#the songs aren’t advancing anything

[wyvernspirit]

Everyone in the discord I’m in is either losing their minds over Alastor or Vox (OR BOTH)

Meanwhile I’m here in the corner going: kiss kiss kiss

[nickfowlerrr]

everything comes out teenage petulance

pairing: bucky barnes x curvy!reader

warnings: angst, fluff, talk of insecurities, talk of rejection, virgin!reader but no smut - just mentioned, mutual pining - requited love - leaning toward idiots in love, hurt/comfort, pet names (sweetheart, doll), happing ending per usual. if i’m missing something important, pls lmk!

words: 4.3k

aspen!!! it’s crazy you sent this bc i was just about to start writing a little bucky fic and what better gif to use than this 😌 lol seriously perfect timing! tysm 🥰🫶🏻

and another huge thank you to you, ray for helping me out with the final edit!! @whatever-lmaoo i appreciate you sm! 🫶🏻

notes: had an idea, saw this gif, and then bam! here we are. yes i was clearly listening to down bad while working on this, but i promise it is not as sad as the song! also this fic is insanely self indulgent and i’m not even a little bit sorry lol. i do hope you enjoy this, and thank you in advance for reading! as always, comments and reblogs are more than welcome and so so appreciated! let me know your thoughts 🩵

You’re holding in the emotions threatening to spill out of you as you step off the elevator to the living quarters of the tower. You know no one else is here, everyone out on missions or gone for some downtime out of the city, but still, there are cameras everywhere and you don’t need your impending breakdown to be recorded.

You pull your slipping bra strap up your shoulder and mindlessly pull at the hem of your dress as you walk further into the darkened living room, your heels clicking on the floor as you go.

Your head is down as you near the kitchen so you don’t see the light radiating from the open fridge, but you hear it as the door closes loudly. You startle and whip your head to the kitchen, finding the one person you really don’t need seeing you in your current state staring over at you.

“Fuck, Bucky,” you breathe as you have a hand over your heart. His mouth is open as his eyes scan your body, roving up and down and making you feel even more self conscious than you were before. “What are you doing, I thought I was the only one here for the weekend?”

“Little early for Halloween, isn’t it?” He asks, ignoring your question.

Your brows furrow in confusion, “What?”

“You’re dressed like a clown, aren’t you?”

You’re essentially frozen as you take in his words. The fear that came over you at his surprise appearance had your self pity and consciousness forgotten for a moment but now it was back. And it was worse. You don’t do anything but stare at him for a second, you’re afraid if you speak or even try to move you will break down in tears and - fuck - you can feel your eyes welling as they begin to sting. You take a sharp breath and swallow hard, nodding once as your lips purse and you blink. You turn stiffly and walk away without a response.

He’s right behind you, though and you don’t make it two steps before Bucky grabs your arm.

“Wow, hey, come on, I was joking,” he breathes a disbelieving laugh as he tries to turn you toward him.

You fight him and pull your arm away, “okay,” you huff, just wanting to get away from him before the dam really breaks.

He lets you go but trails behind you as you walk faster down to your room.

You push your door open and don’t turn around as the tears finally begin to fall, trying to shut the door behind you without having to look at him.

He sticks his foot in front of the door as you try shutting it and keeps it open.

“Go away,” you nearly growl through tears, your voice sounding tight and if he hadn’t already caught on to your crying, there was really no way to deny it now.

He doesn’t say anything but he does push your door open enough to slip through it. It falls shut as you stand with your back to him, sniffling and trying desperately to stop the flow of tears that are drowning you, arms crossed over your chest as you work to control your breathing. You just want him to leave you alone so you can cry in peace.

“Look, I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings, I really didn’t mean it, I was just kidding,” he begins softly, “but you and I both know I’ve said worse to you before, so,” he hedges, “maybe it wasn’t what I said that made you cry…”

“I dont wanna talk about it, Bucky. Why are you even here? Just leave me alone,” your voice trembles despite yourself.

He sighs heavily and you see him from your mirror as he runs a hand through his hair and takes a cautious step closer to you, “Yeah,” he breathes, “I dont think I’m gonna be able to do that, sweetheart.”

You bristle at the petname and can’t help the sob that leaves you as the reminder of how your date went tonight plays in your head.

“Go away,” you whine as more tears fall and you try to turn further from him - as if that were possible. Your eyes squeeze shut in a futile attempt to stop crying, a pathetic pout on your lips as you try to stifle your sobs.

A gentle pull on your arms has you turning around, you don’t have it in you to stop him as Bucky gingerly pulls you closer. You’re too embarrassed to open your eyes as you cry harder and when you feel his strong arms around you, holding you to him, the tears only come faster. You feel yourself lean into him as you mindlessly bury your face in his chest, hugging him tight like he’s the only thing keeping you upright.

His warm hand is rubbing up and down your back as your walls continue to crumble around him.

“It’s not fair,” you blubber like a child into his shirt.

He doesn’t respond, waiting for you to continue as he keeps rubbing your back in an attempt to comfort you, his brows furrowing as he wonders what could’ve happened tonight to cause this.

He’s never seen you this way and he hates it - hates that you’re upset and crying, anyway. The way you feel in his arms, holding onto him like this, well that’s a different story…

He’s keeping his anger at bay until he knows exactly what went down, but he knows you had a date tonight, and the only reason he’s here when he had plans to be out of town this weekend is because you were going to have the place to yourself, and he couldn’t get the idea of you bringing your date back here alone out of his head. Immature, sure, but he didn’t know what else to do but wait around to scare whoever it was you were out with away before they had a chance to so much as see you out of your shoes.

He’s even more grateful now that he decided to change his plans last minute. He was surprised to see you coming in alone, and if he wasn’t so caught up in how damn good you looked tonight, he probably would’ve noticed your mood before he decided to open his stupid mouth. But that’s your thing; the teasing, the bickering, the tit for tats. He was expecting a jab right back, but when he saw your eyes watering at his words, he felt sick. He couldn’t let you walk away crying, he couldn’t stand to see you so upset. Especially because of him. But now, as you stand here in his arms, so uninhabited and vulnerable, he knows it wasn’t because of him. And when he finds out exactly what or who it was that made you so upset… god help them.

“It’s not fair,” you mumble your cry again, “I just,” you hiccup, “why can’t I be pretty,” you sob.

It’s takes a second for the words to register before Bucky can react. “What?” he questions harshly, pulling you away from him, his hands on your arms as your tear streaked face and bleary eyes peer up at him.

Your eyes squeeze shut again as your crying continues and you fall into him again, not wanting to look at him as you make your confession. “I just want,” you cry, “to be pretty. I want someone to like me. To love me,” you eke out, your heartbreak evident in your voice. “No one loves me,” you mutter defeatedly. “No one’s ever loved me and no one is ever gonna love me,” you sob, grabbing his shirt as you cry into his chest harder.

“What exactly did this asshole say to you?” Bucky knows he needs to calm down but what he’s hearing from you right now is going to drive him insane. Why in the world would you ever say or think this about yourself? Your date had to have done or said something, he’s sure of it.

“Nothing,” you dismiss, “I mean, nothing wrong or mean. They were nice about it, I just,” you can’t help but cry more. “I’m not their type. Which is fine,” you try to shake your head and rationalize yourself into stopping crying, “that’s fine, I know I’m not everyone’s type,” you gesture vaguely down your body, “and I wasn’t super into them, either, I was just trying to put myself out there for once and I just, ugh,” you bemoan. “I dont know why I was expecting anything different. It’s never been different, won’t ever be different. I’m just, me. And they said what everyone always thinks, I’m a sweetheart, I’m just not their type,” you shrug before your tears bubble up once more and you let your face fall back into Bucky’s chest.

“If I was skinny, or pretty, or nicer,” you babble before Bucky cuts you off.

“Doll, stop it,” he orders firmly, surprising you as he suddenly lifts you effortlessly off your feet and has you clinging to him as he walks the short distance to sit you on your bed.

You’re stunned silent as tears continue to roll down your cheeks and even more surprised as Bucky kneels before you, making sure you’re looking him in his clear blue eyes. His gaze is intent and penetrating and you couldn’t look away if you wanted to. He’s so close…he’s never been this close to you before and you feel your breath trapped in your chest as you watch him.

“You’re fucking beautiful,” he says seriously, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world and you’re an idiot for ever thinking otherwise.

His sincerity has your stomach twisting and your shame and disbelief has your tears falling again.

Your lips quiver as your pout remains, and you shake your head.

“Don’t do that,” he admonishes, hand gently grabbing your chin and making you look at him again. You swallow hard at the soft touch and the tenderness in his eyes. “Hear me when I say this, doll. You are absolutely beautiful. Exactly the way you are. Fuck ‘type’.”

You wince at his words, and you can’t help but look away again. It’s easy for him to say, he’s goddamn gorgeous and everyone knows it.

“I appreciate what you’re trying to say, but you really just don’t get it,” you shake your head. “You could walk down the street and get anybody you wanted with one look,” you smirk softly. “You’re everybody’s type.”

“You don’t need to be anyone’s ‘type’, sweetheart,” he says.

“Yeah, and I’m not,” you reiterate harshly before taking a breath, not wanting to work yourself up again. This is stupid and you know it and it feels even more mortifying to be talking about this with not only the most attractive man you’ve ever known, but also the man you’ve been down bad for for so long. Deep down you know you don’t really care what most anyone else thinks, there’s really only one person you care about not finding you attractive, and you’ve worked to get over that sting of unrequital for a long while now, but fuck, everything just feels so heavy tonight. It’s not even that it’s just not him, which still gets to you every time you’re reminded of it, it’s that it’s not anyone.

And it’s not that you even want anyone else… you don’t, but knowing there’s really no one interested in you, the very real prospect of being alone forever, it got to you tonight…

“You don’t know that,” he says lowly.

“Bucky,” you roll your eyes, not only in annoyance, but also to keep the threatening renewal of tears at bay.

“So what you’re not some random person you don’t even like’s type,” he dismisses, placing his hands on your thick thighs as he stays kneeled before you, and you aren’t sure if he even realizes he’s doing it as his thumbs rub there softly, “you’re my type,” he defends.

You could curl up into a ball right now and die, there is no way you’re this fucking pathetic you have Bucky Barnes on his knees trying to convince you he thinks you’re pretty. As if this night couldn’t get any worse or more embarrassing.

You’ve seen the people Bucky has brought back here before. He certainly had a type, and you are certainly not it.

“You don’t have to say that, Bucky,” you blink away from his gaze. “It’s nice that you feel bad for me,” you sniffle, wiping at your tears with the sleeves of your dress, “but you really don’t have to.”

“Why do you think I feel bad for you?” He questions, moving to look you in the eyes once more, his confusion clear on his face.

You shrug, turning your head to again avoid eye contact, “I’m pathetic,” you laugh sardonically, wiping at the tears still slipping, slower now but still evident.

