tower is behind you, “it suits you.”

Breathless, you turn to face him and even though you’re more prepared for his beauty than you were last night, it still shocks you.

He’s wearing a black silk gown, that drapes effortlessly off his body, the sleeves made out of French lace and extending well past his fingertips. His wings are shuttered behind him, folded almost modestly against his back.

“Thank you.” It’s the only response you have before you reach into the fold of your coat, “I have the-”

He holds up his hand, his voice commanding but gentle, “Wait. I want you to walk with me first. I don’t like rushing through my business deals.”

Your hand slowly retreats from your coat as you warily look behind you, “You want to walk along the shoreline? I told you, it’s too dangerous- at least for me it is, I don’t exactly have an escape mechanism attached to my back.”

He smirks, his tempting gaze flourishing with fondness you cannot place, “What causes you to mistrust the sea so much? Surely she wouldn’t hurt one of her own...”

Your brow furrows, “What do you mean?”

Extending from the confines of silk, his fingers reach out to you, fluttering with invitation, “I will show you.”

And really, you’d be a fool not to accept.  

Interlacing your fingers with his, you feel electricity simmer ever so slightly beneath your skin. You’re assuming it’s from the power that likely resides within him but, you don’t expect it to affect you so much.

The sound of the waves begins to softly roar in the distance but the water isn’t close enough to the shoreline to pose any immediate threat.

Not yet at least...

You begin walking alongside him as he leads you both in the opposite direction of your town border. For quite a few moments, he just gazes at the eternal stretch of sand before you, his soft mouth curved up ever so slightly. He looks pensive and serene all at once and, it confuses you.

“May I tell you a story?”

His request surprises you but, you aren’t really in a position to say no. And if you’re being honest, you really didn’t want to.  

“Yes.” You murmur, feeling compelled to keep your volume at a minimum.

He smiles softly to himself, glancing towards the water briefly before beginning.  

“The water has many gods...” He speaks softly, letting out a sigh, “Lir, Irish god of the sea, Tefnut, Egyptian goddess of the rain, Amimitl, Aztec god of lakes and fisherman...” His explanation already has you interested. You were taught much of the stories beyond your land but, it had always fascinated you, “The gods of the sea are known for the temperate nature, they often stay away from humans and avoid interfering with the mortal coil. Death by water is merely a request they carry out for the gods of death and destruction and thus, there is goddess who rules over the violence of the sea itself.”

Just as he finishes his sentence, the temper of the sea seems to roar to life, the swollen waves crashing aggressively, still not close enough to reach you.

Not yet at least...

“Cymopoleia, is the goddess of violent sea storms. Poseidon, her father, tasked her with overseeing the malignant waters and tending to the causalities. She was not the creator of the storms but she carried the ability.” He moves through the story as if he has told it a 100 times but he seems captivated by it nonetheless, “When it came time for her to bear a child. She conjured up a spirit from within her very core. She crafted them out of the essence of the sea and placed them inside of clamshell in her palace. She was awaiting the full moon when someone snuck into the depths of the ocean and stole them from her.”

The gasp that leaves your lips cannot be helped, you didn’t realize how engrossed you were until suddenly you recognize the port from another town nearby.

You had been walking awhile.

“Why would someone do that?” You press, shaking your head.

He sends a solemn look your way, “Many thoughtless humans believe that if they capture the essence of a god, they will become one themselves. Foolishly, he opened the clam shell and released the spirit into the world. By the time the goddess found him, it was too late- but she delegated his fate anyway. She took his life beneath the depths of a violent storm and placed a curse upon anyone who shared his bloodline. She made it so that any one of his descendants would bear the physical embodiment of his fate.”

“So, they look like they’ve died at sea?”

He can’t help but smirk, a bit of the darkness you saw at the tower, beginning to creep back. “Indeed. They are horribly disfigured and regardless of their efforts, they all meet the same fate. His lineage believes that if they send enough offerings out to sea or if they build high enough walls, that they will somehow escape their deaths. But of course, this if futile- the goddess vowed that she would continue to collect them until her spirit was returned.”  

His story ends and it’s like something clicks within you. Without warning, you squeeze his hand, slowing both of you to a stop, just before the light of the upcoming pier hits you.  

“Does this have something to do with my town? Is that why you’re telling me this?”  

Lord Invictus certainly fit the description for a descendent of this thief and, although it bores no sense of logic- you have no choice but to believe it anyway.  

It all fits together too well...

He turns towards you now, his smirk now a small smile, “It has to do with you Y/N.”

Your brow furrows, “Me? What do you mean?”

He nods to your coat, something otherworldly lingering in his eyes, “I’d like to see what you’ve brought with you now.”

Still riddled with confusion, you reach inside your coat and find that the item you had brought with you (a beaded necklace gifted to you at birth by your parents) had turned into something else.  

And now, sitting in the palm of your hand- was a clamshell.  

“What is this? This isn’t what I brought to you- I-” You begin to panic, confusion and fear starting to take over, “Did you do this? Did you take my necklace?”

Finally, the sinister smirk returns as his wings begin to unfurl from behind his back. Along with his shift in expression, another danger is brewing very close to you- you can feel it.  

The sea is growing irritated and whipping the wind and the water up into a frenzy. As you look toward the water, you have no choice but to look on in horror as you see the beginning of something deadly.  

A rogue wave.

The grip on your hand tightens as his extraordinary strength keeps you in place.  

“I think it’s time I formally introduce myself-” His voice is loaded with bad intentions but it sounds sweet anyway as he burns his gaze into yours, “My name is Jimin. Son of Tartarus, the god of punishment and Nyx, the goddess of the night.”

Your eyes are wide with desperation, not fully registering what he said before he’s yanking you against his chest and turning you to face the sea. Standing behind you, he unleashes a spell of wicked laughter as his wings unfurl from behind is back to wrap around the both of you, so that the only thing you’re able to see is the wall of water coming for you.  

“I have to come to send you home Y/N...your mother has been waiting for you a very long time.”

His arms are wrapped around you now, crushing you against his chest as his wings begin flapping- the wind picking up furiously around you.

“Jimin!” You scream, eyes welling up with tears, “You promised you wouldn’t hurt me! You promised! Why are you doing this to me?!”

He laughs at you, and it isn’t necessarily malevolent but merely amused, as if he in on a joke you weren’t part of.

“Shhhh, quiet down my little sea nymph...” He whispers salaciously into your ear, “...your fate will be painless.”

You’re crying now, digging your nails into his skin, attempting to break free as the massive creature that is the ocean rushes towards you without mercy. The crest of the wave arches above you proudly, the swirling darkness of the water mocking the mere audacity of your existence but, as you brace for impact- it never comes.  

Only the darkness does...

And it’s the darkness that consumes you.  

“Jimin!” A voice breaks into your subconscious, luring you out of what you hope was a nightmare, “You couldn’t have brought her home without scaring her? She was practically driftwood when she arrived here.”

That familiar twinkle of laughter sounds then and, it forces your eyes open.  

“I’m sorry your grace- it's just in my nature.” He defends poorly, still chuckling to himself, “I can’t imagine my brothers are doing much better.”

You are somewhere extraordinary, that much is certain. Above your immediate line of sight is an ornate glass ceiling that seems to glow a cerulean blue. All around you are gold furnishings, each decorated with various moldings of sea creatures.  

“She’s awake!”  

Your vision, still slightly cloudy, now lands upon a being so beautiful- that you have to blink a few times to ensure you’re seeing the right thing. Draped in blue silk and decorated with gold and pearls, is a woman who looks at you with nothing but love in her eyes.

“Oh my- its really you...”

She seems tentative but, you’re suddenly overcome with joy- filled with an almost cosmic sense of peace.  

“Mother!” You cry, rushing off of the bed you were laying on and into her arms.  

She takes you in her arms immediately, her skin cool against yours like the tepid waters of the bay. She sniffles, tightening her grip on you,

“I knew you’d come home...I knew one day I would find you.”

And it really doesn’t make much sense does it?

How could your life swing so violently from one direction to the next?

Your life on earth seems so insignificant now...now that you’re back with her.  

Cymopoleia- queen of violent sea storms and, your mother.  

She explains it all to you, gently stroking your hair and fawning over you.  

The spirit in the depths was you. Born into a human body, you were fated to one day meet with the demi-god of darkness, who with a bit of trickery- would return you to your rightful place in the cosmos.  

Your mother assures you that your mortal family would be relieved of your memory until it was safe for you to visit them, until the gods of fate decide. In addition, Lord Invictus would be the last of the bloodline to pay for what his ancestor had done and, the fog of greed and corruption- which begin the day you were born, would soon be lifted.  

The explanation is long and doesn’t leave you completely fulfilled but, your mother assures you that you have all the time in the world to understand the complexity of the universe.  

Hours later, after you’ve had a decent feast, your mother instructs Jimin to escort you to your bedroom.  

As he leads you down the hallway towards your chambers, you send a playful glare his way, “So- how much of what you told me was a lie?”

He merely smirks, “None of it.”

You scoff, “Even the part of about your voice? And all that nonsense about excitement and me being curious? You knew all along what was to happen- you just tricked me.”

Jimin chuckles darkly, stopping just outside your bedroom door before turning to you, “The part about my voice frightening people wasn’t a lie, Y/N. My father is the god of punishment, any mortal that hears my voice usually cowers in fear...”

“Is that why I felt so drawn to you? Because you were meant to take me home?”  

His smirk broadens, “No...you feel drawn me because you want to fuck me.”

Your mouth goes completely dry at his bold statement but, you are unable to deny it- your fingers suddenly twitching at your side.

“Wh-”

“It’s not your fault really...” He murmurs, his body shifting towards you, “...it’s just the way I was made. I am used to people lusting after me- however,” Jimin reaches out then, to brush his thumb over the swell of your cheek, “-I have never known true lust until I had the pleasure of meeting you.”

“You lust for me?” You whisper, completely drawn up with desire- finally allowing your true nature, the nature of a demi-goddess pour out of your soul.

He licks his lips, his gaze upon you timid as he presses his thumb into your face, “I do.”  

You turn to the side suddenly, capturing his thumb between your lips, “Show me.”

It's all it takes: that one phrase of consent being enough to unleash all the urges within him.

You’re inside your chamber seconds later, Jimin clawing at the fabric of your robe, his fingers digging into your skin as he does, his lips latching on to every part of you he can reach.

“I knew the moment you walked into my tower-” He grunts, “I knew- there was no way a mortal could be tempting, so dreadfully seductive.”

You sigh hopelessly, raking your hands through the sapphire tendrils on his head, your lips ghosting along the swell of his cheek, the tail of his brow, the shell of his ear...

“In the underworld...” He’s practically growling now, scratching his nails up the newly exposed skin of your back, “We are never taught to refuse our desires. You were my greatest challenge- it took everything in me not to devour you right there.”

You smirk now, positioning your lips at his ear, “I wouldn’t have known what to do with you though- aren't you glad you were patient?”

He grunts again, pressing his hips against yours defiantly, “Patience is for virtuous gods- “ He doesn't answer your question but, you know that he means yes. In spite of his darker nature, Jimin still believes in doing the right thing.... most of the time.  

He has you on the bed moments later, his wings spreading proudly. He’s panting, his eyes completely black with lust as he nudges your legs open, determined to finally taste what he’s been craving.  

For the demi-god of darkness, denying his desires for even a second is painful. He aches to fufill them over and over again...

You were certainly no exception.  

But you want to keep teasing him...

Reaching down, you spread yourself open for him- feeling the visceral substance of your arousal sticking to your inner thighs.

“What are you waiting for then?” You lean up, grasping your hand behind his neck and staring directly into the abyss that is his gaze, “Defile me...”

Jimin growls, sliding into you instantly, his hands quickly bracing themselves on either side of your head. He smirks as your eyes roll back the sheer pleasure of him inside of you causing your nipples to harden.  

“Oh look at that-” He chuckles, his own expression unstable with pleasure, “Are you going brain dead already hm? Is this cock that good?”

Your eyes come back into play as you stare up at him, your hands gripping either side of his face as he starts a power rhythm within you.  

This wasn’t meant to last long, the carnal desire too much for either one of you to handle...

Perhaps, if your feelings permitted it- you'd make love another time.  

Nodding, you moan as he increases the rhythm, pressing your forehead against his own.  

“You feel so good.” You whisper, “I didn’t know it could- oh...” A whimper leaves your lips as he hits that spot inside of you, the pleasure completely ruining your ability to speak.

“Of course you didn’t- you’ve only ever let mortals play with your pretty cunt haven’t you?” He laughs, mocking you and cooing all at once, “And now that I’ve gotten ahold of it, you’re never going to want anyone else. I will ruin you ugh-” He finally breaks, his own brow furrowed with the onslaught of his release as you tighten around him, “-ugh fuck yes. I can feel how badly your cunt wants me- it's like you’re begging me to cum.”

“I want you to cum,” You whisper shakily, kissing at his mouth, “Fill me up please, I need it.”

He growls, kissing you back with just as much fervor, his hips moving so fast that the pleasure fucks with your vision.  

“I’m going to make a mess of you, they will smell me on you until I can come back-” He promises, smirking ever so slightly, “and then- I'll paint the inside of you all over again won’t I? Such a masterpiece this cunt will be...and you’ll be all mine, cumming only for me.”  

And he wasn’t wrong because, mere seconds later- the two of you are cumming all over one another, ruining the silk sheets with your release and clawing desperately at one another.  

With the mutual utterance of your names, Jimin collapses beside you and, moments later- when you get your wits about you, he is ushering you onto his chest.  

Sweaty, exhausted and satisfied, you lay together in silence for quite a while.

Until finally you speak, “I’m not quite sure what came over me.”

Jimin chuckles but this time, the sound is much warmer than you’re used to, “Immortal lust, it’s a blessing and a curse but, eternal life has to stay interesting somehow.”

You trace patterns on his chest whilst he covers your body with one of his wings, the feathers teasing at your sensitive skin.

“Did you mean it?”  

And he doesn’t even bother asking, he knows exactly what you’re referring to.

“I want you.” He affirms, “If you’ll have me- I felt quite possessive of you then but, I won’t insist on anything you aren’t comfortable with.”

You smile, tracing a heart directly over the spot where his heart would beat, “It fits doesn’t it? You and I?”

If the past few days have taught you anything, it is that sometimes- it is appropriate to succumb to fate. Sometimes, believing in the simplicity of destiny works out. Being with Jimin felt right and, for now, this was enough.  