“You’re pathetic?,” Bucky chuckles, his soft touches on your thighs ceaseless. He bites his lip as he glances down to his hands, spreading his fingers wide before he squeezes you a bit, and if you aren’t reading into it, you’d say he seems the slightest bit nervous, his hold on you as much to try to comfort you as it is to comfort him, “I’m the one who bailed on guys weekend just to make sure you didn’t bring anyone home tonight,” he admits, causing you to finally look him in the eye again. What did he just say? You’re baffled and it’s evident as your brows furrow and you frown. He continues, “Or if you did, to make sure they wouldn’t stay long,” he half smirks, half grimaces.

“What?” you breathe out.

“Not the most mature move, I know, but,” he says, running a hand through his hair before he rubs the back of his neck, having the decency to at least be a little embarrassed by his plan. “The thought of you with someone else…anyone else,” he shakes his head. “I can’t stand it.”

You can’t possibly be hearing what you’re hearing, right? You don’t move or speak for a long moment as you try to make sense of what Bucky’s saying to you because clearly you’re not hearing correctly.

“You can’t stand…” you process aloud, “the idea of me being with someone?”

He breathes a laugh as you stare at him dumbly, his nervous habit of pushing his long hair back from his face shines again while he chuckles. “Doll, I can’t stand the idea of you being with anybody who isn’t me,” he clarifies.

“What are you-?” you shake your head, “What do you mean?”

His big hands return to your thighs as he gently squeezes you. “I mean that if you had come home with someone tonight, I would’ve made sure they didn’t stay more than a minute to say goodbye.”

You snort a laugh, wiping another tear from your cheek. That’s crazy.

“Please. ‘M not that kinda girl anyway, Buck,” you say. “I uhm,” you clear your throat, clearly a little uncomfortable with what you’re about to say, but fuck, you’ve already embarrassed yourself this much tonight, what’s a little more confessing gonna hurt, “I’ve never…done, anything. With anyone.” You admit, looking down at your hands in your lap.

It’s a moment before Bucky speaks again.

“Never?”

You shake your head slowly side to side, lips pursed, “No,” you murmur.

“That’s impressive,” he breathes.

You quirk a brow at his response.

“Mean, you gotta be batting people off like crazy,” he says, his warm hand once resting on your thigh now thoughtlessly trailing down the soft skin of your leg.

“No,” you state slightly annoyed and ever embarrassed. “Not like anyone’s ever been interested,” you trail off.

Bucky laughs again, not so nervous now, more in disbelief, “You’re so blind,” he muses, “I feel so bad for everyone who has ever been interested in you.”

Your face shows your taken offense but Bucky keeps talking before you can say a word about it.

“If you really think no one’s ever been attracted to you, you’re fucking crazy, sweetheart.”

You gape like a fish for a millisecond, opening and closing your mouth as you blink down at your thighs, his metal hand holding your right thigh softly and the fingers of his right hand dancing along the exposed skin of your left.

“I’m not crazy,” you mutter as his hand slips higher up your leg.

“You are,” he argues lightly, “and you make me crazy,” he says softer, blue eyes gleaming up at you. “Have you not heard a word I’ve said tonight?” He pauses, debating on whether or not he wants to say what he’s about to say before he decides to throw caution to the wind and finally admit his true feelings to you, as clearly as he possibly can this time. “You’re all I ever think about. Not just because of how pretty you are, either,” he smirks, growing more confident now and loving the way you react to his touch as his hands smooth along your soft thighs, goosebumps rising in his wake as he hears your breathing stutter. “It’s so much more than that,” he breaths in, “it’s every single thing about you. Your snark,” he smiles, “your strength. Your bravery, your stubbornness. Your lame jokes,” he pauses to admire the slant of your lips as you fight a soft smile, “your laugh. Your kindness, your friendship. You’re one of the best people I’ve ever known. The whole damn package, doll. And that’s without even bringing looks into it, because fuck,” he scoffs, “it’s a real shame you don’t see what everyone else sees.”

You dare a glance back at his penetrative gaze, “…And what, exactly, is that?” you reply timidly, but desperately wanting to hear his answer.

“A real life goddess,” he admires as he leans closer to you, his hands now well under the hem of your dress as they inch further and further up your thighs.

Your stomach is in a flurry as a tingle sparks inbetween your legs at his touch.

He leans up to you slowly, testing your waters as he gets closer and closer to your lips. You’re barely breathing when his nose brushes yours and you take a shaky breath when his hands leave your thighs and come to gently hold your face.

“You’re insanely pretty, and likable, and lovable, and you don’t need to be skinny for anyone to find you attractive. You’re gorgeous, inside and out. And I don’t wanna hear you talking about yourself like you were ever again, you hear me?” He questions quietly, intent but caring as he holds your glistening gaze in his.

You nod lightly, knowing tonight you weren’t your typical self. You had a hard night, and you let those old mean, destructive and intrusive thoughts get to you. You really do know better, but you’re human. And everybody has those days. You’re suddenly feeling even more grateful for Bucky’s unexpected presence tonight. If he wasn’t here, you’re sure you’d have spent the night in a spiral of self hatred and pity and would’ve probably cried yourself to sleep.

Your tears are dry now, though. And Bucky is still so close, his touch so gentle as his brilliant blue eyes swim with his care for you. You’ve seen it before, but it’s never felt so real and intimate as it does now, knowing what you know now.

He’s here tonight because of you. For you.

He’s not expecting anything, and you’re not sure how much you’re ready to give, but as he smiles that lopsided smile at you, you can’t help yourself as you lean into him, too. It’s slow and cautious as your lips brush his, and then you let your eyes flutter closed as you finally kiss him. It’s almost embarrassing how many times you’ve dreamed of kissing Bucky, but none of them played out like this, none of them ever came close. His lips are soft, his hands firm as he holds your face and you readily let him lead you as he kisses you back.

It ends all too quickly as he pulls away slightly, his tongue slipping past his lips as he savors the taste of you, his forehead touching yours as he maintains your closeness.

“And just for the record, I don’t think you look like a clown,” he shakes his head while you let out a quiet laugh. “I think your makeup looks great, and this dress,” he sighs with a near groan, moving his hands to settle on your wide hips, squeezing ever so slightly, sending more sparks to light in your core as you almost mewl at his touching, “I know you know you look good,” he smirks. “I was just being stupid wanting your attention.”

“Well,” you start with a slight eye roll, “I mean, who could really blame you?”

He smiles brightly at that, his laugh warming you as he leans in to kiss you again. “There’s my girl,” he murmurs against your lips.

“Your girl?” You ask, a near whisper as his words have your heart skipping a beat, eyes still closed from the kiss before you slowly blink them open. He nods.

“If you wanna be,” he breathes, blue eyes bearing into yours. “I’ve been trying to figure out how to finally admit how crazy I am for you without making myself look like a complete idiot,” he simpers, his signature smirk on display, “obviously didn’t avoid that, but, now you know. I’m crazy about you, doll.” His thumb rubs your cheek softly as he keeps you close, “I wanna be with you,” he breathes, “in any way you’ll have me. So, if you wanna be my girl,”

You smile softly, nodding as you cut him off, “I wanna be.”

You see his toothy smile before Bucky kisses you hotly as he surges up without warning, hoisting you up with him as you squeak into his mouth, arms clinging around his neck as his own hold you under your bottom. His strength is so effortless it surprises you for a second, but in an instant you get more comfortable in his hold as he continues kissing you. His smile grows on his lips as you kiss him back in kind until you’re forced to break away for a breath.

“I’m not happy you were so upset earlier,” he says as he catches his breath, forehead pressing to yours as you tuck his falling hair behind his ears while he holds you, “but I’m so fucking glad you came back here alone.”

“Well, I’m not happy you were trying to ambush me,” you joke, “but I’m really glad you were here tonight,” you whisper the words as your hands play in his hair, noses brushing, you’re still so close.

You’re staring into each other’s eyes until your gaze falls to his lips. Bucky kisses you again, so much softer than he did before.

“Me too,” he whispers softly. You smile and then pat his shoulders. He gets your message and gently lets you go as your heels touch the floor.

“I know it’s late,” he starts, closing the small distance between you as he takes a step closer, not wanting to be too far from you, already missing your proximity, “but you were expecting a nice date tonight, and you didn’t get one,” he sighs, “I just don’t think that’s right,” he exhales with that ‘hear me out’ purse of his lips. You eye him expectantly, fighting a smile as you wait for him to get it out.

“What do you think about catching a movie and grabbing food at that place you like? With me,” he adds as if it wasn’t obvious, earning a bright laugh from you for the first time tonight. “It’s a Saturday, so you know they’re open late anyway,” he rambles.

You lean into him with your shoulder as you stand so close to each other, getting his attention back on your face as you smile. “I would really like that, Bucky,” you nod. “I’m just gonna,” you wave a hand around your face, “fix this up a bit.”

He laughs as he rubs a streak of black from under your eye, “still beautiful,” he simpers.

Your entire body warms at his touch and his admiration as you grab his hand gently in yours and pull him closer. He seems to read your mind as his arms circle you and he leans in to take your lips in his.

It’s sweet and so natural it’s hard to believe you guys hadn’t done this sooner. The friendship was always there, but you never knew the feelings were too. All this time you convinced yourself your harbored feelings for Bucky were unreciprocated, and all the while, he was trying to figure out how to confess his own to you.

You laugh quietly into the kiss, amusement playing on your lips as you think back on every encounter you’ve had with Bucky that had you falling harder and harder for him.

“What’s funny?” He asks as you part with a grin.

“It’s just, all so obvious now,” you giggle. “I always thought I was reading into things with you, that you were just being nice, just wanted to be friends,” you trail off, swaying closer to him in your heels. “But, this whole time,” you blink up at him, lips parted gently as he keeps your body to his, holding you close.

“This whole time,” he simpers, a soft smile on his lips. “What the hell took us so long?”

“Uhm,” you muse aloud, “probably our combined stupidity,” you joke as he chuckles, his smile never wavering as he keeps his eyes on you, “but, let’s just call it fate,” you shrug on a soft exhale. You lean closer to Bucky even more, letting your lips brush his again, the feeling one you don’t think you’ll ever tire of, “no better time than the present, right?”

[koqabear]

Divinity for the Damned

“There is no sweeter innocence than our gentle sin.”

“What sweet bliss it is to follow the teachings of God. To put in your faith and trust wholeheartedly, even if it means getting nothing in return.”

fallen angel! Beomgyu x fem!reader 

Genre: horror, religious au, smut, angst

Word count 18.3K

warnings: i was delirious when i proof read this sorry in advance, very detailed descriptions/elements of the catholic church, mc is super duper religious, and innocent, lots of religious guilt, corrupt church members, assault in one scene, sacrilege and blasphemy i suppose, abuse of power, manipulation, guilt tripping, MCD, slight gore, violence, cannibalism…? aha…

smut warnings: dubcon/coercion, manhandling, mind breaking, corruption, virgin!mc, sub!mc, condescending soft dom!beomgyu, blindfolding/sensory deprivation? dacryphilia, fingering, oral (f. rec) edging, overstimulation, teasing, unprotected sex, creampie. lmk if i should add anything!

notes: hi guys! i have no idea how i got here.

[This story contains dark content. Please read the warnings carefully; I am not responsible for the content you choose to consume.]

The day is wintry and cast with a heavy snow; it is advised for citizens to remain inside due to the extreme weathers, flurries falling outside your bedroom window that is tinted with a frost that creeps from the corners. But it is Sunday morning, and a simple snowfall will do nothing to deter your humble duties. 

Today, you rush to get ready; the layers of clothes on your form make it difficult for you to pull on your snow boots, thick and warm as your fingers fumble to lace and tie the shoes— you’ve begun to feel overheated, but you’re sure all the layers you have on will not go to waste the moment you exit your home. Standing with a huff of exertion, you pull the coat on you just a little bit tighter; with a gloved hand and one final glance at the clock, you finally open your door and make your way out. 

The little village is quiet today. The snow is up to your ankles— it makes the trek to the church a little more difficult than usual, and it’s not as though the gravelly paths were any more helpful. A wind carries flurries into the air, sticking to your clothes and onto your hair— it makes your skin sting and your arms come up to hug yourself instinctually, a hand coming up to rest on your chest, almost able to feel the cross necklace that’s tucked beneath all your clothes— your fingers press against the layers, able to feel the pressure of the delicate charm on your skin. 

Shops are open, but they aren’t very busy; it seems as though the snow has turned the place into a ghost town, and you wonder with a frown if a simple change in weather was enough to make people set aside their duties— in the distance, the tall pinnacles of the church begin to fade into view, a sight of a cross at the very top of each one bringing a sense of relief into your system, like a warmth that floods into your veins. 

There are twenty minutes left before the mass begins. But even so, you note that there are not many others making their way inside— your frown tugs at your lips a little deeper, and you’re too lost in thought to take note of cracked path before you; your foot is catching and you fall to the ground unceremoniously, yelping at the impact and the snow that drenches your tights and dress within seconds. 

Your knees sting; with the multitudes of layers you have on, it’s a lot more difficult to stand— you’re wincing in pain from both the cold and the fall, your gloved hands now soaked as you try to steady them on the ground to help you up; you stumble slightly, the weight of your clothes now doubled as you fall back onto your knees— you huff with frustration, your head hung down in defeat. 

“Excuse me, are you alright?” 

The voice is gentle and melodic; like a song in your ears, breathy, deep and smooth as you look up with surprise, not expecting anyone else to witness your fall— your face is heating up pitifully and your eyes are widening the moment they meet with those of a stranger, a man whose beauty is almost otherworldly; his hair is long and covered with flurries of snowflakes, decorated along his head and in his bangs like a crown— his face is blushing a soft red from the cold and his eyes are filled with concern; briefly, your eyes flicker up to his furrowed brows, taking notice of the scar that decorates his face, reddened and stopping just above his eye, a small deformity on his otherwise perfect face. 

He looks like a prince. 

“I–I’m… I’m fine,” you stutter out, still a bit dumbfounded by this captivating stranger, trying your best to remain composed as you take his outstretched hand for help; his hand is warm— no, it’s hot, even through your gloves— the contrast of temperature startling you for a moment; you try not to show it, much more distracted by the way his grip tightens instantly and he’s pulling you up with a surprising strength, the motion so sudden and unexpected that you’re stumbling out of balance; with a swift hand on the small of your back, the man steadies you. 

“I’ve… never seen you around before,” you say softly, continuing your attempt to remain casual as you shrug his hands off you, taking a step back and trying to ignore the lingering heat his touch left— and you smile politely, hands folded in front of you as you tilt your head. 

“Ah, I moved here recently,” the man explains, sending you a smile that’s just as charming as the rest of him; his eyes scan your sullied outfit, wet with snow and dirty at the knees, and he frowns. “You must be terribly cold. I suggest you go home and change.” 

Your hands are patting your clothes off immediately in response; small clusters of snow that stuck to you fall off with every swat of your hands, attempting to rub at the dirt with your soaked gloves as you merely laugh him off and shake your head— you’re glancing back at the church in the distance, and are suddenly reminded of your responsibility. 

“I’ll be alright, I assure you,” you say softly, doe eyes bright and optimistic, even if he seems doubtful of your words, “I have somewhere I need to be— it’s much warmer in there anyway.”

“Oh?” he says, raising a brow and scanning over your appearance once more, wondering what could possibly require such dedication from you, “may I ask where you’re headed?” 

“Sunday mass,” you say eagerly, your voice sweet and lovely— and though his expression is suddenly unreadable, you remain enthusiastic as you continue, “If you’re not busy, I’d love for you to come— our church is beautiful, you’d get to meet so many amazing people.”

Mass is starting soon— you’re visibly antsy to go inside, yet you remain patient as you wait for the man’s answer— and though you’ve always been used to the polite turn downs from others you’ve offered to in the past, you can’t help but get your hopes up the longer you wait for a response. 

He sighs; it’s soft and would have remained unnoticed under your gaze, except it comes out as a smoky puff of air due to the cold weather— his gaze skirts away from yours, lost in thought for a second, and you can feel yourself deflate as you begin to brace yourself for yet another rejection. But then he glances back at you, lips pursing and gaze taking you in slowly as he begins to speak. “I suppose I can,” he says gently, smiling at the way you’re immediately lighting up again, “I don’t have much else going on today anyway.” 

A smile spreads through your face; you’re trying to control yourself and remain unfazed, but it’s a lot more difficult than you anticipated as you merely nod happily like a puppy— with his soft lead the way, you’re nodding again and taking him to your safe space. 

“You never told me your name,” the man says suddenly, the two of you making your way up the steps to the church— you’re turning to him in surprise, mouth parting in slight shock as you realize that you really didn’t introduce yourselves— and you’re telling him your name softly, your tone a lot shyer than you expected, feeling small under the intense gaze of this handsome stranger. He laughs softly, eyes filled with amusement as he repeats your name back to you— it sounds so captivating and fragile on his lips, and you try to ignore the way the sound sends shivers down your spine. 

“Beomgyu,” he says before you can direct the question back at him— and just like he did for you, you’re testing his name with your own voice, taking his nod of approval with a smile.

Conversation dwindles down the moment the two of you enter the building; it is low in light due to the cloudy day and the candle-lit lanterns that don’t fully light up the large establishment, and a warmth engulfs the two of you the moment the heavy wooden doors shut behind you; sending Beomgyu another encouraging smile, you take him softly by the arm and lead him further inside— you promptly stop at a small basin filled with holy water, dipping three of your fingers in and crossing yourself slowly, eyes fluttering shut and lips parting to mouth an unintelligible words— and while Beomgyu is presumably doing the same, you take this time to say a brief prayer. 

Beomgyu simply watches you with blank eyes. He makes no movements to follow after you, watching apathetically as your brows twitch and your eyes remain shut for a few seconds more, sweeping his gaze over the area as he will his lips to not upturn in distaste— his expression morphs to one of content the moment you’re opening your eyes to look at him again, the only thing to fuel his feet to move being the way your delicate hand squeezes his bicep gently, as though you were leading a scared animal into the unknown— he can’t help but find your mannerisms amusing, filled with an overwhelming innocence he hasn’t seen in a long time. 

As a child, your family moved a lot— going from town to town, your father offered newer and better opportunities due to his trade— and, just like you, your family remained dedicated during it all, never failing to find a church to become a part of, a place to spend their Sundays and worship their God. Because of this, you’ve seen and been in more churches than you can keep track of; able to take in different interiors and atmospheres, different communities and sermons— yet, despite attending more churches than this whole town combined, you’ve found that the one you currently stand in cannot even bear to rival the others— it is wholeheartedly your favorite. 

Nothing quite compares to the feeling of warmth and comfort this quaint building brings you, from the friendly smiles others in the community send you the moment they see you, to the smell of incense and flowers that fills your nose the further you walk down the nave, automatically going to your usual pew closest to the altar; the spot is basically reserved for you at this point, anyone who has come to this church at least once knowing that the third pew away from the altar is your favorite spot. 

Beomgyu trails a little behind you. A little hesitant, you think— it must be difficult being thrust into such a new environment so suddenly, and you’re stopping in your tracks to turn around and reach for him with a kind smile. 

He seems startled by your sudden gesture. His expression is completely lightening up within seconds, and if you hadn’t been dreadfully nervous to offer him your hand so you could walk together, you would have been able to pinpoint the clear scorn in his gaze— instead, all you’re able to see is the way his brows raise in surprise and his gaze turns warm, smiling fondly as he takes your hand; he tucks it snuggly in the crook of his arm before he’s nodding at you to continue walking. 

You’re suddenly much more aware of the eyes pinned on you— you’re sure many must be surprised to see you with someone new, always used to you coming in early and quietly, head bowed down and mind already lost in prayer— and in this condition nonetheless, your body heating up slightly as you stare down at the ghastly state of your clothes. 

“Relax,” Beomgyu suspires, leaning close to your ear so only the two of you can hear his words; his other hand reaches to place itself over your gloved hand, and again, you can feel the heat of his touch permeating through the wool. “You look lovely. A bit of snow or dirt could never take away from your beauty.”

His sudden compliment has your face heating up and reacting drastically; you can only squeak out a flustered oh, in response, unable to do much more than look in the opposite direction and stare at the scarlet rug that rolls down the nave— and you’re arriving at your usual spot, close enough to the altar that you’re bowing in respect— stiffly, Beomgyu is pulled down with you; his jaw clenches at the action. 

The sermon begins as usual and proceeds as it always does— though, with Beomgyu at your side, you seem to have garnered quite a lot of attention to you; from others around you eagerly wanting to wish you and Beomgyu peace, shaking his hand firmly and with looking up at him with awe-stricken eyes, to the priest’s gaze that inevitably falls back onto the two of you again and again, not used to the scrutiny in his eyes as you flush with heat at the sudden realization of what others might be assuming the two of you are— as subtly as possible, you try to make space between the two of you, using the armrest of the pew as your excuse to scoot away as you try your best to remain inconspicuous, pretending to get comfortable and resting your arm against it. 

Beomgyu doesn’t seem to pick up on your particular train of thought— he’s sending you a curious glance before he’s closing the space between the two of you again, feeling the way your body stiffens and your back straightens the moment you feel him against you, thigh against thigh; the small pressure of his body against yours enough to have you flustering pathetically, lips pressing together as you try to keep your expression neutral. 

But if there’s one thing Beomgyu has learned about you from the short time he’s gotten to know you, it’s that you’re undeniably terrible at keeping a poker face; all your thoughts are written across your expression clear as day and seep into your body language— anyone who has you in their line of sight would be able to immediately pick up on your flustered and shy state. 