“It does.” His statement is simple but his expression says it all: he is elated.

You fall back into comfortable silence once again before one more pressing question leaves your lips, “Did I hear you mention something about your brothers earlier?”

Jimin nods, his eyes half-closed as he cuddles closer to you, “You did. I have six of them.”

“Are they- like you?” You murmur, unable to stop your curiosity.

He nods again, “They are.”

You think one more question will suffice but, his answer will unfortunately bring about a thousand more, “Are they all on missions too?”

Jimin’s trademark smirk shows itself once again as he snickers, “They are-” He repeats before a great sense of pride comes over his expression...

“I was just the first one to return.”

A/N: should this be a series? asking for a friend...

[scolopendreverie]

(about the roleswap au, a loong ask incoming so im sorry lol)

ok but rime losing felix instead of felix losing rime makes the au 100x times more painful and traumatising for rime, considering that rime is a good healer (and tbh it KILLS me so much when i think about how he sacrificed himself for felix, he did it knowing full well that 1) as a healer, he’s an extremely valuable unit, because other injured people would need his help really bad, he could’ve saved so many other lives, 2) he knew that in case felix got hurt, he would’ve been able to heal him too, but he still didn’t want to see felix in pain, and he threw away all his rational thinking and his first instinct was to protect felix anyway). rime would be absolutely devastated, i mean, imagine being blessed with amazing healing powers, only to watch your lover slowly die in your arms, and despite all your attempts to save them, there’s nothing you can do?

i imagine that after the fight with the shadow lord ended, rime would probably be torn between wanting to abandon his astrolabe (because of the MASSIVE amount of guilt, feeling like he failed as a healer and he doesn’t deserve to own it anymore), and feelings of obligation that he has to keep helping people around him, given how the writing team said that rime used to be a very kind and a religious person before he died. also, considering how rime said he is the way he is in felix’ route because of the time he had spent in the “void” and how much it also hurt him, that means that in the roleswap au he isn’t as evil/bitchy lol, and i believe that he wouldn’t be obsessed with trying to bring felix back to life, thinking that maybe he is better to pray for him to rest in piece in the afterlife?

also… the most important thing. his beef with escell. think about rime bringing felix back to his home to his family, not having enough words to say it out loud that he died. escell losing his shit and yelling at the poor deer boy that it’s all his fault, and if only he would’ve left felix when escell first approached him, felix would’ve still been alive, and felix’ blood is on rime’s hands now. escell pointing out what a huge failure of a healer rime is too.

this would’ve devastate rime for the rest of his life tbh…

LITERALLY ALL OF THIS EXACTLY WHAT IM GOING FOR

And THE BIT ABOUT ABANDONING HIS ASTROLABE... AGGGHRBIEJS FOAMS AT THE MOUTJ SCREAMS CRIES

Unfortunately for the AU to work he does have to be pushed to necromancy somehow but I think I kind of know how to push him to that length? And it all boils down to Guilt. Escell blaming him, being unable to heal/save/protect Fe when thats his whole job, being the one who got Fe in the Starsworn and consequently a war in the first place, being the one who essentially turned him into a soldier, Fe's life having already been awful only to be suddenly cut short before he really got to live, like a flower picked before it had the chance to bloom, stuff like that stacked on top of each other.

Maybe he's going through Felix's things one day and sees his research and that's where he gets the idea. Necromancy was Felix's thing, he spent years of his life studying it, he defended it fiercely, hells, maybe Felix would WANT this. It may not be the most tasteful option to Rime, but this was his fault anyways, and he has to make up for it somehow, to honor Felix's passion/legacy that would otherwise amount to naught and give him that second chance he deserves. Maybe he can make it right, you know?

Rime wouldn't have to approach it like Felix either. He's a magical academic much the same, is he not? Using Felix's notes and his own research he could find his own way to do it, for the first time in years pick up his astrolabe and actually use it to make something better for once.

As for how Rime would be as a person... he would still be good boy Rime, obviously. Though now he would be more somber and withdrawn I'd imagine, PTSD is a bitch. The proudness and confidence that he once held himself with would be more or less shattered into raw guilt and misery for letting down the Starsworn, for failing Felix. He would still be kind and compassionate of course, and would go out of his way to make things better for those he can still, but tldr he's depressed and traumatized now. He would never hate Felix once he sees him in his unhinged and violent state, and would do anything he could to help mediate him and calm him down and bring him home and back to himself, though that's easier said than done. And just one more guilt to weigh the poor man down. He would take a lethal hit for mc at some point.

Unlike Felix I also don't see him isolating himself either, he'd probably get up to whatever he would've done before joining the Starsworn, noble responsibilities maybe, or academic stuff. Probably stays with his family. Poor broken boy :(.

That's my thoughts anyway

Also have some copy and pastes on some stuff I said about Felix's death in the gc (too scared to take actual screenshots lest my screen glitch on me again) vv

Listen just. Rimes death almost isn't that tragic. I feel like it's almost cathartic. Like it's just. The fact that he was forced back is infinitely more sad than him every dying in the first place. It's almost a perfectly satisfactory and fitting end for him even though it's a shame he had to go. Felix though? If it was him who died? It's just. Infinitely more cruel

It's like. Dying happy and content vs being cut down when you've only just began to stand

He was never meant to be essentially. A solider I feel. He was never supposed to see war. And it's like. I feel like the Starsworn close to him may have felt that way too. He was brilliant and despite his. Quirks. He was a sort of glue that gave them a sort of bond and lightness in an otherwise awful situation. He's not someone you'd ever imagine being snuffed out so suddenly. It feels inherently wrong somehow, thats not how it's supposed to go. He deserved it the least.... He was probably the youngest member, too. Idk how to word the specific feeling. Looks at young felix and sobs. How could anything bad ever happen to someone like you....

[angellesword]

EUPHORIA | JJK

It’s Sunday. Jeongguk was supposed to be at the gym, serving looks. You were supposed to be at the church, serving the Lord. But you two were at the mall, looking for baby toys. You guessed this was your punishment for letting him stick his dick inside of you instead of just using an adult toy.

Alternatively:

“We share the same painful views. Won’t you please stay in my dreams.”

word count: 2.6k (one-shot) PART OF INTRO SERIES

pairing: husband!Jungkook x wife!reader

genre and content warnings: established relationship, angst, fluff, married au, (forced marriage) mention of premarital sex, pregnancy, abortion, Catholic guilt, death, and mental illness.

Sunday was church day.

This was what your whole family made you believe ever since you were young. They were firm believers of God. In fact, your first word wasn't like what most babies said.

Jesus. This was your first word and your mom wasn't even complaining. She loved to brag about it to other lectors and commentators. Your father, a lay minister, also took pride sharing the same story over and over again.

Frankly speaking, you were getting tired of it.

Don't get it twisted. You loved Jesus and you believed that he was your savior. You even sang worship songs at the church every Sunday. You were the head of the choir; every church goer knew you—well, not only church goers.

Literally everyone around you knew you.

You were also popular at school. People referred to you as the good girl who had it all.

You were pretty, smart, and your boyfriend was none other than Jeon Jeongguk.

The man you were dating was a jock. He made it clear that he didn't like studying, but he still wanted to go to a university and apply for scholarship. You had no doubt that he would get what he wanted.

Jeongguk was a star football player after all.

"Babe, what do you think of this?" You showed Jeongguk a stuffed animal. It was a rabbit.

"Cute," he grinned at you. Jeongguk wasn't sure what he found cute. Was it you or was it the stuffed toy?

You and Jeongguk were currently at the mall, buying toys for Haneul, your son who was turning one this month.

"We'll buy this next time.”

The smile Jeongguk was sporting turned into a scowl when you put the toy back to the shelf.

"Next time?" He furrowed his brow, reaching for the rabbit. "Why can't we buy it now?"

"Guk," you let out a sigh. He was feigning innocence but you knew better.

You knew you couldn't afford this kind of toy. Why did you even ask him to go here? It was obvious that you didn't belong here.

Years ago, you and Jeongguk had plans. He wanted to be a famous football player while you decided to major in Marketing; however, your dreams had been shattered when you found out that you were pregnant with his baby.

You didn't know what to do that time. You just graduated high school. Actually, you were supposed to take the college entrance exam at Seoul University.

The test didn't happen because you felt sick that day. You had been vomiting non-stop and everything smelt awful.

You still took a test, though. It wasn't the kind of test you were expecting. You woke up that day to chase you dream, but instead you ended up chasing your breath as you cried and cried and cried.

You took a pregnancy test and the numbing slap of your mother was enough for you to know that you were a disgrace.

A disgrace, a disappointment, an animal, a disrespectful child, and a....

sinner.

You accepted it all. You didn't mind that your whole family was insulting you inside and out.

You didn't blame them—couldn't blame them.

How could you do that when you saw yourself the same way they saw you?

Your mind was poisoning you. You were blaming yourself. You were blaming Jeongguk. He did this to you.

He did this to you because you let him.

So basically, this was your fault.

You ruined your future and the only way to restore everything back to normal was to have an abortion.

Of course you considered abortion. You were young and so, so scared. How could you take care of a child when you couldn't even take care of yourself?

And what about Jeongguk? He didn't deserve this shit. He was young too. He deserved the world, not a punishment.

You considered your child as a punishment. Why didn't you just stick to dildo? Or a fucking vibrator?

There were so many options. Why did you have to trust that stupid condom? You knew it didn't work all the time.

Nothing worked according to your plan.

"You are going to marry Jeon Jeongguk." Your father's words screamed authority.

Everyone in your family was aware that once your father demanded something, it should be followed without any questions. He rarely spoke, but when he did, it was absolute.

"But—" despite knowing the end of this discussion, you still tried to reason out.

You were only able to utter one word before you felt another deafening slap from your mother.

Or was it your father?

You had no idea.

All you knew was that everyone was either physically hurting you or emotionally manipulating you.

"No buts! My decision is final! You are going to marry that Jeon boy!"

Ah, that Jeon boy.

Poor Jeon Jeongguk. He had no idea what was about to happen to him. God. He didn't even know that you were carrying his child.

"We won't allow you to live like a slut anymore," your auntie crossed her arms.

This was the thing about your family. Everyone had a say, even your relative could discipline you. According to them, elders should always be respected. You had to follow what they said because apparently, they knew better than you.

Maybe they did. But still, you didn't want to force Jeongguk to marry you.

Sure, you two had been dating for three years now, but that wasn't enough. What if the love he felt for you wasn't the kind of love that you and your kid needed?

Perhaps you should have thought of that before giving into lust. The tiny voice inside your head sneered at you.

You could only sob.

It seemed like crying was all you could do.

You cried when you found out that you were pregnant, you cried when your parents found out that you were pregnant, and you cried when Jeongguk found out that you were pregnant.

All of this was happening because you were pregnant.

Except one thing:

Jeongguk wanted to marry you not because you were pregnant but because he loved you.

"You don't have to force me.” Jeongguk gritted his teeth when your whole family barged in his house.

Of course the Jeons were surprised. They weren't close to your family even though you lived two houses away from one another.

Your family didn’t want to associate themselves with the Jeons. The latter didn't really believe in the Lord, or even if they did, they were still far from religious.

They raised Jeongguk to be a sinner.

Your family firmly believed that you only got pregnant because Jeongguk forced you.

It wasn't true. You both wanted it to happen. You were consenting adults. Besides, your boyfriend asked you thousands of times if you truly wanted to do it.

He didn't force you. He respected you.

"I will marry her." Jeongguk said with confidence. He was looking at your father as if he was ready to knock him down.

"Jeongguk," his mother called softly. She was crying. She was broken. She was ashamed. She was sorry.

"It's alright, mom." The look Jeongguk gave his mother was the opposite of the glare he threw at your father.

Jeongguk was a sweet boy. He loved his parents so much.

"Shall we talk about the wedding, then?" Your father raised a brow.

Everything happened fast after that. Your family and Jeongguk's parents arranged the matrimony that was about to happen.

The Jeons offered to pay for the wedding expenses. Your family agreed. They didn't really care about the details. They only demanded a church wedding. They also wanted to marry you off as soon as possible.

They said it would be a shame if your baby bump appeared before the white event.

Since the preparation was short, you didn't have a choice but to wear a simple dress. Your mother insisted that you add veil as an accessory.

It was a hypocritical move, really. Veils symbolized innocence and purity.

You were neither.

You were a sinner and guilt was consuming your whole being.

Guilt for disappointing your family.

Guilt for breaking your promise to the Lord.

And guilt for taking something away from Jeongguk.

You took his freedom away.

The small apartment where you two now lived was not enough to showcase what he got. This abode was small, suffocating and confining his talents.

It was also too small to cater your unending tears.

You felt like you were drowning.

"Babe..." Your husband whispered, yet his voice still startled you.

You didn't answer—didn't have the energy to do so. You were drowning, remember? It didn't help that you feel suffocated too. The stupid dress you were wearing was too tight.

"You okay?" Jeongguk enquired, sighing.

He was worried about you. The two of you got married today. It was supposed to be one of the happiest days for brides, but why weren't you happy?

Why did you look...dejected?

"Yeah," you tried to offer him a smile. "I just feel hot."

You weren't lying. You didn't like the ambiance of your house. It felt like a vacation place, like you were a stranger, like you didn't belong.

It was because your mother and sisters were the ones who decorated this place.

"You think you can join me outside?" Your husband rubbed circled on your palm. "Let's have some fresh air?"

You nodded in a heartbeat.

You were tired, but you didn't want to be stuck in this room. You wanted...out.

"Okay.” Jeongguk helped you get on your feet. He was acting as though you were an expensive figurine ever since he learned that you were pregnant.

Your husband led you to the small garden of your home. You didn't know that your family decided to buy a place like this.

You were grateful though. The inside of your home was suffocating, but the garden appeared...magical.

"Jeongguk," your eyes widened in shock. "W-What's all this?"

Your hand was shaking as your eyes scanned the garden. There were fairy lights wrapped around the trees. The place was also decorated with different ornaments and pretty flowers.

Your favorite flowers.

"Do you like it?" Your husband was grinning at you. His eyes were shining brighter than the lights.

"Of course," you cupped his cheeks. "This is sweet, Kookie. Thank you.”

"Anything for you," he brought your hands closer to his mouth, kissing it.

"You deserve everything, baby." And with that, Jeongguk dropped on one knee.