You’re such an innocent little thing; like a lamb, Beomgyu thinks, gaze visibly boring into your side profile as you attempt to pretend as though you’re unaware of it, even if the nervous fiddling of your fingers gives you away. There’s an air of purity around you that is simply enticing, unable to pretend as though he isn’t endeared to you the moment you finally break and turn to look at him once it is time to receive the eucharist, bright, wide eyes silently asking if he’ll join you— he shakes his head no gently, and you’re nodding in understanding before you finally scurry away to get in line. 

Your heart is pounding; you’ve never thought a man could have such an effect on you, your poor brain confused and running laps to try to reason why you can’t even keep eye contact with him for more than a second— you’ve just met him, just a little bit ago, yet even so you can’t help but feel a strange pull toward him, undeniably charmed by both his looks and soothing aura— your hand goes to place itself onto your heart, a weak attempt to steady it’s erratic beating. The charm of your necklace presses against your skin, and as it nears to be your turn, you pray for your heart to have more resilience. 

“The Body of Christ.” 

Beomgyu watches as you stand dutifully before the priest. He watches as the older man stares down at you with an intense gaze, one that seems to hold silent disappointment; he watches as the priest looks back at him, their eyes meeting and his gaze hardening before it falls back onto you— with a twisted realization, Beomgyu realizes where this emotion stems from. 

The priest is careful with you, hand reaching out to slowly place the Eucharist on your awaiting tongue; he’s gentle, as though you were made of nothing but glass, gaze following you even after you’re long gone. 

You’re walking back with your hands clasped together and your eyes downcast, undoubtedly lost in prayer again. But even so, you can’t help but sneak a glance at Beomgyu once more, relieved to see his eyes weren’t on you already this time— instead, he’s watching the priest acutely, observing and analyzing his every move— and you feel star-struck by his beauty yet again. 

The day outside must have cleared more; at least, that must be the case if there is light shining through the stained glass windows, myriads of colors casting themselves on the floors and the people around you— Beomgyu is not an exception to this, entranced with the sharp reds, purples and blues that cast onto his delicate skin, making his appearance seem more otherworldly than it already was. 

His brows furrow. Part of his face is lit up with a faint red from the window, hitting his right eye and the scar above it— suddenly, his eyes are flickering back to meet yours, and you’re jumping slightly in surprise; his eye is practically glowing. 

Your gaze becomes downcast again. You try to ignore the feeling of him watching as you kneel down and begin your prayer once more, staring at the altar and at the captivating marble statues, eyes falling onto the candles that hypnotize you by its flickering flame, lost in thought as the taste of wine that lingers on your tongue becomes the only thing you’re still aware of. 

Beomgyu makes no attempts to conceal his desperation to leave the moment mass is over. His goodbyes are brief and he manages to pull you along, simply because you’d feel bad if you didn’t accompany him out. You’re almost out the front doors, so close to leaving, only to be stopped the moment you’re stepping outside, not expecting the priest to slip out of the doors behind you, calling out your name and asking you to wait; obedient as always, you’re practically frozen on the steps of the church— Beomgyu doesn’t bother to hide the clear distaste on his face as he hears the priest ask for a word with you; in private. 

Without hesitation, you’re scurrying up the steps and meekly asking Beomgyu if he was going to stay— you can’t help but be surprised at the immediate nod of his head in response. 

“Lovely seeing you today. Like always,” the priest says, sending you a fond smile that you eagerly return; he’s taking a step close to you, voice lowering slightly as he continues. “This is the first time I’ve seen you attend with someone else.”

“Ah,” you say quietly, evidently flustered by the breach of this subject; you’re turning away from him to glance back at Beomgyu, who sends you a small smile the moment your eyes meet. “I met him this morning— he aided me when I fell, and agreed to join me when I invited him to today’s mass.”

The priest frowns. You’re taken aback by the clear disapproval in his eyes, blinking owlishly as you silently question what’s wrong— the priest is taking another step closer to you, his brows pinched together and his voice cautious as he speaks. 

“My child,” he begins carefully, taking in your wide and curious eyes as he warns you, “It is admirable of you to spread God’s word so dutifully. I admire your devotion to both our Lord and this community.” 

“However,” he says solemnly, “I advise you to be very careful. You have only just met him after all.”

The two of you glance back at Beomgyu, who leans against the stairway with a blank expression, staring out at the snowy scenery before him as he waits for the two of you to finish; he can feel your stares on him, but he doesn’t bother to look back, already knowing where this conversation must be headed. 

“Oh Father,” you say softly, giving him a reassuring smile, “you shouldn’t worry, I know how to handle myself.”

And, Beomgyu has been nothing but kind to you, you think to yourself, though you know better than to rely solely on the limited hours you’ve spent together. 

“Of course. Though you can’t blame me for being concerned,” he says, taking yet another step closer to you— the space between you is limited now, and you’re unable to stop the way you retreat subconsciously in response.

“I wouldn’t want anything to happen to,” he reaches up to place a hand on your shoulder, heavy and making you stiffen at the sudden contact; it remains there, thumb rubbing soft circles on your coat, “such a dedicated servant of God. It is my duty to protect you, child.” 

He is reluctant to let you go. You breathe out a soft laugh and smile, taking another step back and watching as his hand slides down your arm, his touch lingering and grabbing at your hand momentarily; he squeezes it in an attempt to give you reassurance, and you nod. 

“I understand,” you say quietly, pulling your hands in close to your chest, clasping them together as you take another step back, “I must leave now, Father.”

His lips press, as though disappointed to see you leave to soon— but then he nods in understanding, wishing you a blessed day and encouraging you to stop by anytime; you nod, bidding him one last goodbye before you’re turning around and descending the stairs— you miss the way his eyes harden and his brows knit together the second they meet Beomgyu’s, lips pressed to a thin line as he watches the two of you for a moment more. 

“I’m sorry I kept you waiting,” you say meekly, feeling a smile grow on your face the moment Beomgyu simply shakes his head in reassurance, boldly taking your hand and placing it in the crook of his arm once again; a gesture that has your body warming up as much as his touch warms you, allowing him to pull you close to him as you walk away— he allows you to speak about whatever is on your mind, listening intently as he glances back at the church one final time. 

At the top of the stairway, the priest remains, watching. Beomgyu is unfazed at the sight, and instead of returning the harsh glare the older man sends him, his lips curl into a smile— wide and wicked, showing off his perfect teeth and sharp canines that adorn his mouth, confusing the man before him— and his expression switches in the blink of an eye the moment you squeeze at his bicep subconsciously to get his attention as you speak, leaning in to ask what he thought of today’s mass. 

“It was lovely,” Beomgyu says smoothly, eyes crinkling into a fond and kind smile. You’re returning the smile without hesitation, feeling as though it’s become second nature to your being now. 

“I think I’ll be seeing you around more.”

  ≪⋆⋅☆⋅⋆≫  

The two of you part ways once you’ve reached the center of town. Beomgyu tells you he has somewhere he needs to be, and you explain that you still have a few errands to do; with the promise to see each other again soon, you’re reluctantly bidding him goodbye. 

He asked if you’d be willing to show him around the town a bit more; if you’d like to show him your favorite places to eat and visit— you told him yes in a heartbeat. 

With new promising plans with this handsome stranger, you felt lighter on your feet— a giddiness that undoubtedly was written all over your face, laughing shyly at the remarks others would give in regards to your good mood; and though the trek back to your little cottage on the outskirts of town was a long one, you didn’t seem to particularly mind it today. 

The rest of your day is quiet; peaceful like always, not a soul stopping by to interrupt your day. You’ve fallen back into routine, and with your sudden encounter with Beomgyu earlier, you’ve begun to realize how mundane your everyday life is— you’re suddenly antsy, waiting anxiously for the day to bleed into the next so you’re able to see him again. 

Night falls and you have yet to forget about him. Beomgyu’s soft gaze and kind smile, the way he hovered over you and humored your spontaneous offer to join you— his touch that warmed you through your layers of clothing and left your body hot and flustered. 

This sudden change in your train of thought has you snapping back to reality; your eyes are blinking into focus and you’re now hyper-aware of the hot water that runs over your skin, the dishes in your hands that you had absentmindedly been washing— and you’re straightening up to stare out your window, feeling a breeze slip through the small opening and hit your warm face; you definitely need it, you think to yourself, scolding yourself for thinking of such scandalous things about a man you just met. 

You think you’ll go to bed early; with the final dish placed on your drying rack, you’re off to your bathroom, washing up before you make your way into the bedroom, slipping into nothing more but a thin nightgown; the moonlight casts a glow on your figure as you change, already feeling sleep weigh your eyes as the soft silk of your gown brushes against your skin. 

Your bed feels a lot more comfortable than usual; your body is more tired than you realized. The blankets weigh down on you securely, and any restless thought seems to dissolve in your mind the moment your head is resting against your soft pillows— for the first time in a long, long time, you’re able to achieve a peaceful, immediate slumber. 

Poor thing; today’s events must have truly exhausted you. After all, being around a demon for such a long time takes a lot of energy. 

Beomgyu watches the soft rise and fall of your chest with fond eyes and a small smile. He thinks that the moonlight casts a truly angelic glow on your face, unaware and peaceful to the dangers around you— not much of a difference from your awake self, the man muses.

The energy you emit is as pure as the light in your eyes; innocent, untainted by the horrors of the world. Unlike the rest of this town and their putrid thoughts, their intentions to rip you apart and force you to stoop as low as them, you’ve remained the same: devoted to your God, devoted to live an honest and peaceful life— your being is nothing short of angelic, and Beomgyu has found himself addicted to it. 

He’s weakened— you remind him of the life he used to live, the person he once was before he gave in to the beauty of temptation, ensnared for eternity to the carnal sin that allowed him to reject the teachings of his god. He’s lived this life longer than he can remember, memories of pure beings and a light heart long gone; it’s instead been replaced by an insatiable hunger and instincts that led him to you. 

Beomgyu wasn’t supposed to find himself here, he supposed. Damned to nothing but a void of flames that seared and marred his skin, to be given bodies of those who shared the same sin as him— indulging in his cravings, but never truly satiating them, just enough to keep his soul hooked and coming back for more, a constant cycle of addiction and hunger and desire. 

But this is — you are — different. Just being near you is enough to get Beomgyu’s heart racing, his body buzzing with a slight nervous energy that begs to just touch you, to take you, to use you. His body is weak, drained from its descent from the heavens and its unexpected escape from his perpetual state of limbo, from his punishment. His bones ache and his skin begs to be with you, his soul guiding the rest of him to find you; just one night with you could keep him strong for eons. 

Such a cruel hand life has given you. Because now that Beomgyu has found you, he’s made a silent vow to not let you escape from his hands; you’re the perfect prey, innocent and trusting and charmed by the closest thing to ever be graced by God's presence. 

He closes his eyes, and hones in on your energy— to properly entangle you in clutches, Beomgyu must begin to plant the seeds in your mind; seeds of doubt and want, seeds that will allow you to see the world as is and bring you into his awaiting, protecting arms. 

After a moment, he finally feels it; the soft beating of your heart, the aura that hums like an enticing melody. Deep breaths bring a slow rise and fall to his chest, allowing it to match the rhythm of your own. A harmony is created between the two, and only then does Beomgyu finally feel it— your mind is inviting him in. He suppresses the triumphant smile that makes his lips twitch. 

Declining such an offer would be quite rude, wouldn’t it?

  ≪⋆⋅☆⋅⋆≫  

You wake with a start. 

Your chest feels as though it might cave in and your gown sticks to your skin in an unbearable way, your body exuding so much heat that you’ve found yourself covered in a thin sheen of sweat. Your mind is racing, you feel as though your heart is ready to burst out of your chest— what happened, why do you feel like this? 

It takes a minute before everything else floods back in. A wave of shame and horror washes over you, searingly hot against your skin as you find yourself throwing the covers of your bed off your body, reaching over at your nightstand instinctively and kneeling at your bedside; your hands shake slightly as you try to ground yourself with the feeling of the rosary beads against your palms.

Prayers leave your lips like a waterfall; attempting to forget the dream— the nightmare— that your mind conjured, surely nothing but a test of faith and temptation to make you stray from the path you painstakingly set up for yourself. 

The beads of the rosary dig deeper into your palms. Your hands press tighter together, your face screwed into a frown of concentration, attempting to rid yourself of the way your mind seems to want to do nothing but wander. Wander to the foreign feeling of a hand gliding against your skin, a smooth path along your bare back and chest, lips that caressed your neck and whispered nothing but praises and promises of divinity and eternal life.

A shudder rips through your body like an earthquake. You must rid yourself of these thoughts. 

Your will is strong, but the temptation is stronger; it sings memories and images from your nightmare, appearing at the most inconvenient moments and making your every movement falter— when you change, vibrant images and raw skin replacing the sight of your body in the mirror with one of pure lust and sin, when you prepare to go out, tucking the rosary safely underneath your layers of clothes, and as you spot Beomgyu in the distance, waving at you with a kind smile on his face; shame bubbles hotly beneath your skin, and you hope that the man who asks you to lead the way with bright eyes simply blames the flustered look of your face on the cold, the pure snow around you. 

“You must be cold,” Beomgyu muses softly, turning to you and suddenly cupping your face; wide eyes meet his as you merely remain still, unsure of what to do as the feeling of his hot hands cupping your flushed skin only make it burn hotter, embarrassment eating you up as his brows twitch at the feeling; he raises a brow, tilting his head in confusion as he inspects you slowly. “Or… perhaps not? Your face is burning.”

“I’m so sorry,” you manage to spit out, taking a step away from him and averting his gaze entirely, hands pressed firmly against your pounding heart, “I’m sorry if I seem to be acting strange, I’m not sure what has gotten into me.” 

Beomgyu shakes his head softly, brows knitted together with worry— oh, you must seem to have lost it, you think to yourself, biting your lip and attempting to brush off your skittish behavior with a soft laugh, Beomgyu must find you strange now.

And whilst Beomgyu continues to feign concern for you, brushing off all your apologies and maintaining a curious facade, his body practically buzzes with excitement; poor, innocent thing, one simple dream was enough to bring you right to where he wanted you— one dream was enough to fluster and break down the solid fortitude you once set up for yourself, the man before you catching you so off guard that you never had a moment to question the sudden turn of events; he had you right where he wanted you, smiling to himself at the way you could barely maintain eye-contact before you were flustering and looking away. 

You told yourself it would pass with time. But hours fly by with Beomgyu and nothing changes— if anything, everything simply got much, much worse— the man seemed to have found solace within you, getting comfortable and finding confidence in being subtly affectionate with you; holding your hand and pulling you along to show you something, brushing the corner of your mouth and teasing you for being such a messy eater, and holding a firm hand at the small of your back while you walked— you couldn’t pretend to be unaware of everyone’s stares even if you tried. 

“Such a small town, isn’t it?” Beomgyu muses to you, taking in the scenery, the people that wander the streets; he finds his eyes meeting with every person they land on, holding back a sneer at the way their stares linger with fascination, landing on you with a myriad of emotions: envy, lust, disdain, he sees it all. “I feel like there’s someone watching us at all times.”

“Oh, I suppose,” you say sheepishly, as though you were the one to blame for his discomfort, “I apologize, I had no idea it would be this busy today— but it’s natural to be curious, I know they mean well.”

Beomgyu nods thoughtfully at your claim; surely, there’s only so much innocence you can harbor before it begins to become naivety— do you really believe such lies? But of course, you’re filled with nothing but surprises, the clear look in your eyes telling him that your words are more for you to believe than him. 

When the sun is beginning to set and the street lamps are beginning to get lit up, Beomgyu sees your mood flip like a switch; you’re getting antsy, you must want to leave soon. It doesn’t take a genius to guess what might be going on in your mind at the moment. 

“You must be tired,” Beomgyu says, slowing to a stop before turning to face you; you led him to one of your favorite parks, taking him into the maze of a garden and along your favorite trail, the light and excitement in your face enough to make the scenery around him seem dull.

You look like a deer caught in headlights at his words; was it so obvious? You stammer and try to sugarcoat how you feel unsure of how to tell him that you want to leave now, not because you’re tired of his presence, but because you feel as though you’re not in your right mind at the moment. 

Oh, how could you possibly tell him that the reason you must leave soon is because you feel a nauseating urge to repent? That, as soon as you say your final goodbyes, smiling shyly and turning around to walk away from him with a haste, you’re going to make your way straight to the church? The night is cold but your body is far from it, face burning with shame as you walk into your sanctuary with a haste, unsure of how to deal with the fact that you’re thinking very impure thoughts over a man you’ve just met; the very reminder is enough to make your stomach lurch once more. 

The warmth of the building doesn’t feel as welcoming anymore; it only makes your body hotter, breaking out with a light sweat as you slowly approach the basin of holy water, dipping your fingers in and slowly crossing yourself— you take a deep breath, ignoring the flames of shame that eat at you as you walk inside. 

The confessional is just by the entrance, at the very end of the left wall and tucked in safely from any private eyes. The velvet curtain beckons you, and as you rush over in a haste, you can’t bring yourself to catch eyes with the priest that stands by the altar, having caught sight of you immediately— there was no one else that would come here so late at night but you. 

You sit at the very edge of your seat, hunched over and staring at your lap as you wait. You can feel the heat of the single lightbulb above you on your back, searing into your nape as you pick at your nails anxiously. It feels like time has frozen within this small booth you’ve cooped yourself in, the heat of it all only making you more restless as you wait, head ducked down in shame, much too afraid to look into the screen that separates you from the only other person that will ever know about the dark thoughts that plague you.

After what feels like an eternity, you hear footsteps approaching; you peek up instinctively, just in time to watch the velvet curtain on the other side get pushed open— your head goes back down hurriedly.

It’s not too often you come into the confessional, but you still find yourself doing the routine like you were born to do so. Your hand crosses yourself dutifully, licking nervously at your dry lips that part to speak— your voice feels timid and broken, the words you speak heavy on your tongue. 

“Bless me father, for I have sinned.”

It’s been about four weeks since you last confessed, you tell him, wringing your hands together as you attempt to find the words to say, feeling as though a heavy lump in your throat prevents you from expressing the truth; it’s too much, you find yourself thinking, the burden and shame of it all bringing a heat to your cheeks, reluctant to voice your sins aloud. Moments pass and you have said nothing, but the priest on the other side remains patient— the silence and the heat of his stare through the screen only makes you more aware of the guilt that sits in your stomach. 

“Father, I don’t know what to do,” you sob softly, the dam finally breaking in one, swift motion; words spill from your lips with abandon, unable to keep track of what to say as you scoot close to the screen, barely on your seat as you lean your forehead against the cool wood.

“I have restrained myself all my life, I’ve avoided the temptation that is thrown my way, the dangers presented to me— I’ve remained strong— yet…” you swallow thickly, a shuddered sigh leaving your lips as your hands brace themselves against the screen; your palms press against the sturdy structure, a false sense of security as you hesitate to say the words you’re about to admit, “yet— these past few days I’ve been plagued with nothing but thoughts of lust. Of blasphemy.” 

For a moment, there’s only silence. Memories seem to bubble up from the confession, detailed and vivid, playing against your eyes that screw shut as though in pain. 

It’s all wrong. So, so so wrong, the warm feelings that stir within unfamiliar as you remember all the thoughts that fill your mind throughout the day. 

“It’s unlike me— I’ve never found myself to think anything so crude, so immoral,” you say, hanging your head with shame, “Yet I find that I cannot stop. Father, I’ve prayed and I’ve remained abstinent, but the thought that I fear the most is the one… that makes me doubt whether I’m on the right path.”

On the other side of the screen, you’re faintly able to make out his figure shifting. Your hesitation is evident as you finally admit something you hadn’t been able to accept yourself. 

“Father, I’m afraid that I’ll give in.”

More silence follows. You’re sure that the priest must be in deep thought on the other side, but the silence only seems to make you more anxious; how low you’ve come, a voice within you chides, wanting to throw away your purity for a man you’ve just only just met. How vile.

The voice is cold and blunt and unlike your own— the sudden thought startles you, your spine straightening as you look around you, a shiver going throughout your body. Inevitably, you look through the screen once more. On the other side, you’re able to see the faint image of the priest, his head hanging and lost in thought. 

You feel as though you’re in a daze for the rest of your time there; you can only nod softly with every piece of advice he offers you, telling you to remain strong and trust that your faith in God will guide you to the right path— he tells you to pray, to devote yourself to the church in any way you can, your penance weighing your heart as you agree to it all. 

“My child, be aware that this is another test of your faith. You mustn’t give in,” he finally says, stopping you in your motion to leave, “You are a pure flower, bound to attract others who do not have your best interest in mind.”

Hesitantly, you nod, unsure if you’re deserving of this praise he sings to you.

“If you ever find yourself in doubt, know that you can always come to me.”

There’s an odd feeling that blooms within you at his words; you know you should feel comforted, honored to have someone to support you in your time of need, but instead you can only muster a wry smile, whispering a soft of course before you’re exiting the booth in a haste. 

Glancing behind you, you’re reassured to see that the priest has yet to come out; you don’t think you could face him any time soon, knowing that despite the anonymity of the booth, your identity is quite obvious. 

No one else resides in the church as you make your way down the nave and down to your usual spot. Your footsteps feel heavy on the rug as you stand before the altar, head tilted up to be able to take it all in properly; the marble statues that look as though they might come to life, the angels that bow down and the intricate details that go to frame the cross in the middle— you stare up at the altar for what feels like hours, the guilt in your heart weighing you as you take a deep bow and go to sit. 