"W-What are you doing!?" You panicked, eyes dilating once again.

"I know everything happened so fast." He started, licking his bottom lip. "We didn't have time to process everything. Our family decided what they think is good for us and trust me, I appreciate it."

You knew he was implying that he wanted this to happen.

"But I want to do something that I want.”  He fished a small box out of the pocket of his slacks.

You gasped.

"They told me to marry you." He opened the velvet box.

There was a ring.

"But they didn't give me the chance to do this," he raised the ring in the air.

"Baby," Jeongguk called, looking at your face with so much fondness. "You deserve a better proposal."

You were sobbing.

"You deserve a man dropping down on one knee. A man who will show you that he is serious about this marriage.”

He took your left hand.

"And I want to be that man. I want to be the man you deserved and not the boy your father coerced,"

You laughed, heart hammering through your chest. Jeongguk was so beautiful.

"I love you..." He confessed as he called your name. "Will you marry me?"

The yes that came out of your mouth was instant. You didn't hesitate. You didn't feel guilty. You just felt....happy.

Jeongguk put the ring on your finger. He kissed your stomach before standing up to crash his lips against yours.

Jeongguk no longer tasted like regret.

He tasted like forever.

Forever...

You swore you would stay with him forever. You felt silly for doubting him.

Jeongguk was a good man.

Your house no longer felt suffocating. It was loaded with love and laughter and it made your heart swell with joy.

Your family didn't bother your life anymore. You were on your own. They stopped supporting you. They said you made a choice—a choice to be a mother.

A mother was a provider, a natural giver.

You provided for your new family. You worked harder. You had two jobs: a waitress and elementary tutor.

Jeongguk continued studying. He was a student in the morning and a delivery boy at night.

You two worked in the same restaurant. Jeongguk tried to cover your shift as much as possible. He was basically doing your job.

He was scared. What if you overworked yourself? He didn't want you to work but you said you had to.

Raising a baby was expensive.

But you did it.

Haneul was turning one year old this month. He was a bright kid and he looked exactly like his father. They had the same brown eyes, so innocent and wide.

You knew you would do anything for your baby—well—except for one.

You wouldn't buy this stuffed toy for him. It's not like you didn't want to. It was more like you couldn't.

You couldn't afford it.

You couldn't, but Jeongguk could.

"Let's buy it...” He repeated. "I have money. I worked overtime last night.”

Your husband was still a delivery boy. You, on the other hand, quit your job so that you could look after your baby.

"Are you sure? This is expensive, Kook." You bit your lower lip.

Jeongguk smiled at you.

"But Haneul will like it.”

His reason was enough for you to just give in.

Of course.

Anything for your little Jeon. You would die for your son.

"Haneul, we're home!" You cooed loudly.

You were excited to see your baby. Jeongguk told you to give Haneul the stuffed toy while he go and express his gratitude to your neighbor for looking after baby Haneul.

Little did you know, Jeongguk was lying.

There was no neighbor to talk to.

It was only an excuse so that he could stare at you through the window as you rocked the empty crib in your room.

You were singing.

"You are the sunlight that rose again in my life..." Your voice was sweet that Jeongguk couldn't help but cry a little.

For you, Haneul was light. He shed light when you felt like giving up.

"You are the cause of my euphoria," your child was also the cause of your happiness.

Without him, you would be lost.

Jeongguk knew it.

Haneul.

This was the name you chose for your kid. It meant heaven.

For you, Haneul was God sent.

But Jeongguk was wondering.

If Haneul was God sent, then why did the Lord take him immediately?

Why did your Lord take him away from you and Jeongguk?

"Close the door now..." You continued to sing.

Jeongguk's heart clenched.

He watched you every day, so he already knew the next line of the song.

He sang with you.

"When I'm with you I'm in utopia..."

Utopia was a special place. A fantasy world. A world where everything was possible.

In Utopia, Haneul was still alive.

Jeongguk wasn't crazy.

He knew you needed help.

You were in denial. Too caught up in fantasy that you refused to believe that your son was already dead the moment he was born.

Haneul died in your womb.

He tried telling you, but you didn't want to acknowledge it.

You became hysterical when the words dead and Haneul were mentioned in the same sentence.

Jeongguk avoided using those words. It had been months now, almost a year actually.

He wondered if he could still continue pretending.

Looking at you hurt.

He guessed it was time to let go.

Not now, but soon.

For today, he just wanted to believe that utopia was real.

It should be fine, right?

more JJK FICS: Your Eyes Tell or check Masterlist

[metelis-favorite]

am i so bad? (that you hate me?)

Summary: Zane found himself at the outskirts of his family for most of his life. Maybe this time, they'd break away with him. Word count: 2796 Warnings: Transphobia, Islamophobia, misgendering, reference and results of past emotional abuse to children, discussion of weight in a negative tone Author’s Notes: This was not planned to be the first installment of the streamer au!! In fact, it has little to do with the fact that they are streamers at all.  This was written as a vent fic and turned into something a tad nicer than that.  Give me a comment or kudos on Ao3!

“Hey, mom.”  Zianna burst through the kitchen entrance as Zane closed the door behind him.

“Oh, Zuzu!” she exclaimed running over to wrap him in a hug, nearly lifting him off the ground.  He withheld the urge to wince and hesitantly wrapped his arms around his mother, patting her back awkwardly.  She set him back firmly on the ground but rocked them back and forth and something in Zane’s chest sunk as he felt something wet soaking into his sweater.  “Oh, Zuzu, you never visit anymore.” She pulled back, clutching his arms.  “Though it seems like you’ve been feeding yourself just fine!”  Zane smiled shakily, but he felt it coming out more of a grimace.

“You should see Garroth,” he tried to joke, “pretty sure being a father made him gain a few.”  Immediately Zianna’s face dropped into a disapproving pout and she tightened her grip on Zane’s arms.

“That is not funny, Zuzu,” she scolded. “Your brother is working as hard as he can for that little boy.”  Zane scowled.

“Malachi isn’t a boy, mother.”  Zianna elected to ignore him, giving his arms a punctuating (and painful) squeeze before letting go.  She walked back towards the kitchen and Zane felt five years old all over again, trailing after his mother in hopes she would pay attention to him. “So…” he started awkwardly, clearing his throat, “how’s dad doing? He’s at work today, right?” Zianna nodded excitedly, opening a packet of deli meat.

“Oh, yes! He and Garroth have been working on a brand-new acquisition for the company and it’s just taking up so much time.” She turned to smile at her son. “But you know how much your father loves his work.   It’s such a charming quality in a man to see him so dedicated.” A distant memory of a tenth birthday without his father flashed through his head.  He shoved it down.  He could bitch about it later to his therapist.

“Yeah, that’s- that’s cool.  Good for him.”  Zane leaned against the entrance to the kitchen. He waited for a second, the air between the two of them stale and tense.  Zianna kept smiling, placing pieces of ham into sandwiches. “What are you- uh, what are you making?”

“Oh! Well, you know Gar-Gar and his son are coming by as well, right? I’m making some sandwiches for him!” Zane winced, his lips curling into a scowl.

“Mother, Malachi isn’t a boy, we’ve been over this.” Zianna just waved him off.

“Oh, kids are kids, Zuzu, he doesn’t know anything yet.”  Zane’s shoulders hunched up and he subconsciously rubbed his sweater where he knew his top surgery scars lay underneath. Speaking of which, he needed to make a deposit to Vylad and Garroth’s accounts today.  It should be one of the last payments before he’s not in debt anymore.

“That’s not-” Zane started, his voice small. He shook his head and cut himself off.  It wasn’t worth it. “Malachi doesn’t eat ham, either, mom.” That made Zianna stop mid-second, a piece of ham in her hand.

“What do you mean?” Zane shrugged his shoulders.

“Malachi is Muslim, mom, Garroth told you about this.  They don’t eat pig meat.”  Zianna scoffed, but he could see the shake in her hands.

“Well, that’s just silly,” she said, her voice rising in pitch.  Zane swallowed nervously.  He shoved his hands into the pockets of his shorts.  “Why doesn’t he just follow Irene?”

“Uh- because they don’t have to?” Zane said.  “They’re not forced to follow whatever religion Garroth follows, mom, they were religious before they met Garroth.” Zianna shook her head rapidly before Zane even finished his sentence, closing her fist around the meat in her hand.

“No, but- Why wouldn’t Garroth have Malachi convert?” The question made Zane’s stomach flip a few times.  The spot where the cross on his chain necklace would have rested on his collarbone burned.

“Because he’s not an ass, mother,” Zane said, his voice taking on a sharper tone. “Malachi doesn’t have to do anything they don’t want to and Garroth certainly isn’t going to force his child to join a religion that they don’t believe in.”  Zianna made a noise and Zane could see her shoulders tensing. The room went quiet for a moment before Zianna opened her fist, letting the ham drop onto the counter.  She stalked over to the opposite side of the kitchen, ripping a trash bag from the container.  She walked back to the counter where the sandwiches and in one movement, she swept the sandwiches, chips, and packages of deli meat into the bag.  Zane flinched at the sound of the food hitting the bottom of the bag.

“Well, I guess I did all of that work for nothing!” She said, her voice squeaky and shaking with barely-contained anger. “Gratitude means nothing anymore, apparently.” Zane leaned forward onto the balls of his feet, ready to make it to the front door in less than five seconds if his mother decided to move his way. He didn’t say anything.

She tied up the bag, dropping into the garbage bin he knew was underneath the sink cabinet.  Zianna brushed her hands off and then propped them onto her hips.  Zane stayed silent.  She turned towards him, her breath shaky and her smile as false as the Louboutin heels he saw by the door. “Well, dear?” she prompted. “How’s work been?”

The change in topic made Zane’s head spin but he was pretty sure this was the only time she would ever ask him about his job and any chance to escape her fury was latched onto with both hands. “It’s- uh, it’s been good,” he said, his voice stumbling. “Subs have been going up at a pretty steady rate and if it- uh- keeps up for a few more months, I might be able to move into a better apartment.” Zianna nodded but he could tell she wasn’t absorbing anything he said. “Aph would move with me, I think.”  That caught her attention.  She squealed.

“Oh, you’re still dating Aphmau? Oh, that is so amazing!” Zianna giggled. “I can’t wait to be a mother-in-law.” Zane blinked a few times.

“You are a mother-in-law,” Zane reminded. “Garroth is married, you do know that, right?” Zianna’s smile seemed to turn cold and Zane beat himself up for even saying anything. “Besides!” he rushed to push past his mistake, “Aph and I aren’t dating or anything, she’s just a good roommate.” Zianna just shook her head, clasping her hands in front of her chest.

“Oh, but I’m sure you’ll end up dating soon! That Aphmau has always had a thing for you, you know.” She winked dramatically and Zane wrinkled his nose on instinct.

“…Sure, mom,” he said at last, not willing to get into another argument with her.  Zianna wiggled in her space.

The sound of a car pulling into the gravel driveway broke the tense atmosphere that was starting to build up and Zane’s shoulders untensed.

Garroth and his relationship was difficult.  His relationship with Vylad was even more so.  But one good thing that came out of them both being adults and living away from their parents was the chance to finally say shit to each other and not have their parents constantly scolding them (read: Zane) for starting a fight.  There were nights were they just screamed at each other, mourning the childhoods they never got.  Zane better knew the pressure shoved onto Garroth and while a part of him would always feel like his brother was ungrateful for the opportunities he was given as a child, Zane didn’t know if he wouldn’t react in that same way in Garroth’s position.

In a similar vein, he finally got the apology he had been craving for so many years.  They were both on the ground, drunk out of their minds, and Garroth just erupted into sobs, saying that every day he woke up with guilt eating away at him.  That he knew what an awful brother he had been and that he was so sure that whatever relationship they might’ve had was crushed because of his arrogance.

Zane wasn’t faultless and he knew that their relationship as kids could’ve gone a lot smoother had he not gone out of his way to antagonize his family.  But the feeling of relief when his big brother arrived at their childhood home, instead of dread or jealously, wasn’t something he’d trade for anything.

Zianna bustled over to the door, pulling it open and waving to Garroth, who was assumedly getting out of his car and unbuckling Malachi.  Zane followed her, standing behind her with his hands still shoved firmly into his pockets.  He saw Malachi practically bounce out of the car, ignoring Garroth’s call to slow down as they ran up the steps to the door.  Zianna opened her arms and knelt down for a hug, but Malachi bolted past her to attach themself to Zane’s legs.  “Hi, Uncle Zane!” they exclaimed.  Zane blinked a few times, before patting his nibling gently on the head. They cocked their head to the side. “Is it a no-touch day? Dad says sometimes you have no-touch days.”  Zianna moved to open her mouth, having risen from her knees, but Zane cut her off.

“It’s alright, kid,” he said gruffly, resisting the urge to smile as Malachi tightened their grip around his knees. “You want- You want up?” Immediately, Malachi’s face nearly split in half from the grin they bore and they unlocked their hands to reach up towards Zane’s face, making a grabby motion.  Zane bent down slightly, grabbing the kid underneath the armpits and lifting.  A muscle in his back twinged, but he shifted his weight onto his legs and pulled himself and Malachi up the rest of the way.  The eight-year-old wrapped their arms around Zane’s neck, resting their head on his shoulder, and Zane swallowed harshly, trying to keep down tears from welling in his eyes.  Zianna was practically glaring at them but she didn’t say anything as Garroth stepped into the home.

“Dad!” Malachi exclaimed, lifting their head up. “Hi!” Garroth laughed, reaching a hand out and Malachi reached their hand in return, giving each other a gentle squeeze.

“I just saw you, bud,” Garroth said, grinning. Malachi shrugged, tucking their head back under Zane’s chin.

“I know,” they said cheekily.

“Did you say hi to Ms. Zianna yet?” Garroth asked and Zane wrinkled his nose.  His brother shot him a ‘I know what you’re thinking and I’m thinking the same thing but I have to be a good influence on my kid’ look over Malachi’s shaking head.  “Can you say hello please?”

Malachi looked over to Zianna and she waved softly. “Hey, sweetie!”

“Hi,” they mumbled, shoving their face into Zane’s hoodie.  Zianna’s face dropped into a disapproving scowl, but Garroth stepped in, his nerves showing all over his face.

“I think Malachi is just a bit shy today,” he said, his voice bordering on shaking. “They’ve had a long day.”  Zianna harrumphed slightly, crossing her arms, and if Zane weren’t focused on not pissing off his mother and not dropping his nibling, he might’ve laughed at his six-foot-three brother cowering in front of his five-foot-four mother.

He thought of his own five-foot-eleven height and the scene of him hunched over while his mother threw the sandwiches away and dismissed the thought of laughing entirely.  Malachi tightened their grip around his neck and he adjusted his grip so that they were pressed closer to his chest. “I see Malachi plenty,” Zianna complained. “Why won’t he give me a hug?!” Malachi made a noise and Garroth looked pained.

“Mother,” his brother said gently, “we’ve been over this.”  Zianna shook her head.

“Honey, I’m the mother to one of those kinds of people, I know how this works.”  Zane inhaled sharply.  Garroth gave a full body wince.

“Can we not have this conversation in front of them, please?” Garroth pleaded, his voice small.  Zane maneuvered Malachi to one side, slipping his hand into his basketball shorts to pull out his phone.   His mother shot back something, but he was too busy sending off a text to Laurance.

 2:58 P.M.

Outlawed in-law: SOS.  Mom’s saying shit.

Gar’s boytoy: :thumbsup:

  Judging from the kid trying to – affectionately – choke him, it wasn’t good.  Looking at Garroth, who was looking at their mother like he wanted to cry, Zane made the executive decision to back away and make his way to the stairs leading up to his old room. “Wher’we goin’? Malachi said, their voice muffled by their face being mushed into his hoodie.

“We,” Zane said, hefting the child further up his hip, “are gonna go check out your dad’s old room.” Malachi perked up, lifting their head.

“Daddy lived here?” Zane nodded.

“So did me and Vylad.”

“Avie Vylad?” Zane nodded again, stepping up the last stair and walking towards the back of the hall.

“The very same.”  Zane stopped in front of a door still decorated in medals and stickers of achievement.  He expected to feel some sting at the blatant representation of everything younger Zane resented but he found nothing there.  Blinking slightly, he reached out for the knob and pushed the door open.

The walls were bare – Garroth had taken down most of his posters when he moved out for college – but his old bedspread and desk were still there.  “Is this where daddy grew up?”

“Yep.”

“Where were you?”

“I was the room to the left.”

“With all the black stickers with bad words?” Zane snorted.

“Yep.” Malachi wiggled, unlatching their hands from behind Zane’s neck.  He bent over slightly, letting Malachi slip from his arms and land on the floor. “Your dad and I had some pretty different ideas on what constituted good décor.” Malachi peeked into the closet while Zane sat on the bed.

“Oh, woahh, there are some boxes in here!” they said excitedly.

“Yeah, your dad left some stuff here when he moved out.  I think he’s forgotten about it to be honest.” Malachi turned around, giving Zane a quizzical look.

“How could he forget his stuff?”  Zane shrugged.

“We had a lot of stuff as kids.”  Malachi looked down at the ground, their tiny brow furrowed.  They grabbed at the green scarf-slash-shawl wrapped around their shoulders.

“I have a lot of stuff now,” they said after a few moments. “I guess that makes sense.”  Zane scooted back on the bed, so his back could rest against the wall.  “Were you n’ dad friends?” Zane furrowed his brow.

“What do you mean?”

“I heard papa saying something once about you n’ dad not being friends but you guys seem like friends so I wanted to ask.”  Zane blinked a few times, not sure how to respond.  Two decades of pain and anger and betrayal seemed to flash before his eyes and he wasn’t quite sure how to explain that to his eight-year-old nibling.

“I guess…” he started, “I guess you could say we weren’t friends when we were your age.” Malachi frowned and moved over to the bed to sit next to Zane.

“But are you guys friends now?”  Zane moved to rest his hand on Malachi’s head.

“I think we are, yeah.  We did some mean shi- stuff to each other when we were kids because we were angry at other people and took it out on each other.  But we’ve talked about it now.  We’ve said sorry.”  Zane patted Malachi once before resting his hand in his lap. “If you wanna know more, you should ask your dad.  Not all of this story is mine to tell.”  Malachi got a confused look on their face, but something must’ve clicked because their expression relaxed.

A knock sounded from the door.  Both Malachi and Zane looked up to find Garroth there, a soft smile on his face.  Zane squinted and saw the tired look in his eyes, the dark eye bags of nightmares that Zane saw mirrored on his own face near constantly seemed to have been amplified by whatever conversation he had with their mother.

“Papa called, bud, we gotta head back to the house.”  Malachi pouted, crossing their arms.

“I don’t wanna go,” they whined. “I wanna stay with Uncle Zane.” It took a second for Zane to process the statement, but before he could start sputtering nervously, Garroth just laughed.

“Uncle Zane can come with us, if he wants.” Zane gave Garroth a look and his brother shrugged good-naturedly.  Malachi wiggled and looked up Zane excitedly.

“Please?” they said and Zane was surprised by the earnestness in their voice.

“Sure,” he said, surprised once again by the fact that he actually did want to go with them, “I’ll come with.”

[lesbianlotties]

Journeys end in lovers meeting - Sam/Deena - Bly Manor AU

Chapters: 5/? Fandom: Fear Street Trilogy (TV) Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Samantha "Sam" Fraser/Deena Johnson, Sarah Fier/Hannah Miller (Fear Street), Christine "Ziggy" Berman/Nick Goode, Samantha "Sam" Fraser & Deena Johnson Characters: Samantha "Sam" Fraser (Fear Street), Deena Johnson, Kate Schmidt (Fear Street), Simon Kalivoda, Josh Johnson (Fear Street), Constance (Fear Street Part 3: 1666), Christine "Ziggy" Berman, Nick Goode (Fear Street), Alice (Fear Street Part 2: 1978), Sarah Fier (Fear Street), Hannah Miller (Fear Street), Solomon Goode (Fear Street) Additional Tags: Alternate Universe, The Haunting of Bly Manor AU, Not Canon Compliant, Haunted Houses, Ghosts, Character Death, Minor Character Death, Canon Lesbian Relationship, First Meetings, Fluff and Angst, Eventual Smut, Happy Ending, Au Pair Sam, Gardener Deena, Housekeeper Kate, Cook Simon, Josh and Constance as troubled kids, Ziggy and Nick in an unhealthy relationship, minor Cindy/Alice, Martin cameos, special appearances of all the Shadyside killers as ghosts, Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies, The Rest Is Confetti Summary: The year is 1994. Samantha Fraser recently moved to Shadyside, and she desperately needs a job that will help her leave her troubled past behind. She starts working as au pair at Shadyside Manor, where she is not the only one tortured by ghosts. Grief, regrets, guilt, innocent victims, and an ancient curse. At the center of all of it... love.

Chapter 5: 

When Peter Brody died, all of Sunnyvale mourned. As a teenager, he had been the star of the football team and in a town like that, it meant he was a celebrity. He was loved, known, seen by everyone. Sam, on the other hand, had always lived under his shadow, where she had been cold and lonely but also stuck beyond salvation, she thought. Nobody knew her, nobody saw her. They all saw a small blonde-haired woman that men made fun of and women judged and Peter never really loved, did he? Had any of it been love?  

During Peter’s funeral, luckily, all eyes were still on him, on the closed coffin that is. The truck that hit him hadn’t exactly been forgiving. Sam didn’t mind. She preferred to go unnoticed most of the time but especially on the day she was dealing with the most conflicting emotions of her life. Peter was dead. Did she kill him? He could have killed her. Was this her fault? Her biggest source of pain was gone forever. Should it be her in that coffin? She could be free now. Why wasn’t she feeling sadness, pain, and grief? Why wasn’t the relief hitting either? She was just numb.

She was numb until the moment they were lowering his coffin to the ground. Everyone around her was crying and she couldn’t tear her eyes away from that awful hole on the ground. That is why she noticed, clear as day, the moment a hand, gray and dirty and stained with blood, reached out from the ground and out toward her. She stifled a small gasp and jumped in place, but nobody paid her any mind. Sam closed her eyes tightly and tried to convince herself it was just her mind playing tricks on her. She’d lived in fear of Peter’s hand for so long, it was reasonable that she couldn’t put it down in a matter of days.

So, Sam excused herself from the crowd, knowing nobody would care about her absence. Her mother was crying more than she cried at her ex-husband’s funeral, and more than she’d be crying if it was Sam in the coffin. At least, that’s what Sam thought. She walked away briskly until she could lean against a big tree in the middle of the Sunnyvale cemetery. She took breaths and tried to control her racing heart. This full-body panic wasn’t rare. She was just used to locking herself in the bathroom of the house she used to share with the deceased man.

This time, however, she was in public. She had to get a hold of herself quickly. That was what she had spent a lifetime learning to do. So she pulled out a small mirror from her clutch, knowing she better check her make-up before returning to her mother’s side. She was expected to cry but keep perfect make-up somehow. But, as soon as she saw her reflection in the mirror, Sam realized she had bigger problems. This time she really screamed. She screamed in terror and dropped the mirror and quickly turned around, but he was gone. The image of Peter, just an impossibly black shadow, lifeless and furious and with a bloodstained hand wrapped around Sam’s throat… he was gone. Quickly, Sam picked up the mirror again and didn’t see him. But she skipped the rest of the funeral, she ran all the way home, and in the living room’s mirror, he was right there, waiting for her. In the Sunnyvale school bathroom mirror, he was there. In the cars’ windows, in the stores’ fronts, everywhere she went, he was right there, haunting her all the way to Shadyside Manor.

Away from the house though, surrounded by nothing but damp grass and green trees and nothing showing her reflection back to her, Sam let her guard down. She was sitting around an impressive bonfire in the company of Deena, Kate, and Simon, along with a few bottles of wine they got from the Berman’s old reserve. “It’s not like they’ll be drinking it,” Simon had said.

The last addition to their small gathering was Tommy Slater. Uninvited. Unnoticed. At least, surrounded by those trees he looked a little more at home, with his red plaid shirt and the axe on his hand. He shifted from one foot to the other, as if considering taking a stroll around the gardens he used to love so much. But that wasn’t the case. He’d been there too long. He didn’t move purposefully anymore, he didn’t make any choices, he didn’t even have many thoughts anymore. He simply stood there in the background, in the shadows, in that property he couldn’t escape from.

Around the bonfire, with lively eyes, blushing cheeks and playful smiles, the employees of the Manor looked much more alive. Kate exchanged a knowing look with Simon and then turned her head toward the other two women sitting close by.

“Deena. Don’t you have some story you'd like to share with us?” Kate asked.

She had startled the gardener, who had been a little lost in thought looking at Sam. “Huh? What?” Deena shook her head, but a second later and aided by an exasperated look from Kate, she understood. “Oh, right. Um, actually, yeah,” Deena cleared her throat and then looked at Sam, regaining her usual confidence. “Hey, Sunnyvale, do you want to hear a ghost story?”

“Sure,” Sam shrugged. She was really cold, and still a little put off by the unpleasant memories that had been roaming her mind the entire day. But she smiled nonetheless. “But I think I told you I’m not scared of ghost stories,” she said. How could she be? Although he was a sincerely upsetting company to carry with her everywhere she went, Peter hadn’t hurt her after he died nearly as much as he had while being alive.

“Ah, but what if you found yourself inside of one of those stories?” Deena asked.

“Okay, humor me.”

“Look up,” Deena nodded her head and the four of them looked up at the big tree next to them with branches that reached above their heads. “This is the hanging tree,” Deena said. “Back in the day, before there was Shadyside and Sunnyvale, and junk food and pretty au pairs, there was the settlement of Union. A pretty crappy place run by religious hysteria. They had the bad habit of accusing women of witchcraft. This is the place where they used to hang their witches. Right here, on this same tree.”

A cold breeze passed by, making the sudden silence even more noticeable. Sam shivered and her teeth clattered. “That’s not supernatural though,” she said. “That’s just cruelty, and ignorance.”

“And that’s without mentioning the ones they burned alive,” Simon added, taking a big swing of his wine bottle.

“Simon!” Kate chastised him, slapping his arm.

“What?! It’s true!” he laughed.

At least it proved they could come and go seamlessly from serious and lighthearted moods.

“Hey, they had their reasons,” Deena said, taking the others by surprise. “They used to say that burning a witch was the only way to guarantee she wouldn’t come back to haunt you afterward.”

A bitter chuckle came from Kate. “I know I got a few names I’d like to burn down,” she said.

“Care to share?” Deen tilted her head, intrigued.

Kate’s face had grown serious very suddenly, and she stood up from her seat.

“For Christine Berman,” She said, and everyone listened intently. “Not that I want to burn her memory, not that I don't wish she’d come back… This is in her honor. A brilliant, courageous, simply incomparable woman… with just one stupid fucking weakness. She deserved better than that man. I won’t even say his name. That disgusting man that consumed her away… Now that’s someone I wish I could burn alive.”

“Cheers!” Simon raised his bottle, and everyone followed suit.

Deena stood up next. “For the Bermans. Those good, stupidly kind people,” she said. “For Cindy, especially. And everything she could have been… For as long as she could she was a really, really great mother. More than that, too. She was the heart of this entire place, and she was there for everyone, not just her family or, well, she made all of us family, really. And… Anyway, I think she would be happy to have Sam Fraser join us. This sweet, Sunnyvale weirdo. Cindy would be happy she’s looking after her daughter.”

After she finished, Deena let herself fall back heavily on her chair. While everyone drank for the dearly missed couple, she managed to regain her composure. When she looked at Sam again, her usual easy smile was back in place.

“What about you, Sunnyvale? Anything you want to burn?”

“Me?” Sam said. Through her mind flashed the small group of people that had affected her most throughout her life. What could she talk about? The dead father she barely remembers and still misses? The living mother angry at her that she’s still avoiding? Or the dead ex-fiance she feels responsible for and she’s still scared of? “No, thank you. I’m okay,” Sam shook her head.

Maybe they didn’t need more of an excuse to drink. Maybe her silence was more than enough. Still, when Deena, Kate, and Simon, despite her silence, raised their wine bottles to their lips to drink. Sam felt the comfort of genuine solidarity and understanding like she had never experienced before.

Before the silence could stretch for too long, Simon stood up. “Are you sure?” Kate whispered, reaching out to hold his hand. He squeezed her hand once, then let go and took a step forward.