Your mind is calm, but your heart is restless; you pray for forgiveness and plead to not be led astray, yet something within you itches to do just that— a tug at your heart, wondering what it would be like to indulge yourself for once— you’ve seen the other members of your church, the way they comply and worship yet change in the blink of an eye once they’re out of this sanctuary— so, would it really be that bad? You’ve seen their actions, know their hearts; they treat you so kindly, worship your lord so devoutly— so, is it really unjust for you to do the same?

Your nails dig deep into your skin, a way to snap yourself out of that train of thought, scolding yourself for thinking this way of others around you— for attempting to reason with the whispers of temptation that attempt to lure you. 

How long you spend lost in thought is unknown to you— minutes, maybe hours, your knees sore and your clasped hands clammy as you rest your forehead against them, eyes screwed shut and lost in prayer; it was a meditation of sorts, finally able to cast out straying tangents and focus on one thing. Your breathing is slow, tired, your body slowly giving in to the exhaustion, muscles weighing you down as you continue to pray— it isn’t until you’ve found yourself about to doze off that you realize you must leave. 

When you stand, you’re shaken awake instantly. You could’ve sworn you’d be the only one left in the building by now, yet the priest still lingers by the altar, tending to the candles and shifting about— the smile you send when he glances behind curiously and meets your eyes must seem as ingenuine as it feels, because you see his expression fall instantly. 

It’s important to rest. You must be seeing things, you think, tightening your coat around you before you’re stepping out of your pew and turning to leave— your steps are unconsciously haste, your arms that wrap around yourself unnaturally tight, yet you still flinch the moment your name is being called— softly, but still echoing throughout the building. 

You find yourself feeling reluctant as you turn. Your words are timid as you address him.

“Yes Father?”

Upon your surprise, he is not too far from you— as though he had been mere steps behind, wanting to close the gap between you two as he continues to move forward; he sends you a soft smile, head tilting in curiosity and brows furrowing in worry as he speaks. 

“My dear, are you leaving? At this hour?” he asks, watching you nod meekly, “But it is so dangerous; it is far too cold and dark for someone like you to be out alone.”

Sheepishly, you smile, hands wringing themselves without you realizing.

“It’s quite alright, Father. I’m stronger than you think.”

The soft laugh he lets out is meant to be lighthearted, though you can’t help but think it’s one of disbelief instead. 

“I’m sure, but you must understand my concern; to let you leave alone like this would be wrong of me.” His smile is fond as he steps closer to you, gesturing behind him as he proposes, “Why don’t you stay here for the night? It’d be much safer.”

“Oh, thank you Father, but I think it’d be better for me to go to my home instead,” you say softly, pressing your hands firmly against your beating heart, “I have a busy day tomorrow, and I don’t think it’d be wise to rest on the pews.” 

He laughs again, shaking his head in amusement; your brows knit together in slight confusion, laughing along hesitantly nonetheless.

“Of course my dear,” he starts, your smile widening in hopes that he’s giving up this small fight, “but that’s not what I was referring to.”

“I meant that you should rest here tonight,” he repeats again, voice softening as he continues, “with me.”

Your eyes widen in shock— it’s painted all over your face as well, unsure of what to make of his sudden offer as you resort to letting out an incredulous laugh instead. 

“Oh Father, I couldn’t possibly—” you gulp, softening your tone at the sight of his confused face, “It– it wouldn’t be right. I mustn’t disturb you.” 

“But you wouldn’t be disturbing at all,” he insists, taking a step toward you, talking animatedly with his hands as he does, “I’m inviting you, afterall, I’d love the company— it does get lonely sometimes, I must admit.”

You attempt to maintain a look of understanding, nodding along to his every word— but you remain firm in your stance regardless as you respond. 

“I understand, and I truly do appreciate the offer,” you try again, beginning to walk back despite the slow souring of his face, “but, even so, I really must leave—”

“Why?” he suddenly interrupts, his voice sharp and his expression cold, “why are you so insistent on leaving?”

“I’m tired, is all—”

“Lies.” he shuts you down again. “All of it. For if you were true to your word, you’d have no issue accepting my offer to accommodate you.”

Shaking your head, you shrink within yourself, shoulders caving in as he begins following your steps— you attempt to give him reason, to be polite and kind, yet he hears none of it. 

“You come to plead for forgiveness yet are so quick to run back to your old ways,” he says, his every step like a resounding boom in your mind— you deny him adamantly again, but all you get in response is a cold look. 

It seems as though you’ve nowhere to go— the doors had been shut due to the cold and your back presses against it, but before you can reach for the handle and open your only exit, you find yourself trapped— the priest’s hand is heavy as it slams on the handle, the loud sound causing you to jump and yelp in surprise. 

“Can’t you see? I only want what’s best for you,” you feel as though you might merge with the wood of the door as you press yourself to it, eyes glued to the floor in an attempt to escape the cruel wrath of the priest that towers above you, spitting words of discipline, “It’s dangerous for you out there. You haven’t the slightest idea what would happen to you if you were found like this— alone, helpless, defenseless.”

“I have gone out of my way to provide you shelter, yet you refuse; I know what it is you’re truly adamant to get back to,” he grits, as though it pained him to say— his eyes narrow, watching as you merely tremble and refuse to look at him, finding himself tired of you not meeting his eye— the cry you let out is insignificant as he takes hold of your shoulders, shaking you and crouching down to meet your face. 

“And I will not have you whoring yourself out to another man! ” Your eyes are screwed shut now, tears threatening to flow down as you reach for the hands on your shoulders, attempting to pry them off— he pays no mind to your attempts, continuing to scream in your face until you find that you can withstand no more. 

“Please! Let me go!” 

Your chest heaves. Your wide eyes are brimming with tears and your legs are shaking terribly, just like your hands that have just shoved the priest off you; he seems just as shocked as you are, mouth parted in surprise before he finally goes to regain his composure.

“I-I’m so sorry Father, I–” your voice breaks and you feel the hot streams of tears on your cheeks, a trembling hand reaching behind you in search of the handle— when you find it, you immediately pull it open. 

“I–I— I must go, I’m so sorry, please forgive me, I didn’t mean it, I’m so—”

“You do not deserve to be deflowered and tainted by the evils of this world,” the priest says, his voice hoarse and stopping you effortlessly in your tracks; he doesn’t bother looking at you anymore, staring at your feet with a pinched expression of frustration instead. “But if that is what your blasphemous heart truly desires, then so be it.”

When his head raises and his eyes meet yours, you’re stunned— his eyes shine, a forlorn look settled within them. 

“You were so perfect, my child,” he says softly, frowning at the fear in your eyes, the heavy heaving of your chest, “you were divine.”

“May God have mercy on your soul.”

Brows furrowing together, you deny him one last time— this time, he simply watches as you slip out the door, fleeing with sharp steps and sobbing quietly into your hands, cheeks stinging from the cold. 

The path before you is dim— the trek to your home is long. Without realizing, you think of the priest’s warnings, tears an endless stream as you part your lips in a soft whisper. 

“Oh Saint Michael the Archangel, defend us in battle. Be our protection…”

Through the long journey back to your way home, you sob and you pray. By the top steps of the church, hidden by the columns and tucked safely into the darkness, Beomgyu watches. He watches until your figure is nothing but a small speck against the vast landscape of the town, your trembling body and the echoes of your soft sobs ingrained into his mind. 

Slowly, he turns back to look at the doors, into the small sliver of warm light provided by your failure to close the door properly. 

His eyes catch movement; a grin grows on his face.

  ≪⋆⋅☆⋅⋆≫  

Tonight, it seems as though your heart and your mind have finally conceded. Tonight, you dream deeply. 

In your dreams, it is all a haze; you’ve found yourself within the holy sanctuary once more, slowly making your way down the nave, past the crowded pews of hooded figures with their heads ducked down, hands folded dutifully in front of you and your eyes pinned straight ahead. The altar beckons you, the thickened, incensed air bringing a calm through your system as you walk. You walk and you walk, eyes pinned on the cross that looms over you. 

The path seems to warp— the nave seems never-ending, the carpet slowly becoming worn and darkened with every step you take— your heart beats a little faster now, nails digging into your skin with a subconscious tension; yet you continue to walk, whether you want to or not. 

Everything feels so heavy. You feel lethargic and dizzy, feeling as though submerged underwater, limbs moving oh so slowly; the room around you has begun to darken, unable to halt your trek down to the altar no matter how much you try— everything has begun to fade to black, the pews of people turning to dust, the carpet beneath you disappearing beneath your feet— the only thing that remains steady is the altar in front of you and the steps you take. 

You can’t breathe— have you been breathing at all? It’s a fleeting thought that crosses your mind, the burning of your lungs and the pressure on your chest sudden and alarming— the smell of incense no longer enters your system, but you can still feel the air thicken around you; somehow, your eyes remain wide open through it all, stuck onto the mesmerizing, pure altar that remains on its fixed point in the distance. 

It feels as though hours have passed, and you’ve yet to make any progress. Your body remains still as the darkness around you. Just when you’ve begun to wonder if there will ever be any end in sight, something changes. 

It’s subtle, at first— you think it might just be a trick of the mind. The very edges of the altar have started to fade into the darkness, the sharp edges of the pure, white marble statues turning fuzzy— the wings of the angels, the top of the cross, the podium that holds it all up— it’s fading into the abyss, becoming one with the eternal nothingness around you— and as much as you feel yourself panic, wanting to speed your pace, break into a run in a weak attempt to stop it— you can’t. The sound of your steps is like a metronome in your ears, falling against the void and keeping you still. All you can do is watch. 

Your eyes remain wide open throughout it all. Your dress sways with every step you take, your body not realizing that soon enough, you’ll be walking towards nothing. The faces of the angel’s are now fading into obscurity, the darkness prickling at Jesus’ nailed hands and thorned crown; your heart hammers against your chest, forced to watch as it pools around Mary’s feet. 

The few remnants of the holy altar are slowly being swallowed by this strange darkness; sorrow fills your weak being, wondering why it is that your body continues to walk forward— there is nothing left to go to, the last of Mary’s bowed body getting lost into the abyss— and as your eyes scan her smooth, marble complexion, you catch on a single crimson tear, welling up at the inner corner of her eye, able to watch it grow as though you were standing inches before it— it grows and grows, until it can no longer stay still. The path it runs down the smoothness of her cheeks is striking, a sharp trail left behind as it drips off into nothing. 

The last of her fades away. 

There is nothing but darkness ahead of you; even so, you continue forward. Your mind has emptied, body becoming lax as the steps you take become effortless, light, like walking on air. Your eyelids feel heavy with sleep, the haze in your brain returning twice as strong. 

You can feel yourself walking, but you cannot see anything; not even yourself. A voice within wonders if you might be left to walk forever, towards an end goal that will never show itself to you. 

Come to me. 

Despite your shock, you do not halt. The voice is soft and sweet, like dripping honey— it’s only three words, but even so, you find yourself entranced, following the command even if you’re unsure whether you’re going the right direction. 