“So… my mom. She’s, uh, not someone I’d wish to burn alive, obviously,” Simon said, and added a feeble chuckle, but he went on. “But fuck, she deserved to rest already. She lived a long life, and not an easy one. But she was stronger than this entire town, and sweeter than any drug, funnier than me, if you can believe it, and beautiful as an angel until the very last day.” He stopped briefly, and his smile wavered. He ran a hand through his hair, tugging a little harder than necessary, and after a deep breath, he managed to continue. “Her mind, well, it was stopped working as it should a while ago, you know? I was her son, her brother, her father, and sometimes I was a complete stranger… but she was still my mom, always. So… here’s to everything she was, and everyone I had to be for her.”

--

After Peter died, Sam considered moving back in with her mother. It sounded like a nightmare, but a reasonable choice to make, she thought. However, her mother never did or said anything to suggest Sam would be even remotely welcome in her home. So, Sam stayed in that picture-perfect Sunnyvale house. A faultless home except for the fact that Peter was dead and Sam would soon follow suit if he didn’t stop showing up behind her reflection in every mirror she glanced at.

Sam felt hopeless, not free as she had wished to be for so long. She felt terrified, not much more than when Peter was alive, but certainly not any less. She had been starting to worry about what the rest of her life was going to look like. She had been hoping for a miracle, an act of kindness from anybody. And that was when Peter’s mother had knocked on her door. For a moment, Sam had let herself dream of a scenario where that woman showed up with worry in her gentle eyes, a dinner invitation, and a much-needed hug. But that wasn’t Peter’s mother.

Mrs. Brody was, if anything, Sam’s biggest nightmare. A particularly cruel mixture of Peter and Sam’s own mother. Her eyes were cold, she probably would have tried to poison Sam, and they had never hugged for longer than a second. That woman had spent roughly twenty years accusing Sam of taking her son away from her. When Peter’s mother showed up at Sam’s door, it wasn’t to offer any kindness, it was to request Sam start packing her stuff and looking for a place to live, because Peter was dead, they never got married, and that house was no longer hers.

A week later, Sam was living in a Shadyside hostel.

A few months later, Sam was in the middle of the dark and beautiful gardens of Shadyside Manor, walking away from a bonfire and two of her coworkers, her friends .

Most importantly, Sam was walking away with Deena by her side. “Are they going to be okay?” Sam asked the gardener.

“Oh yeah,” Deena nodded confidently. “Getting wasted and reminiscing about the past is part of their daily routine actually.”

Sam smiled, but then Deena met her eyes and matched her smile and Sam had to remind herself to breathe. So she turned away briskly and continued to walk. Deena was kind enough not to laugh at her.

A couple of minutes later the two women had arrived at the greenhouse. It was clearly the place Deena felt most at home in. There were plants on every surface, plants of all kinds and in many different states of health. There wasn’t a lack of personal touches though. There was more than one stray jacket left behind, occasional snack wrappers, books, cups, and more. It looked like Deena spent more time there than at the house in her own room. Then there was the bench where she invited Sam to sit. The closest thing to a couch that could stand the conditions of the greenhouse. It had comfortable cushions on top, a blanket, and Sam caught sight of a sweater that Deena quickly tried to tuck away. The image of Deena taking naps in there to avoid life at the manor was enough to make Sam smile.

“This is nice,” Sam said. “It feels like you have a little bit of everything here.”

Deena shrugged. “I’d add … a drum kit, if I could,” she confessed.

“Really?” Sam wondered, getting a little more comfortable in her seat. “You play drums?”

“For a while, when I was a teen,” Deena replied. She was thoughtful for a moment but, looking at Sam’s face, she seemed to make an important decision. “One of the foster homes where I lived in had a drumkit. It was a good outlet for when life was shit but… I haven’t played since then. I was never able to afford one myself and, anyway, it doesn’t bring up the best memories.”

“Oh,” Sam mumbled, staring at her lap. Suddenly she missed the bottle of wine she had been carrying with her. She couldn’t even remember where she left it. She only wanted to find something good to say, but Deena beat her to it.

“Now’s your turn.”

“What?” Sam finally looked at her.

“Tell me something real, if you want,” Deena smiled at her. “I’d recommend starting with what’s bothering you so much that you finished a wine bottle but you’re still pale as if you’d just come back from the dead.”

Sam laughed, closed her eyes, and leaned against the back of the seat. Of course she had finished that bottle. Of course those memories did nothing but hurt her. Of course Deena would notice, and of course Deena could find a way to ask an impossible question and still make Sam want to speak up her impossible answer.

“The windows,” Sam finally replied and opened her eyes.

“What?” Deena frowned. She was as drunk as Sam, but that answer didn’t explain anything at all.

“All kinds of mirrors really,” Sam continued. “I, uh, sometimes I… I see things… that aren’t there. But they feel, um, they are real, to me. I think. I mean, I know they are. Even if it sounds crazy.”

“What kind of things do you see?” Deena asked her.

Sam blinked. She wasn’t expecting Deena to go along with it, and she wasn’t prepared or sober enough to come up with a lie. “My dead ex-boyfriend,” she said, and didn’t give Deena much time to process that information. “He wasn’t a good guy, he… He wasn’t good… at all. But we, I mean, I tried or, I guess I did, I… I broke up… with him. It was, um, right before he… died.”

“Jesus, Sam, the same day?” Deena wondered.

“Yeah,” the blonde nodded sadly. “But I guess he hasn’t let me go yet.”

Deena bit her lip and tried her hardest to find the right thing to say. There was a lot she wanted to ask, but there were more important things at the moment. “That sounds typical,” Deena said.

“What do you mean?” Sam asked, sounding genuinely tired, but more and more relieved with each passing second.

“I mean… only a Sunnyvale jerk wouldn’t get what a breakup is,” Deena said. She had been holding her breath, but when she saw Sam smile a little, she relaxed. “Like, get over it dude! She’s Shadyside property now,” Deena added, looking around the greenhouse with her best menacing tone.

Sam couldn’t contain her chuckle, but she was back to looking down at her lap. “You’re not making fun of me, are you?” She inquired.

“Sam,” Deena called her name, and waited until Sam was staring into her eyes to continue. “I’ve lived with that hanging tree over my head for years. Ghosts are… complicated, I guess, but nothing to joke about, are they?” She was worried she wasn’t making much sense, but she was genuinely trying her best. Sam shook her head softly, agreeing with her, but her eyes weren’t all that focused on ghosts, and loss, and the past anymore. “I think it’s a matter of understanding-”

All at once, Sam was kissing Deena. She had just leaned in, connected their lips, interrupted Deena with a kiss they had been dying for. At first, Deena’s shock didn’t allow her to do much, but when she caught up, when she made sense of the sweet taste of Sam, the warm press of her lips, the reality of a dream coming true right before her, she reacted. Her hands moved carefully to Sam’s face, as if afraid to break her, but she slowly pushed back. She saw the moment Sam’s blue eyes fluttered open again, and that sight alone was more than enough to steal Deena’s heart.

“Are you sure?” Deena asked her.

Sam couldn’t fight the need to glance around them, just to make sure there weren’t unwanted shadows staring at her from a corner, but there was nothing. They were alone. This moment was completely hers. “Yes,” she replied with a smile, and whatever Deena had tried to say aftward, Sam interrupted her with a kiss, but Deena didn’t seem to mind at all.

They kissed with perfect excitement, their lips were eager, and they tasted of wine, and the first touch of Deena’s tongue on her bottom lip stole a whimper from Sam. They moved closer together, and their restless hands gained confidence. Everything was happening at once, they were in a hurry, they were taking their time, they had only a second, they had all the time in the world. Sam's hand was on Deena’s shoulder, grabbing a fistful of her green jacket, pulling her closer. Deena’s hand was getting lost in Sam’s blonde ponytail, holding her in place, driving her crazy. Every second their kisses renewed and grew in passion, with Deena’s tongue pulling shivers out of Sam, and Sam’s teeth biting down on Deena’s bottom lip, overjoyed to take the other woman by surprise.

It was an accident, though. Sam didn’t really mean to open her eyes when she did. But by the time she realized what had happened, it was too late and the damage was done. She opened her eyes and right there behind Deena, with his monstrous head almost on her shoulder, was Peter. Peter the shadow, the ghost, the darkness, the demon, the ruin of Sam’s entire life.

She gasped and jumped back and away from Deena as if she’d received some kind of lethal shock.

“Fuck,” the two of them said. They were breathless, confused, and hurt. There was a sudden and unbreachable distance between. They were completely alone in the greenhouse.

--

Less than an hour later, and wearing her pajamas, Sam was storming out of her bedroom, down the stairs, and out of the manor. Her thoughts were messier than ever, and only half of it was because of the wine. There was a lot going on in her mind, a lot she couldn’t erase, understand, or even acknowledge. There was a lifetime of expectations and lies that she had endured for too long. There was a kiss from a captivating gardener that wasn’t supposed to be so sweet. There was Deena standing up, apologizing, apologizing as if anything would have possibly been her fault, and walking away from Sam without once looking back. There was a pair of teenagers that jumped out of their beds at that ungodly hour just to make her waste five minutes in the hallway, listening to them explain some genuinely unsettling dreams until they agreed to let her go. Underneath it all, there was one thought standing out from the rest though. Unfair. That’s what Sam thought of it all. It wasn’t fair that she had to deal with that much, since she was a little girl. It wasn’t fair that even after dying Peter still controlled her. It wasn’t fair that she’d found the most incredible person and potentially ruined it all because of her fear.

But, at last, Sam had made it back to the hanging tree, back to the dying embers of the bonfire, which she hoped were strong enough to burn one last memory. She wasn’t alone, of course. Behind her, Ryan Torrest had observed her walk past him. He could barely change his expression anymore, but he looked as concerned as he was capable of. He raised his right hand in front of him to study the knife he still carried. He almost wished he could pass it to the clearly distressed woman, but there was no use. He couldn’t do anything, his knife wasn’t really capable of causing harm to ghosts, no matter how many times he had tested it before on himself. Besides, that woman had to face her ghosts by herself, and this one was a different kind of ghost than the manor's habitants.

A few feet in front of Sam, Peter’s ghost stood. He was just his shadow, just pure darkness resembling his shape, with just enough details for Sam to be able to see the hatred in his eyes. “ I can’t marry you, Peter, ” she had said. “ I don’t love you, I can’t, not you, not any man ,” she had added in an impulsive attempt to appease his already explosive anger. “ I’m sorry! I didn’t ask for this, Peter! Don’t hurt me, please, ” was the last she said to him. Before he raised his arm, before he took a step backward, before the truck hit him.

“What the hell, Peter?” Sam said, facing the silent ghost under the hanging tree.

There was no answer.

“What the fuck do you want from me, huh?” Sam insisted.

The ghost didn’t speak, didn’t move, didn’t react.

“You don’t scare me anymore, Peter,” Sam said, not yelling anymore.

The dark, human-shaped mass only stood there, ominous but immobile.

“You can’t take anything else from me, you know?” Sam sighed.

The woman was just so tired, and the ghost couldn’t do anything, could he?

“If you think you can still hurt me then go for it. Do it, Peter, I don’t care anymore. Kill me, if that’s what you want, but get it over with. Because I’m done! Did you hear me? I’m done… I’m done… I’m not scared anymore. I’m not scared of you anymore.”

The embers left from the bonfire suddenly sparked back to life, burning away what had been left behind.

[ayamari-no-goshi]

A Leap in the Dark | (T)

ff.net | AO3

Fandom: Danny Phantom (DP)

Summary:  AU. Daniel "Danny" Fenton tried to distance himself from anything that could possibly tie him to magic. However, his world begins to unravel when the powerful Vlad Masters brings charges of witchcraft against him.

Warnings: rated T for violence, descriptions of death

Warnings: Witch trail interrogation and execution by hanging

Parings: none

Notes: Cross-posted to AO3 and ff.net

This entire fic was inspired by a conversation I had on Tumblr

A Leap in the Dark

The old cart creaked and rocked as it slowly moved towards its destination. With the exception of the occasional instruction to the donkeys from the wagoner, the only sounds from its passengers were whispered prayers and weeping.

Daniel (Danny to friends) Fenton closed his eyes as he waited for the inevitable. No amount of crying or pleading would save him now, and he’d come to terms with it. Or at least that’s what he told himself.

Several days prior, town guards stormed his home and pulled him into the streets. He demanded an explanation only to be punched in mouth and knocked to the ground. Some of the guards grabbed him and forced him into a kneeling position as another took out a scroll.

“On behalf of his majesty, we the guards of Amity Park arrest Daniel Fenton, son of Jack Fenton, on suspicion of practicing black magic and soliciting with the devil.”

He tried to argue with them. The charges were insane. Sure, his parents liked to experiment with alchemy which often seemed like magic, but he’d done his best to keep his nose to the ground once he moved out of their home. What did he do to get someone so upset with him that they falsely accused him?

His words fell short as someone hit him in the neck.

The next thing he knew, water fell on him, jolting him awake. Glancing around, he found himself in a cell. Trying to stand, he found shackles binding his arms and legs. In front of him, a guard with an empty bucket sneered.

Soon after, he found himself brought before the hallmote. A representative of the town stood before those gathered and explained what the accusations against him were. The other villagers yelled and hissed. The representative waited until they calmed to provide the evidence which involved reports of him meeting with a dark someone in the middle of the night at the outskirts of town.

Danny jolted as he realized someone saw him meeting up with Samantha. She and her family were fairly new to the area and affluent. Her parents didn’t approve of him, and there was an issue of different religious backgrounds.

When he had a chance to speak, Danny explained just that. “I just wanted to spend time with my dear friend without worrying about the judgement of others,” he pleaded to them.

The crowd’s anger softened some. Another rose and asked if any further evidence could be provided. Hope welled within Danny. If no further false evidence existed against him, he might be able to walk away from this relatively unharmed.

The crowd shifted as they waited for someone to speak. When no one did, Danny sighed in relief. He’d be able to go home and live his life. He might have to let Samantha know they would need to move their meeting times to make it safer for both of them, but if that was the only thing he needed to do, he could live with that.

The sound of walking broke the silence. Everyone turned to see Vladimir Masters, another recent addition to the town slowly walk into the room. Danny didn’t know what to make of the man. He had more influence due to his merchant money then the local lord which caused some tensions between them. However, he’d managed to charm most of the villagers and the church with his donations and public improvements. He also seemed to have an unhealthy interest in his parents, particularly his mother.

“Ladies and gentlemen of this fair town, I bring you one final piece of evidence,” he announced as he opened his cloak to produce a large leather-bound book. He waited for the whispers to stop before he continued. “When rumors first started, I could scarcely believe the son of my two dear friends could possibly be involved in such things. So, I decided to follow him to one of his supposed meetings with the Dark One.”

Again, he paused for effect. “I watched as young Daniel meet with a strange man who appeared on a dark mist. Afraid for my life, I didn’t dare approach and instead hide behind a nearby tree. While I couldn’t hear their words, I did see the stranger hand the boy a book before disappearing back into the mist. The boy glanced through it before heading further outside of town.”

“Concerned, I followed at a safe distance. He eventually came to the hang man’s tree that grows at the crossroads and buried it before heading back to town. I waited until I believed he would no longer be able to detect my presence and dug up the book. Lo and behold, I found a tome written in a language I could not read. Images of death and sacrifice littered its pages. Horrified, I returned to town with it in my possession to report it to both the guards and the Church.”

“Are you so enraged that you can’t have my mother that you need to frame me?” Danny spat at the man. “Everyone knows the crossroads are dangerous at night. I have no desire to risk encountering the vengeful and dark spirits that make such a place a home. Besides, don’t we all know the Dark One is more likely to appear at the crossroads? Why would I go there after supposedly meeting with Him?”

Masters just gave him a sickly-sweet smile. “How is a simple man like me supposed to understand the logic of such evil? Besides, you have not denied ownership of this book.”

The rest of the crowd erupted. Even through the symphony of voices, he could tell many of them cursed and condemned him. His heart sang as the shouts grew louder. Everyone knew the if the crowd believed your guilt, your fate was sealed. He would be handed over to the Church. If he was lucky, their interrogation techniques would kill him before he would be hanged.

After the official ruling was given, officials from the church entered and took him. The last thing he saw before being knocked unconscious was Masters’ smug expression.

He came to in another cell. Sore and aching, he took stock of himself. Well, as best as he could due to the chains. He didn’t seem to be injured which the exception of a few bruises. The pain appeared to be from resting in the uncomfortable position. Shifting, he tried to find a position slightly more comfortable and warmer while he waited for his fate.

An unclear amount of time later, a couple guards came to retrieve him. They removed him from the chains in the cell and placed more compact shackles on his wrists. Once they were certain he wouldn’t be able to fight back, they led him to a different chamber.

He figured he’d see the vicar and maybe a deacon. Instead, Vlad Masters and some men dressed entirely in black greeted him. “I don’t… I don’t understand…” he stammered.

Masters clapped his hands. “My dear boy, I don’t expect you to, but I should explain, seeing as you are my most recent guest.” He closed the distanced between them after a few strides and began circling him as if he was a predator. “I’m one of those tasked with seeking out who have made unsavory deals with the Dark One.”

An icy chill raised through Danny’s chest. “Are you telling me you’re one of those moon touched under that Hopkins guy?” While Amity Park wasn’t part of any of the large cities, the stories of the sudden upsurge in witch hunts had reached them. Hopkins was the most prolific of the hunters.

“We have crossed paths on occasion,” Masters responded as he continued to circle. “However, we disagree on some methods and share little more than a profession. While Hopkins believes those he prosecutes are truly evil, I do things a little differently.” He closed the gap between them so he could whisper, “You see, I believe people need to fear evil, and to do so, I need to remind them of its existence, whether it exists in that location or not.” For a moment, Danny could have sworn the man’s features warped into something inhuman and evil.

Danny swore as the man moved away. “You… you monster! How many innocent lives have you destroyed?”

Masters just chuckled. “Not enough. My friends, could you please silence the boy? We need to begin our interrogation.”

The men in black quickly gagged him before ripping off his clothes. They gasped and muttered darkly when they spotted the large birthmark on his chest. When they found no other mark of interest, they poke and prodded the mark. They started lightly before beginning to scratch and jab. Eventually, they brought out a small knife and drew his blood.

“He bleeds,” the one muttered. “Surely this is no brand.”

“Perhaps it is an illusion, or his brand is one of those normally unseen,” another replied.

The first one nodded. “If that is case, then we must locate it.” He then made a series of cuts on Danny’s arm. “No evidence here. Please try his back.”

They continued this investigation for some time. Slices were made up and down his arms, his chest and back, legs, and even his face. All of them bled. All of them hurt. Displeased they could find no sorcery mark, they ordered the guards to take him back to the cell.

The cool stone of the dark cell gave him some relief from the stinging cuts. If any one of them refused to heal cleanly, it could mean the death of him. One of his uncles died from a cut that refused to heal, and it was not one he would like to repeat.

After that, the attempts to get some form of acknowledgement or confession from him worsened. The beat him with their firsts and with whips. They burned him with hot iron. They even tried to throw him in the nearby river, but someone interrupted that one. While it wasn’t much, he silently thanked the unknown stranger for the act of kindness.

While he never confessed to any of the false accusations, he did openly curse Masters. That apparently was enough for him and his cronies. The next thing he knew, he was standing in front of the Hallmote again with Masters announcing his confirmed guilt. As a result, he was sentenced to hang.

Danny spent the next few days in the prison’s cell. In a different cell across the hall, a few more condemned prisoners also awaited their fates. He heard they would meet their ends on the same day he would. One of the others tried talking to him, but he decided not to respond. Whatever the man did to deserve his fate, he didn’t need a chance to make it worse by speaking with someone accused of magic.

When the day finally came, the guards came to retrieve them. After their hands were bound behind them, they were led to the wagon to be transported to the location of the gallows.

While some of the other men prayed and wept, he just stared at the sigh. He’d made peace with his awful fate. As much as he wanted to blame the Lord, he couldn’t bring himself to do so. He learned at a young age that while the Lord could work miracles, He couldn’t always interfere with the evil acts of men. At least he knew he’d be welcomed in Paradise.

Once the wagon reached its destination, Danny allowed himself to glance at the crowd. Many of them were celebrating the day. He almost forgot how an execution could excite the townsfolk. Some were even taking bets on how long he and the others would last.

They were marched into a line underneath the scaffold. After the nooses were placed, the executioners gave the other men the chance to say their final words first. Then came Danny’s turn.

He glanced around in hopes someone might be brave enough to save him. No one stepped forward. Instead, most of the faces visible to him appeared to laugh and jeer. Except one, he spotted Sam who appeared to be weeping.

“I hope that you who falsely condemned me are haunted by your choices,” he stated while trying to keep his voice as even as possible. I know what awaits me on the other side, but can you say the same?” The crowd shouted obscenities at him as his words came to a close, but he didn’t care, not anymore.

With him being the last to speak, the executioner and his assistants began the process of covering his head with the characteristic hood and kicking the supports out from under their feet. Even though he was prepared for death, he didn’t want to die. His weight forced the rope to press harder against his neck, making it harder and harder to breathe. He struggled to free his hands in hopes he might be able to save himself, but with each passing moment, he seemed to be drain of more and more of his strength.

His last conscious memory was to hope Sam wouldn’t be targeted for her show of tears.

... … …

Consciousness came back to him slowly. Feeling groggy and stiff, he slowly sat up. As dirt fell away from his body, he realized night had already fallen. Why had he fallen asleep outside? Had he been stargazing again? After the first time, he decided to use his roof for that purpose as it was safer than sleeping outside the village.

“Danny?”

He jolted at the soft voice. Turning, he found Sam kneeling a couple feet away with her friend and servant, Tucker, standing behind her with a lantern that had an unusual intensity. Both of them watched him carefully. If he didn’t know any better, he would have guessed they were apprehensive of him.

“Thanks for waking me up,” he told them cheerfully as he stood and brushed some of the dirt off him. His voice didn’t convey his feelings though as it sounded gravely even to him. He must have slept much longer than he originally figured.

Frowning as he realized his feet were buried in the dirt, he glanced behind him to find what appeared to be a shallow grave. Disturbed soil with an arm of an unnatural bluish color sticking out of it could be found only a few feet away. He’d been buried.

“Danny?” Sam called out again as she slowly stood and approached him. “What’s the last thing you remember before waking up?”

As he thought about the odd question, flashes of his interrogation and the gallows came to the forefront of his mind. Scared at the implications, he rubbed his throat. The skin felt rough as if it had been injured and pain blossomed at his touch. He had been hanged. Falling to his knees, he thanked the Lord for a chance at a second chance at life.

Standing again once he finished, he glanced at his friend. “I’m glad you came when you did. I don’t know what I’d do if I woke up alone out here. Let’s get you home before something bad happens. Only one of us needs to be accused of practicing magic.” He gestured to the lantern. “You didn’t need to break out the good candles just for me. Actually, they might be too bright if we want to sneak back into town.”

Tucker glanced at Sam, who bit her lip. “Danny, they just seem bright to you. The candle in there is the dimmest I could find. We could barely see where we were going while getting here.”

She wouldn’t look directly at him. Instead, she kept her gaze lowered which was unusual for her. That by itself clued him in something was wrong.

“Sam, look at me. What’s going on? You’re not telling me something.”

“My lady, err… I mean Sam,” Tucker floundered as she turned to stare at him. Even though her parents bought him to be her personal servant, Sam refused to have him call her by an honorific. She wanted him to consider her his friend first and foremost. “Should I bring out that mirror?”

“That might be best,” she agreed as he hesitantly handed her the lantern while he dug through the sack attached to his belt. When he finished, he brought out a black stone and traded the lantern back for it.

“I thought that was supposed to be a mirror,” Danny joked as Sam took a moment to polish it.

“It is… It’s just a special type of mirror. Difficult to come across.” She held it up to him. “It’ll be easier to show you.”

Not sure what to expect, Danny stepped forward until he could see his reflection in the stone. However, whatever person it reflected, it certainly wasn’t him. The stone showed a creature with hair of moonlight and eyes of an unearthly green. Its skin reflected as the bluish pallor of death. Dark bruises were visible around the neck.

Cursing, he stumbled away. Grabbing at his hair, he found stuffs of whitish silver. The skin of his hands matched the color of the creature’s skin. “What happened? What did you do to me?”

“I was trying to summon your soul.”

“I get accused and executed for witchcraft, and you turn around and preform it?” Danny gave a hollow laugh. “Was my death not enough of a warning? And what did you plan to do once you summoned me?”

“I wanted to take down Masters, okay?” she snapped at him. Her gaze fell when they locked eyes. “Not all magic is evil. I just wanted to see if there was anything you could provided to help me make sure he didn’t take any more victims before your soul became beyond reach, but something went wrong.”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t know if I did something wrong.”

“Don’t say that,” Tucker scolded as he placed a hesitant hand on her shoulder. “The crossroads hold strange powers as its one of those places where mortal and immortal can meet.”

Danny gulped at the implication. He forgot criminals tended to be buried at the crossroads. And even though he wasn’t as superstitious as some, he knew such places could be very dangerous. “So… what did the combination of this good magic and the crossroads do to me?”

“That’s something I don’t really know. It seems to have reanimated you, but you are clearly not as you were.” She fell to her knees as tears began to roll down her cheeks. The Sam Manson crying! Sam never cried.

Hesitantly, he crouched down in front of her and used his fingers to lift her chin. Her skin felt so warm to the touch. “While I can’t say I’m comfortable with what happened, I can say it’s not your fault. You had no idea this would be the outcome. You’re also right about Masters… There’s something wrong with him. During the interrogation, I could have sworn I saw the shadow of evil on him.”

Instead of responding, she lurched forward to embrace him. Not sure what else to do, he rubbed her back in a soothing manner.

“Sam, you’re going to get dirty. Neither of us will want to risk the wrath of your parents.” Tucker spoke softly as he tried to gently pull her off of Danny.

She didn’t respond. Instead, she buried her head deeper into Danny’s chest. Not sure what to make of it, Danny shared a look with Tucker. Eventually, she stated, “I can hear your heart beating. Danny, I can hear your heart! You’re alive.” She looked up and gave him the biggest and purest smile he’d even seen.

“But how? How is that possible? I couldn’t have survived the gallows, and my appearance is of some specter… What the?” As he spoke, a blinding light washed over him. As his eyes adjusted, everything seemed much darker. If it wasn’t for the faint light of the lantern and the visible sliver of the moon, he doubted he would have been able to see anything. Wait, he’d been able to see just fine moments ago.

“Tucker, the lantern!”

Seconds later, the lantern appeared within inches of his face. “Whoa! Watch it! Those metal ones hurt when they hit you.”

“Danny,” Sam’s smile somehow grew wider, “you look like you again! “

“Is that why I suddenly can’t see?” When she rolled her eyes, he quickly added, “I mean, that’s wonderful!”

“I doubt it’s that simple,” Tucker noted as he watched the two of them stand. “You touched death, and that always leaves a lasting mark.”

Sam brushed the dirt off her skirt before she began to walk. “That’s true, but for now, we should return to town. We can figure out what happened to Danny as we work on destroying Masters. He can stay at my place for now. It’s big enough we should be able to hide you for a few days.”

Danny acknowledged that would work for now. Even though he didn’t want to put either Sam or Tucker at risk, it would be easier to discuss the future once they rested.

Perhaps he could even stagger back into town in a day or two just to see how the townsfolk would react. Maybe they would consider his return to life as the will of God. Or, if he could take the form of that creature again, perhaps they’d consider him a vengeful wraith. The latter made him smile. Oh, Masters didn’t know what type of revenge he unleashed.

End of story notes. There are a lot:

Firstly, if anyone would like to expand upon this idea, please feel free. I have no desire to extend this. The plot bunny, now that it’s fulfilled its goal, has run off.

Now for the historical notes.

The hallmote is a court held in a Justice’s hall. In medieval England, this is the lord’s manorial court. For the lord, this primarily functioned for fees and land ownership. However, when it came to issues regarding laws, the villagers acted as prosecutor, legal authority, witnesses, and judge. The lord of the area rarely had anything to do with legal issues.

I know that when it comes to magic, usually that fell under the church’s domain, but I wanted to mention a trial first before he was handed over to them as the accusations against Danny were fabricated.

Moon touched is being used as a euphemism for being crazy.

Vicar is a term primarily used in the Anglican church for parson/minister.

Also, witch hunts and trails did still happen in the 1600s in England – they peaked again in the 1640s and the 1650s due to the English Civil War and the rise of the Puritans.