Closer, come. 

The voice beckons you so effortlessly, like a leash that wraps around your figure, pulling you forward, following your instinct to continue to walk, to explore what it is that calls to you so sweetly. 

Unlike the altar that has now been lost on your once worried mind, something has begun to fade into view. It is soft and hazy, with a slight glow that hurts your eyes— unable to make out what it is you’re now making your way towards, eyes dilating and adjusting slowly. 

A bright, ruffled shirt, a corset that’s tied tightly, long flowing sleeves covering the hands that rest leisurely at their sides; your gaze is quick to sweep up their appearance, a quick observation before you move onto what tugs at your curiosity the most— only to find that their face remains obscured by the darkness, a slight blur of what could be registering in your mind— you think you see soft, plump lips that curl into a reassuring smile, but it might be wishful thinking, if anything at all. 

Slowly, they raise a hand— calling you closer, the path beneath you finally beginning to shrink with each step you take— their fingertips outstretched toward you, as though expecting you to do the same. And even when you fail to mirror their actions, they refuse to falter, accepting you as you are. 

It is only when you stand before them that your body finally stops. Your face expressionless as you observe the person in front of you carefully, oddly hesitant to accept their offer. You stand for a moment, left in a standstill as the figure lets out a soft, echoing laugh. 

Do not be afraid, they tell you, their words wrapping around you warmly, take my hand. 

You blink. Your body suddenly feels like your own, the grounding heaviness of your limbs making you realize that it is now you who controls what you do next; glancing down at yourself curiously, you look back up at the figure, where they remain waiting expectantly.

You take a step closer. Their smile widens slightly. 

Good, they say, soft and deep like a purr, closer. 

Slowly, you bring a hand up, finding a slight hesitation to make contact with this outstretched hand— and, as though hearing your doubts, the figure chuckles, teasing and lighthearted, as though already aware of what you will choose in the end. 

When your skin touches theirs, you feel nothing. It is like air under your palm. 

Your grip tightens, unsure if you’ve taken their hand at all; before you can so much as take a breath, their hold shifts, hand sliding forward and deft fingers wrapping tightly around your wrist, fingertips digging into the skin— you’re pulled in without warning, stumbling forward and crashing into their strong chest. 

Looking up, you find that you cannot bring yourself to feel afraid— their smile is radiant as they look down at you, the faint outline of their head much too fuzzy for you to understand— the air cracks as two pure wings stretch out, curling around the two of you and moving to cage you in shortly after— feathers fly around the air from the aggressive movement, fluttering around before they rot black, lighting at the quill and turning to ashes, the crackling sounds filling your ears as you look around you in confusion, only to get the sight obscured by the darkening wings that trap you. 

Eyes on me, the voice says, echoing in your mind, following their command immediately. The soft smile that remained on their lips can no longer be contained, growing into a grin that shows off brilliant canines that shine down at you. I will give you everything you seek. 

Feeling the twinge of hope in your heart, the figure pulls you closer still, allowing your body to press against theirs. 

Seek me, they whisper lowly, a hand beginning to snake around your waist, dancing fingertips pressing into the small of your back— leaning down, they whisper softly into your ear. 

Find me in our sanctuary, you can hear their grin through their words, and I will give you all you yearn for. 

Their lips ghost over the shell of your ear. 

Quickly. 

Before you can react, they dissolve to nothing. 

You’re left alone in the abyss once more. 

  ≪⋆⋅☆⋅⋆≫  

When you startle awake, you find that it is still nighttime; sitting straight up in your bed, you look out the window— snow falls peacefully, the quietness of the scenery doing nothing to calm your beating heart. 

The dream. 

Words and messages echo throughout your mind, unsure of what to make of it all. Your chest heaves slightly with confusion, eyes adjusting to the darkness as you glance over at your bedside table— the statue of the cross greets you like always, the soft voice from your dream resurfacing in your tired brain. 

Your body is moving on its own accord; your coat, your shoes, all of it is being thrown on before your dazed mind can even process it, still weighed with sleep as you stumble around in the darkness. Only one thought seems to keep you moving, like a restless pull that leads you out your front door. 

Swinging it open, you’re met with the freezing winter breeze; the trees sway and creak, snowflakes falling in your direction and landing against the apples of your cheeks— shaking you awake slightly, a quiet voice within you wondering what it is you’re doing, telling you that you should go back inside and rest— but even through this small window of reason you receive, the warmth that leaks from behind your home attempting to wrap around you and pull you back in, the need to seek closure haunts you; your boots crunch beneath the freshly fallen snow, sealing your fate as you haphazardly close the door behind you.

It all feels like a dream still— and you wonder if it is, blinking away the snow that gets in your eyes, your walk through the emptied path that leads back to the center of town turning haste; you feel as though it is something else that is pushing you forward, allowing you to head through this dark and barren path without so much as a light to guide the way, the sound of the wind whistling through your ears and the snow crunching beneath your feet following along.

There must be a reason, your weary mind thinks, a passing thought through the blankness of your mind, passing through the desolate, closed shops, not a single street lantern lit to give you a sense of security, there is something calling you back. 

In your right state of mind, you never would have found yourself doing this; after what happened mere hours ago, you wouldn’t have been able to walk in this general direction without feeling guilt and fear weighing you down— in your fully conscious state of mind, you would have stopped to contemplate your actions the moment you began to lace up your shoes— but in this moment, as you slow to a stop and turn to face the stone steps that lead to the first faint, flickering light you’ve seen tonight, you’re none of that— instead, you allow yourself to give in to this strange, delirious state of being you’ve found yourself in. 

The tall steps of the church have blurred together. Your head remains bowed, eyes glued to your feet as you ascend, hands folded neatly in front of you as snow falls around you, on your clothes and in your hair. 

When you arrive at the top, a hand reaching out for the entrance, you hesitate— your eyes widen, and as though a bucket of ice water has been poured over you, you take in the door that has been left ajar, the lights that are no longer on inside; your hand remains outstretched for a moment, and for the first time tonight, a single question runs through your head.

Why are you here?

Standing straight, you turn to look over your shoulder, out at the town behind you— all is still, eerily so, like you’re the only person there. Even in the distance, in the neighborhoods, you do not find a single light on. A chill runs through your body, suddenly aware that you’re standing outside in the snowfall with nothing but your nightgown and a winter coat on; with blazing cheeks, you rush to slip inside the sanctuary in hopes of getting your confused mind back in order. 

The door falls shut behind you, the soft click rendering you in complete darkness; not even the magnificent, stained glass windows are able to provide you with a proper source of light, nervously looking around and taking in the church in this desolate, foreign state.

You’ve heard that old habits die hard— without realizing, you’ve made your way to the basin of holy water, shaking fingers reaching in to be dipped so you can cross yourself— only, you continue to reach in, going in further until your fingertips are touching the cool porcelain of the bowl; head snapping over the sensation, you frown in confusion at the sight of the empty basin— walking over to the one placed adjacently, you squint, reaching in unsurely, only to be met with the same cold feeling. 

Strange.

Retracting your hand, you cradle it close to your chest, a frown tugging at your features as you try to brush off the confusion; looking forward once more, you’re left face to face with the marble altar that sits at the end of the nave, beckoning you to come closer. 

It must’ve been a sign of God. That is the only explanation that would justify the strange circumstances of it all, making you way down the familiar carpet, the soft sound of your steps enough to rival the beating of your heart in your ears. 

Stepping off the carpet, you go to bow in respect— only to hear a strange sound beneath your feet, like a splashing of sorts— glancing down in confusion, your eyes narrow, attempting to decipher what it is you’ve stepped in; a pool of water maybe, looking above you to see if there might be a leak in the ceiling— a few seconds go by, and when you neither feel nor see anything fall, your frown deepens. 

“You came.” 

Your heart spikes and your gaze drops to the source of the sound, unable to do anything but gasp from the startle— through the darkness, standing behind the altar, a figure speaks to you. The sight is reminiscent and makes your legs shake, a mixture of fear and awe filling your body as you find yourself unable to speak. 

“I wondered what it would take for you to finally give in,” the voice, soft and melodic, murmurs; even through the darkness, you can feel their gaze pinned onto you intently. “Such a shame it had to go this far.”

Before you can react, a thunder-like sound fills the empty walls of the church, cracking loudly and causing you to flinch, ducking down and covering yourself instinctively— through your eyelids that remain screwed shut, you see light filling the room around you, the flickering warmth of the candles glowing against your lids, beckoning you to look— after a moment, you give in. 

Your hands tremble as you put them down, straightening up and taking a look around you: the candles have been lit up, from the chandeliers and lanterns above you to the small, worn candles at the sides of the altar— your eyes squint, trying to adjust, rubbing the sleep out of them and blinking slowly as you finally take in the figure that awaited your arrival. 

A familiar face smiles down at you sweetly. 

A loose, white shirt, a corset that ties tightly around the waist, flowing sleeves that pool around his delicate hands— your shaking pupils take it all in, lips parting to speak, only to close once more when you’ve found that nothing can come out. His hair is mused and curls at the nape of his neck, long strands falling into his kind eyes that watch you carefully. 

Behind him, two vast white wings stretch out, the grand sight making your eyes widen in wonder. 

Before you can control yourself, your knees buckle in shock. 

Beomgyu laughs at you, the sound tender to your ears; placing his hands on the table of the altar, he leans forward, looking down at you and tilting his head in curiosity. 

“What’s wrong, my lamb?”

All you can do is stare, left speechless and shaken as you remain silent— he laughs again, eyes crinkling in amusement, bright smile on display and adding to his otherworldly appearance. 

“Do not be afraid,” he says, cradling his face with his palm, cooing softly at the way you still remain paralyzed with shock, “I only want what’s best for you, little lamb.” 

You blink; shifting, you’ve found your clothes have become soaked at the knees, realizing belatedly that you must’ve fallen into the puddle from earlier— glancing down, you wince, only to freeze at what you see. 

A striking crimson soils your clothes. It drags into a path that leads off into one of the rooms on the side, your heart sinking and a cold fear striking down your spine. 

The scream that rips though you echoes and burns your throat. 

Beomgyu frowns. He’s not surprised, nor is he confused; he simply continues to watch you, beginning to round the altar table the moment you begin to crawl back from where you kneel, your legs refusing to cooperate as hot tears brim your eyes. 

“Oh no,” he tsks softly, wings folding inward so he can make his way down the nave, brows knitting together as he watches you, the intensity of his gaze keeping your eyes pinned on his as you cry in confusion, attempting to stand shakily, only to fail— he pouts, stepping in the puddle that startled you, watching as you flinch at the sight of the brilliant droplets that splash out and cling to his once pristine, white boots. “Why do you run?” 

“That— the-the blood—” you sob, hysterical, unable to get your words out through stuttered breaths, “What—”

“Shh,” he hushes you hastily, closing the distance between the two of you and stepping on your delicate nightgown, forcing you to be still as he towers over you— he leans down, hair framing his face beautifully, mischievous eyes twinkling as his face hovers inches before yours— his wings cage around the two of you, a sight to see as you merely stare up at him in utter consternation, “don’t bother with him.”