I did review the interrogation techniques of this time period. While they existed beforehand, the specific ones I mentioned were championed by a man named Matthew Hopkins, who flourished as a witch hunger during the English Civil War. He and his colleagues are believed to be responsible for 20% of the total people persecuted for witchcraft in England between the 15th and 18th centuries. His book is also considered a contributing factor in how the trials in Salem, Mass. played out.

The accused often had their bodies searched for marks which were said to be proof of their pact with the Devil. This was often a birth mark, mole, or other skin manifestation. The area was believed to be unable to bleed or feel sensation.

Hanging. The gallows with trapdoors (drops) weren’t invented until the 1760s. So, Danny is experienced it the old-fashioned way where they put the noose on and cover the head with a hood. Depending on the gallows, the condemned might stand on stools or be on the wagon at first. Then those were removed. Unlike modern hangings which were designed to break the neck upon the sharp drop, the original version had people die by suffocation. Most loose consciousness within 5-10 minutes and death occurs soon after. The title actually is a saying believed to have derived from being hung.

There are some instances where people simply lost consciousness and revived at a later time after they were cut down. Some considered that a pardon from God. Others thought the person made a deal with evil.

Executed criminals were traditionally buried at crossroads. Normally, they couldn’t be buried in a church graveyard, and there were concerns the dead could come back to haunt the town. Being buried at a crossroads helped confuse angry spirits.

Crossroads were considered liminal places where one could meet all manner of supernatural creatures. Some traditions state it’s the best place to contact the dead or conduct spells.

Sam is still Jewish (although secretly since this is the 1640s) in this fic. There are old Jewish spells, which fall under a specific type of mysticism, that call allow one to call forth the dead to ask a question. This is what she was trying to do.

[silma-words]

The right thing to do (part II)

Choices: Bloodbound

Pairing: Adrian Raines x MC (Ellie)

Rating: Mature/NSFW (18+)

Category: Angst

Summary: Bloodbound AU (after book 1 – the events of book 2 never happened) – After surviving Vega’s attempt on their lives, everything seems to be going well for Adrian and Ellie… if it weren’t for Adrian’s constant rambling doubts, convincing him gradually that it would probably be best for her to carry on without him in her life.

Warning: Sexual content (part 2)

Words: 3450

Music inspiration: “And so my heart became a void”, Ursine Vulpine ft Annaca

**Disclaimer: Characters and background plot are the property of Pixelberry.**

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The right thing to do (Part I)

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The right thing to do (Part II)

Lost in her thoughts, still cradled on the floor after confronting Adrian about their future and his apparent wishes to see her move on with her life, Ellie hadn’t heard him move away from the window and sit by her side. She only realised he had moved when his hand appeared before her to rest on hers, his thumb gently brushing against her fingers. She was desperate to look at him, but was dreading what she would read in his eyes.

Adrian’s chest was so tight that he thought for a moment he might stop breathing altogether from the pain he was inflicting them both. He could sense the turmoil of her emotions as much as he could see it in her eyes, fully aware of how much it must hurt because of how much it was hurting him as well. He could feel the guilt push against his resolution, trying to silence the pragmatism of his stupid old brain and take over the control of his body to reach for her. Embrace her. Take it all back and promise everything would be all right. When he had finally managed to make a move to sit beside her on the floor, he was still unsure whether guilt or resolution had won that battle. But either way, he knew he couldn’t just stay back in silence.

They stayed like this for a while, both staring at their hands as she was gradually calming down, her heartbeat slowing and her hands eventually relaxing under his touch, letting his fingers intertwine with hers gently. Not daring to lift her gaze towards him, she finally broke the silence, her voice low and faltering.

“Why now, Adrian? Why…” she trailed, unsure of how to phrase this. “Why wouldn’t you give us more time?”.

Finally turning her head to him, she could see her sadness mirrored in his flawless features, as he was still gazing at their tangled fingers, a sad smile on his face, as if he was already saying goodbye to these small gestures of affection that he had come to long for every day since she had rocketed through his life.

“I would love nothing more than give us all the time in the world”, he answered softly with a shy smile, “but time…”, he continued, finally looking back at her, “time is something I have plenty of, but you don’t…”.

She could see both the resolution and the pain in his eyes, with a flicker of hesitation that gave her hope that she could somehow make him waver.

“But I’m not ready!” she pleaded in a whisper, suddenly shifting towards him to nudge her face in the crook of his neck in an attempt to smother the tears that were threatening to overtake her. He reacted instantly by letting go of her hand so that he could wrap his arms around her, holding her close and burying his nose in her hair.

“I’m no ready to say ‘goodbye’”, she murmured against his neck, closing her eyes as she could feel a few tears roll down her cheeks, continuing their path on his chest. He held his breath at the sensation, as if each of her tears were slowly slicing through his skin like miniature blades. He wasn’t even sure what hurt the most anymore: letting her go, or breaking her heart?

“Will there ever be a good time to say ‘goodbye’?”, he simply muttered with a weak smile, kissing the top of her head where his chin had been resting, breathing in the smell of her hair as he tightened his embrace to let her know that, deep down, he wasn’t ready to let go of them either.

He held her silently like this for a while, letting the realisation of what had just happened sink into them both, his arms as tight as he could around her, her face buried against his collarbone, trembling hands gripping his shirt feebly over his heart. After a while, he could hear a change in her heartbeat, getting faster as her hands clutched at his shirt more tightly and her head started to shuffle slightly against his chest. He loosened his embrace reluctantly so she could move around, letting her raise herself and pull away from him slightly, just enough so that she could face him, her eyes red but filled with determination.

“I won’t do it”, she announced, loud and it clear, although her voice was still wavering. “I won’t say ‘goodbye’”. The intensity of her gaze made Adrian flinch, as if she had somehow found a way to reach for his heart by just looking at him, and was now holding it as tight as she could in her hands. But he could tell as well that her words were as much of a defiance as a surrender. She was searching through his eyes for any sign of weakness, hoping her words would be enough to change the outcome of this moment. But she was also admitting defeat, in her own way.

She won’t say it. She won’t acknowledge that this was probably one of their last times together. Probably the last. How could she face being around him after this night, knowing that he didn’t want her around anymore? But this night was not over yet, and she was not ready to let go just yet. All she wanted was to embrace her denial and forget herself in his arms. One last time.

Adrian nodded in silence, his eyes never leaving hers, showing that he understood what she meant and would gladly share with her these last moments together in any way she wanted. He was just waiting for her to lead the way.

As if reading his mind, Ellie bridged the gap between them by gently bringing her lips to his, worried for a second that he would pull away, but only to be met by his powerful embrace, eager to deepen their kiss. She let him pull her onto his lap until she was straddling him on the floor, reaching to cup his face in her hands as their lips kept meeting, softly at first, breaking apart slightly between each kiss to dive into each other’s eyes before meeting again, every time with more force and eagerness until their mouths crashed against each other with such force that their lips might bruise.

Adrian couldn’t hold back his yearning any longer, pressing one hand against her back and tangling the other into her hair to bring her closer to him, feeling that his heart might burst from all of the unspoken truths he had never dared shared with her about how he really felt for her. How hard he had fallen for her. And how shattered his heart was knowing that this would be the last time he would ever hold her. Because of him. Because of his own treacherous mind and haunted soul. He hated himself as much as he loved her.

He could hear her heart thumper in her chest, and feel her hands shake against his skin as she was cradling his face against hers, before releasing her grip to slide her fingers against his jaw, eventually reaching the back of his neck to grasp his hair and return the intensity of his embrace. Breathless, they eventually pulled apart, their mouths so close that they could feel each other’s warmth against their lips, panting, their eyes silently doing all the talking they needed to know what was next.

Never breaking eye contact, Ellie let Adrian pull her up against his chest to carry her away from the sofa, leaving behind them the harshness of the artificial lights of the living room as if fleeing a crime scene like thieves, to find refuge in the comforting shadows of his bedroom. The moonlight piercing through the windows was enough for them to see each other, but graceful enough to hide the soreness of her eyes and the dried tears on her cheeks, allowing her to finally catch a breath and indulge into that sweet denial she was desperately trying to cling onto.

Adrian gently dropped her back to her feet by the bed, brushing away a few strands of hair from her face, caressing her cheek with his thumb before tracing a path along her jaw and her neck without letting her out of his sight, as if trying to commit this moment to his memory.

Intoxicated by his touch, Ellie intercepted his hand and slowly brought his fingers to her mouth to place gentle kisses on their tips, before guiding his hand back to her chest and to the seam of her top in a silent invitation. Lifting her arms in the air so that he could grant her wishes, she then pressed herself flush against him, reaching for his mouth on her tiptoes and letting her hands roam blindly against him to find the buttons of his shirt, eager to remove that wall of fabric that was keeping the warmth of his skin from hers.

The desperation in her touch was echoed by Adrian’s, his own hands gradually loosing control as they travelled over her body, impatiently reaching for the hem of her trousers when he felt hers reach for his belt after she had quickly tossed his shirt aside. Savouring the feel of her fingers brushing against his hips and thighs as she was pushing his breeches down, and exhaled slowly before sinking to his knees before her as soon as she had undressed him completely.

Trailing his lips along her chest and stomach as his hands were making their way down along her curves, he religiously proceeded in gently peeling away every layer of cloth that was still protecting her skin from his starving senses. He could hear her breath catch in her throat as he undid her bra and let his fingers gently caress her breasts, and felt a wave of heat course through his groin when his touch was met with shivers as he was slowly pulling her jeans and thong down, letting his mouth hover above her thighs and knees without ever touching her skin, just close enough for her to feel the warmth of his breath taunting her.

When he finally looked back up to her, his eyes, now nearly glowing in the dark from the golden colour that betrayed his arousal, met her burning gaze, pleading silently for more as her lips parted slightly and her hands fell lightly on his head, her fingers tenderly fiddling with strands of his hair. Holding her gaze for a few seconds has he gently grabbed one of her thighs to lift it above his shoulder and nudge himself closer, he finally answered the silent call of her aching core, burying his mouth and nose where she needed him the most.

The taste of her was driving him crazy. The wetness and warmth of his mouth sent her head flying backwards, the strong strokes of his tongue over her swollen nerves forcing her to tighten her grip in his hair as her back arched involuntarily to push her hips forward. He could hear the blood rushing out of her heart, and feel where each wave ended its journey, pulsing against the tip of his tongue. Loosing herself slowly under the waves of pleasure that were washing over her, Ellie finally allowed herself to gasp and moan languidly as Adrian was losing himself in her folds.

The sound of her moans hit Adrian like an electric current, making him grunt between her thighs as his need of her was becoming more urgent. He could feel her legs tremble against his head and her hands tug harder on his hair. She made no complain when he released her thigh from his grip and let his mouth travel all the way back up to her neck, her lips quickly finding his eagerly as she pressed her burning skin against his, moaning a little louder in his mouth as she felt his arousal press against her belly.

Inebriated by the taste of his tongue, she pulled him backwards with her until they fell onto the bed, their limbs tangled in a confused dance as they were both trying to reach for each other, desperate to join as one. Although none of them wanted to rush this moment, they couldn’t keep apart any longer. Slipping one of his arms under Ellie’s shoulder to cradle her against him, Adrian settled his hips between her legs, easily finding her warm entrance and filling her slowly, relinquishing the gasp that escaped her lips and the long, satisfied moan that followed.

Right there, in this moment, they both felt complete. Serein. At peace. Enveloped in each other’s warmth and smell. Protected from their aching souls by the deafening sound of their blood beating in their ears. Moving against her with as much restrain as he could summon, Adrian was savouring every second. The way her lips parted with every moan. The vein palpitating in her neck as the blood was being rushed to her cheeks. The sweat glistening between her breasts and pooling where their bodies met. The warmth and wetness of her centre pulsing around him.

The slow pace that Adrian had set was driving her insane. As much as she wanted to savour the sweet madness that his touch and that the length of him were pushing her towards, she needed more. Tightening her grip on his shoulders and pressing her feet on the mattress, she forced her hips upwards to meet his with more vigour, her eyes fluttering open to meet his and make him understand what she needed of him.

She shrieked when Adrian responded to her cues by picking up the pace and sinking deeper into her, each thrust sending a shockwave of pleasure rippling through both of them, echoed in their cries and their ragged breaths.

Ellie wanted to drown her pain in their cries, in their breaths, and numb that ache in her core by letting herself burn under the heat of his touch. She wanted him to be able to read her body like a book, letting her skin confess all of the unspoken words she wanted to tell him but had not been brave enough to voice before it was too late. Although she could feel her eyelids heavy and her head aching to roll back to give in to the bliss, she refused to tear her eyes away from him. She needed to see him. See his strong arms wrapping her. See how his thighs flexed against hers at every thrust. See where their bodies joined. And see the crimson in his eyes as he was devouring the sight of her abandoning herself to his embrace.

Possessed by some kind of mad fever triggered by her incontrollable cries and the feel of her hips buckling under him to meet him desperately, Adrian’s movements became more erratic, his groin slamming against her sex with such force that she had to sink her nails into his shoulder blades to stay put. His forehead pressed against hers, he could see her eyes clouding with pleasure, sending him dangerously close to the edge as her mouth seemed to be desperately trying to call out his name, only resulting in irrepressible squeals. Slowing down gradually to calm himself down and prevent him from tipping over, he captured her lips in slow, lazy kisses, letting her catch her breath for a moment.

Cradled in his arm, Ellie felt like she was dreaming. She was drowning in his eyes and melting against his lips, wishing that they could stay like this forever, closer than they could ever be, moving ever so slightly against each other to keep this fire burning between them. Pulling him closer to her so that he was completely lying on top of her for an instant, she couldn’t help but sight with content. She then wriggled lightly underneath him before pushing against his shoulders to make him roll to his side, shifting her weight completely to straddle him. Her hands resting on his chest, she started moving up and down along his length with an agonising slowness, drawing guttural sounds out of Adrian every time she teased his tip with her entrance on her way up, nearly drawing him out of her before sinking again onto him.

Adrian couldn’t keep his eyes off her. As much as he was trying to tune down his senses, his body was instinctively picking up on every single breath of hers. Every change in her heartbeat. Every variation of her moans. Every goose bump on her skin, as she was shivering with pleasure above him. He could feel his heart race with hers, his eyes chasing hers in a silent plead to let him read her soul, one last time. He couldn’t keep his hands off her either. Brushing the soft skin on her sides. Cupping her breasts to feel their weight in his palms. Gripping the top of her thighs to guide their path, fighting the urge to guide her further down and arch upwards to increase her pace, the slow roll of her hips making him boil inside with desire.

As if reading his mind, Ellie suddenly straightened her back to lower herself entirely onto him, moving her hands from his chest to find his on her hips. Tangling their fingers together between them, they started to move faster in unison, never leaving sight of each other.

Craving for the taste of her mouth, Adrian raised his chest to meet her and capture her swollen lips, reluctantly releasing her hands so that he could guide her legs around his waist and wrap her small, fragile form in his strong arms, encasing her protectively as if she could crumble if he weren’t careful enough. Their kisses were urgent and hungry, leaving wet trails on their chins and in their necks as their moans and their need for air were forcing them to break apart momentarily.

They had never held onto each other so tight. Her fingernails digging in his back. His fist grasping her hair. Her teeth grazing his shoulder, face buried in the crook of his neck. His arm wrapped around her back, tight enough to keep her close but loose enough to accompany the movements of her hips on his lap.

She was fighting against her most intimate urges to ride him faster, harder, and feel him to the deepest of her core, slowing her pace as much as she could to make their heated embrace last longer. To let their pleasure burn them slowly to the ground. The feel of his warm skin against hers was driving her insane, tugging at her stomach at the realisation that she would never feel it again. Overwhelmed by the sensations of their embrace and of her feelings for him, she couldn’t hold the tear that suddenly breached her eyelid, and buried her face in his neck in an attempt to wipe it away.

Adrian felt the path of her tear on his chest as if it had been a drop of burning oil, sending a pang to his gut, fully aware of what it was. Slowing down his movements, he reached for her chin to lift her head up, gently cupping her face and resting his forehead on hers, pouring all the affection and love he had for her in his unwavering gaze to let her know that he knew exactly how she felt.

Lost in each other's eyes and hanging onto each other as if their lives depended on it, they finally allowed their bodies to roam free and yield to their most intimate urges, the tension building up again between them as their hips swayed together with a vigour that could only be matched by the intensity of the yearning in their eyes. Wiping the tear from her cheek as her hands were weakly grabbing onto his neck, they let their bodies carry them over the edge, reaching instinctively for the other’s lips to muffle the unrestrained cries that her tightening around him unleashed.

As if frozen in time, they stayed like this for a while, tangled and breathless, before falling backwards into the bed sheets to nestle against each other, her hands never leaving his neck and his eyes never leaving hers. Both dreaded the moment they would fall asleep and see their last shared moment end.

When Adrian woke up she was already gone, leaving nothing behind but the smell of her in his sheets, the trail of her dried tears on his chest, and a self-inflicted void in his heart.

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For the follow-up to this story, head here

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N/A: Well, this was my first time ever writing smut, so I hope it wasn't too bad and that part II was not too disappointing! :)

I have started working on other pieces, which should follow up on Adrian and Ellie after this. Let me know if you want to be added to the tag list, and thanks for reading!

Tagging: @adriansbiss , @itsjustwinter , @shanzay44

@choicesficwriterscreations​

[seanfalco]

Want | Priest!Kay x Reader {Part III}

Fandom: Season of the Witch Modern!AU Word Count: 2.3k Warnings: Catholicism, Religious imagery, Angst, Infidelity  (I’m also not Catholic, so hopefully I haven’t made any glaring errors.)

masterlist

Kay stood by the sanctuary doors under the pretense of greeting his parishioners, but really he was searching for one in particular.

He’d barely been able to eat or sleep since their mid-week lesson, [y/n]’s confession of feelings leaving him conflicted and distracted, barely getting this week’s sermon prepared on time.  Unsure what he would even say to her when he saw her— he knew nothing he could say would make things alright, not after he’d rejected her, but that didn’t stop him from just wanting to see her.

But when her fiance and his parents walked in, [y/n] nowhere to be seen, his heart dropped to his stomach, sharp disappointment filling him til he nearly couldn’t breathe.

“No [y/n] today?” he asked as he shook the others’ hands, keeping his voice carefully neutral.

“No, she’s not feeling well today,” Matthew answered.  “She’s been feeling off for several days now actually.”

“Poor dear, hopefully it’ll pass soon,” his mother murmured and Kay nodded, watching them as they took their seats, a frown twisting his lips.

What were the odds that [y/n] was actually sick and not just feigning illness to avoid him?  His stomach churned at the thought, but he made his way dutifully to the altar to start Mass.

If he thought it was hard to concentrate when [y/n] was out in the congregation watching him, this was even worse, his thoughts continuously straying to what she was doing, and if she was alright.

He ended up losing his place several times and by the end of the service he felt so anxious he thought he might be ill himself.  He idly thought about calling her from his office to check on her, but it wasn’t as if she’d be likely to answer, and there was no way he could just show up at her apartment — that’d be incredibly inappropriate, besides, what would he even say?

He already knew there was nothing he could say, though he wanted to.

Shaking himself from his thoughts, he noticed someone enter the confessional and he sighed, heading that way.

This is your duty, get yourself under control, Kay, he told himself, opening the door to the priest’s compartment and took his seat.  Through the latticed partition he couldn’t tell exactly who was on the other side, and his thoughts returned to the other day.

“I’ve been having… impure thoughts.”

He shivered at the memory, his mind wanting to chase that line of thought to speculate what sort of sinful scenarios she’d been imagining him in.

No, Kay, what is wrong with you? He thought frantically.  Do not be swayed by sweet temptation.

“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned.  It’s been, uh… well, a while since my last confession.”

Matthew’s voice on the other side of the partition jerked Kay back to the present, his gut twisting with guilt at what he’d nearly allowed himself to think about the other man’s betrothed.

“Go ahead, my child,” Kay prompted, hoping the other man wouldn’t notice how strained his voice was.

“Right, okay, uhh, where to start…?” Matthew mused.  He paused for a long moment as if thinking.  “Well, I’ve had a lot of sex… like, a lot,” he began, and Kay’s gut twisted farther at the thought of him and [y/n] before he forcefully pushed that image from his head.  “—And not just with my fiance.  There’s been others, sometimes even two at once—“

Kay frowned, interrupting the other man.

“Wait, are you saying you’re been unfaithful to [y/n]?” he asked, trying to keep the sharp bite of his anger from his voice.

“Well, yeah,” Matthew replied.  “I mean, as good as she in in bed, I don’t wanna be stuck having the same boring sex with one woman my whole life.  In fact, this whole marriage was my parents’ idea in the first place, and if I don’t go along with it they threatened to cut me off,” he explained, Kay’s anger mounting with each word.

“Does… does [y/n] know about this?” he asked, seething, his hands balling in his dark robes.

“No, I mean, she’d flip out if she did, and then she’d bail.”

Kay couldn’t believe what he was hearing, and he couldn’t even warn [y/n]— confession was sacred.  What he heard in the confessional couldn’t be revealed to anyone.  But the worst part about it was the irony.  He’d pushed her away when she’d tried to tell him she wasn’t happy, thinking he might be breaking up a loving marriage, but it was already doomed to begin with.  Of course [y/n] was unhappy.

“So… what, Father, how many Hail Mary’s do I need to do to be good?” Matthew asked, pulling Kay’s attention back to him and he scowled. 

“That’s not how it works,” he countered.  “To be forgiven, you must truly repent and feel sorry for what you’ve done, and vow to the best of your abilities to not give into temptation and repeat your sin,” he explained sharply.  “If you have no intention of ceasing your adulterous ways then you cannot truly be forgiven.”

“Alright, alright,” Matthew relented, “I promise to the best of my abilities to avoid temptation,” he exclaimed, though it was clear by the tone of his voice that he had no intention of stopping.

In a hollow voice, Kay absolved the man of his sins and sent him on his way, unable to bring himself to leave the solitude of the confessional yet.  [y/n]’s words swam in his head, guilt and desire and temptation following them, gripping him.

“I never wanted this!  I still have feelings for you.  They never went away!”

Who was he kidding?  She was still all he’d ever wanted.  And if Matthew couldn’t see just how special she was, he didn’t deserve her.  [y/n] was right, he couldn’t give her what she wanted… but maybe Kay could.

“Ah shit,” he muttered under his breath.  

Without another thought, lest he talk himself out of it, Kay pushed open the door and hurried back to his office, shedding his robe and grabbing his keys.

——

It was the insistent pounding at the door that roused you from your fitful slumber, and you rolled over to check the time on your phone.  It looked like Mass would be over by now, but you couldn’t believe that that was Matthew at the door.

Maybe if you didn’t answer, whoever it was would give up and go away.  Besides, you weren’t exactly fit to be seen at the moment—!not having bothered to shower or change for the last few days, your eyes swollen and bloodshot from crying for hours on end. 

However, when the knocking persisted, growing, if possible more frantic, you reluctantly pushed yourself out of bed and threw your robe around yourself as you shambled to the door.

“I’m comin’, hold your fucking horses!” you called, peering through the peephole while your hand rested on the door knob.

When you saw who was standing outside, looking nervously around, you jerked back, your pulse instantly pounding loudly in your ears.

For a moment, you pressed your forehead to the door, trying to decide what to do.

“[y/n], please, I know you’re in there!  I just want to talk,” Kay called through the door and you took a steadying breath, unlocking the deadbolt, but leaving the chain in place, pulling the door open only a crack.

“What’re you doing here, Kay?” you demanded, though you didn’t give him a chance to speak.  “I think you already know why I didn’t come to church today, and if you’re here to ask me to come back to do my lessons, I’m not going.  I’ll call the Parish office tomorrow and request a new teacher—“

“That’s not why I’m here!” he exclaimed hastily, cutting you off and your eyes widened.  “Please, can I come in?  I don’t want to speak through the door and I want — I need to talk to you!”

The desperation in his voice and the wild light in his emerald eyes made you pause.  Biting your lip, you considered his plea.

“Okay, just… hold on a sec.”

Shutting the door to unlatch the chain, you wondered if you’d come to regret this, but something in his voice, in his eyes had swayed you.  You’d never seen him quite so frantic before.  Opening the door fully, you stepped aside so he could enter and you noticed he wasn’t wearing his white collar.

“Thank you,” he murmured as he passed and you quickly shut the door behind him, turning to face him while folding your arms defensively over your chest.

You were about to demand why he was there again when he spoke first, rendering you momentarily speechless.

“Oh, [y/n], you look awful” he exclaimed softly, worry lacing his voice as he took a step toward you, his hand reaching out.

Quickly looking away, you wiped at your already raw eyes, hoping he wouldn’t notice the tears that were once more gathering.

“Kay… what do you want?” you asked instead, hating how your voice wavered.

He sighed heavily, his eyes going to the floor for a moment before lifting once more, his thick brows drawn down over a piercing gaze.

“Do you love him?” he demanded, his question taking you off guard and you faltered.

“I… I don’t know.  Why are you asking me that?”

At your answer Kay gaped at you in disbelief for a moment.  “Then why are you marrying him, [y/n]?” 

“I don’t know,” you replied automatically, your voice growing stronger as you continued.  “I don’t really have a choice, do I?  I need the stability Matthew can give me.  Besides, it’s not like I have much say in the matter, my parents—“

“That’s not a good enough reason!” Kay snapped and you recoiled as if slapped, knowing in your heart he was right.  “What about love?  Don’t you deserve that?” he exclaimed, a wild look in his eyes you’d never seen before.

The question stung and you bit your lip to keep from trembling.  “Yeah, well, maybe the man I love, I can’t have.  You made that clear enough the other day,” you muttered, drawing your arms around yourself and turning away so he couldn’t see the tears that filled your eyes.  “So, what does it matter anyway?”

Kay shook his head, opening his mouth to argue, but the words didn’t come.  Instead, he closed the distance between you in one stride, his hands going to your face as his lips collided with yours, taking you by surprise.

As soon as his lips found yours, his hands reverently cupping your cheeks, you froze, your mind reeling and your breath catching, and before you knew what you were doing, you were kissing him back with a desperation that nearly tore you in two.

You were dreaming.  You must be.

But no, he was real, and solid, and right there, kissing you like you’d imagined so many times.  

Clutching at his shirt, you pulled yourself against him and his hands left your face, his arms wrapping around you, embracing you tightly and you responded in kind, slipping your arms around his neck as your lips moved against his hungrily.

Gasping a hasty breath, you didn’t pull back for long, your tongue darting out to taste him, and he moaned into your mouth as he gave in.

All too soon however, he was pulling back to look at you, his long dark curls falling into his face, and you lifted your chin, your eyes finding his.  “What made you change your mind?” you asked softly, barely daring to breathe, afraid all this would be taken from you again if you questioned it.

“I...I made a mistake,” he replied uncertainly, but as he continued, the fierceness from earlier returned to his voice.  “I was a fool, alright?  I lied, when you asked if I still felt anything for you.  I’ve been lying to myself for most of my life,” he exclaimed.

“All I’ve ever wanted was you.  I never stopped loving you, [y/n],” he confessed, the ache in your heart growing.  “You deserve so much more than… him,” he nearly whispered.  

At his words a myriad of questions sprang to mind, all clamouring for attention — what did this mean?  How was it supposed to work?  You were technically still engaged.  It would look rather suspicious if you and Kay were suddenly to run off together, but—

Before you could focus on any one thought for too long, Kay’s mouth was on yours once more and this kiss, if possible, was more passionate than before, your back making contact with the wall behind you with a soft thud and all those thoughts fled.

All you wanted to think about was what was happening now, in this moment, everything else could come later.

Afterall, how long had you imagined this?

“Kay,” you murmured, whining softly as he drew back, though he still held you tightly.

“[y/n],” he sighed, affection thick in his voice as he pressed his forehead to yours, his curls brushing your face.  “I need to get back,” he continued reluctantly, and you whined louder.

“Stay,” you begged, not loosening your grasp on him.  Part of you was afraid if you let him go, he’d disappear.

“I can’t,” he choked, as if it took all his willpower to refuse you.

“But… what happens now?” you asked, reluctantly, letting him step out of your embrace.

“I don’t know,” he admitted, shaking his head as he caught his breath.  All he knew was that he wanted to stay and that was his sign to go… for now.  He was still a priest after all, even if his heart had given into this temptation.  “We’ll figure it out,” he promised, holding your face to press a kiss to your forehead.  

Watching him walk back out your door was one of the hardest things you’d ever done, but his promise echoed in your ears and you clutched to it. 

We’ll figure it out.

-------------------------------

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