A chill runs down your spine, electrifying and forcing you to sit ram-rod straight— through the small cracks beneath his wings, you take in the streaks that have dried against the tiles, the implication of his words causing a feeling of dread to pool within you, feeling as though you might vomit with the next words you speak. 

“Who…” you breathe out, shaky and helpless as you stare up at Beomgyu; he had already been watching you, apathetic expression bringing sheer horror to your system, finally noticing small details you had been so eager to gloss over in your earlier haste— the tainted sleeves of his shirt, the messiness of his clothes, his empty, dark eyes— and your face screws into an expression of sorrow, your nails digging into the soiled carpet beneath you. 

“What have you done?”

Beomgyu doesn’t react to your question. He remains still, eerily so, before he finally stands up straight, wings spreading proudly behind him; he stares down at you, hands held behind his back and voice flat as he speaks. 

“Nothing I haven’t done before.”

Beomgyu thinks this might be his favorite part; he allows himself to watch as you force yourself to your feet, eyes blown out with horror as you stumble back, afraid he might come after you— when you see he has yet to move, you turn and run, the sight familiar as a grin grows on his face; he allows you to slam against the doors, watches confusion flood your actions as you attempt to force the door open, only beginning to take steps to go after you once you’ve begun to pound on the door hastily, hoarse voice screaming and crying for help, hoping for someone to hear your pleas and rescue you. 

“You know, there’s no one that would be out on a night like this,” Beomgyu calls out, his voice booming effortlessly over your painful attempts to seek rescue; his steps are slow and cruel, and you look over your shoulder, tensing at the sight of him nearing you, refusing to give up as you try slamming your body against the wood, only to no avail. “No one stupid enough, that is.”

Your body is well beyond bruised by now, pausing your attempts to break down the door in a desperate hope to check the handle once more; you’re rattling it roughly, crying out when you’re met with resistance. Defeated, your forehead slams against the wood, allowing your sobs to wrack through your body, fingers tightening around the handle hopelessly. 

“Now now, don’t be like this,” Beomgyu’s soft voice coos into your ear, much closer than you anticipated him to be; you flinch, feeling his lips ghost over the shell of your ear, his chest pressing firmly against your back— his arms wrap around your waist slowly, bringing you in and forcing you to remain pressed against him, “is this not what you have been seeking all along?”

Effortlessly, he pulls you away from the door. Maybe it’s the will to fight that ebbs out of your being, or maybe it’s his superhuman strength, pulling you off and forcing the two of you to walk backwards, your hands falling limply at your sides and your head falling back to stare at the ceiling, glossy eyes barely processing the words he speaks next. 

“Come with me,” he murmurs, the searing touch of his hands searing through your clothes, burning your skin, “your heart has been searching for me, you know.”

Allowing him to walk you backwards, you whimper at his words— a sharp reminder of what it was that kept bringing you back here, unwavering guilt sinking your stomach at the faint fire that flickers within. 

“No. Please,” you breath out, hushed and hurried as you shake your head, “Please, I beg of you, have mercy—”

Beneath you, you hear the familiar splash of liquid; you yelp in panic, jumping against Beomgyu’s body and trying to look down on instinct— you’re stopped before you can successfully do so, his heated palm pressing against your eyes, forcing you to be left in the dark. 

“Don’t.” he says softly, his arm tightening around you, feeling tears pool beneath his skin, “you’re alright, I’m here with you.” 

“Such a poor thing. Life has treated you quite unfairly, hasn’t it?” Beomgyu speaks aloud, feeling you hesitate and stumble as he leads you up towards the elevated altar, listening to your jagged breaths with a slightly pitied look. “Perfect and pure all your life, a devoted follower of god.” 

“Don’t worry,” Beomgyu says, hand coming off your eyes for just a moment— not that you even noticed, your eyes had been screwed shut all along— only to wrap a cloth around your head instead, deft hands making a careful knot at the back of your head; sliding your clothing to the side, Beomgyu ignores the way you jolt when his soft lips press a kiss to your shoulder. His breath tickles as it fans on your skin. 

“You’ve done well, my lamb.”

Beomgyu knows that you will never be able to grasp what is happening; especially not in this stunned state you’re in, the cloth around your eyes already soaked through with silent tears, hands limp at your sides as he takes in your face curiously, noticing your lips that move with silent words. 

Even now, you pray. 

My Lord and my God, your lips read, whispers of the faint words slipping from you, in my acceptance of the type of death you plan for me, I join your sufferings on the Cross. 

Beomgyu watches you hesitate. Your bottom lip wobbles and your throat swallows thickly. 

All I ask is that you stand beside me and never leave me.

Even through the veil that has been put over your eyes, a stray tear manages to slip through. 

Beomgyu should feel bad for laughing, he supposes— but he can’t help it, taking in the melodramatic sight with thorough amusement, watching you flinch and press your lips together tightly. He shakes his head softly, finding himself becoming fond of your antics as he takes a hold of your hand, ignoring the way you startle so easily as he guides you to where he wants you instead. 

“Oh dear,” he sighs, leading you to press back against the altar table, stiffening at the unexpected feeling, “I fear you may have misunderstood me entirely. See, I don’t want to kill you, my lamb.”

Your brows furrow; he’s confused you, he can tell. 

“There’s something your pretty little heart has been curious about, isn’t there?” he asks, a grin stretching across his face as you shiver, already aware of what he may be hinting at— but even so, you try to remain clueless, even if you’re quite terrible at it. “Something… you want.”

“There is nothing,” you reply, quickly, albeit shakily, “please, I just— just spare me—”

“Now, there’s no need to lie.” Beomgyu coos, placing his hands on your waist, hoisting you up on the altar table in one swift motion; you gasp, hands reaching blindly for something to stable yourself on, one landing on Beomgyu’s shoulder and the other on the marble beneath you— the hand on his body quickly slips off, and Beomgyu finds himself craving for more. 

“You’ve been denying yourself for so long,” Beomgyu murmurs, his voice a hypnotizing lull that causes you to gulp. His fingertips dance across your waist, trailblazing a fire that refuses to die down, mixing with the fear that pounds your heart against your chest. “You must feel so, so trapped.”

“There’s no need to pretend here,” he smiles, reaching up to caress your cheek, watching you gulp, fists clenched tightly in your lap, “I’m aware of everything. It’s only human nature, after all.”

Fervently, you shake your head. Your consistent denial is almost impressive to Beomgyu, the facade of confidence you try to exude with your voice both evident and pity-inducing. 

“I refuse to give in to the temptations of sin,” you say, the words like a recited script at this point; Beomgyu’s lip curls in distaste. 

“It is not sin,” he whispers softly, hands beginning to wander down from your sides to your hips, grasping softly at the skin before moving down, to the tops of your thighs and over your hands that remain clenched tightly, “it is merely the human experience.”

His hands feel hot over your own; you can feel him press against your body from where you sit, undoubtedly looming over you and caging you in as he speaks. His actions are absentminded as he caresses your hand, stroking the skin soothingly as he continues to invade your senses, whispering things that only the deepest, darkest parts of your heart have considered. 

“You’ve worked so hard to live a pious, pure life,” Beomgyu says, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he watches you frown, finally beginning to listen to the words he feeds you, “even at the face of danger, you remained loyal— even now, you continue to refuse me.”

“But, don’t you see? The lord has brought you here for a reason.” His eyes shine the moment you shift restlessly under his grip, pressing himself tighter against you, “your dreams, your thoughts, they have led you here for a purpose only you can serve.”

You try to refute him yet again; your lips open, but you hesitate, unsure of what to say. You remain quiet instead. 

“Will you deny the fate god has bestowed you?”

A soft pout forms on your face; your heart is racing, and your mind must be too, because you don’t bother to react when Beomgyu’s hand leaves your own, trailing down your thighs and prodding your legs open so he can stand between them— too deep in thought to realize that he’s lifting your nightgown up, bunching it at your knees tentatively. 

Beomgyu watches you carefully, taking in your silence and smiling triumphantly as he speaks, “Here,” his other hand slides to place itself on the bare skin of your inner thigh, watching with sadistic pleasure as you jolt and yelp in surprise, “I’ll show you what it is you’ve been searching for.”

Your skin is tender as he begins to trail forward, eager to touch you and familiarize himself with you— only to get stopped by your trembling hand, his eyes darting to your troubled face, brows furrowing with confusion as he watches you muster the courage to say something. 

“N…Not…” it feels as though nerves and fear have swallowed you whole, having to take a deep breath in order to continue your sentence, “Not here. Not like this.”

“Hmm? But where else could this possibly happen?” he asks teasingly, much too desperate to heed your half-hearted request, “my lamb, it is perfect here.”

“Beomgyu, this place, it’s sacred,” your lips pressed together, using all the courage within you to speak up, “It is a home to me, I couldn’t bear to desecrate it—”

Beomgyu’s fingers dig into the plush of your thigh, able to feel his face hover over yours as he speaks through gritted teeth, eyes burning holes into your skin. 

“This was my home too.”

It all happens so suddenly; you’re pushed to lay back against the table, legs forced open as Beomgyu gets closer still, your lips parting in a soft gasp as he successfully bunches your nightgown at your hips, looming over you so he can undo your coat. 

“And our lord has decreed that it is here where I finally take you.” he hisses, watches as you can only let our a broken whimper and shift restlessly beneath him; the fire has consumed you wholly by now, he knows, the seeds of lust planted within you far too much for a person like you to bare— even the graze of his fingertips against your bare skin is enough to have you gasping. 

“I’ve waited long enough to taste you.”

Your body is alight with nerves, buzzing at the sensations around you— though you see nothing, it heightens your other senses, forced to take note of every motion and touch Beomgyu leaves on you, from his deft hands that undo your coat to the warmth of his body between your thighs, lips pressed together in a mix of anticipation and dread— all you can do is lie and wait. 

When Beomgyu’s hands slither back down to your core, you’re a squirming mess; he’s done nothing to you, yet you already seem so broken down and pliant— you’re a sweet sight, bitten lips parting eagerly in surprise once he suddenly plants his hand firmly against your core; your panties are pathetically soaked through, a soft cry escaping you at the heat of his touch against you, hands flying to grab at his wrist— unsure of whether to press him closer of pry him off. 

In the end, you do neither of the two. Beomgyu grins at your hesitation, a clear battle still ongoing inside your mind as you allow him to slowly rock his palm against your cunt, rubbing at your clit and causing you to sob softly at the unfamiliar sensation; your back arches and jolts of pleasure strike through you, the underlying guilt of it all causing tears to quickly well up at the corners of your eyes— though, from pleasure or shame, you’re no longer sure of. 

“Poor thing,” he coos softly, applying a sudden pressure against your cunt, all to watch the way your back arches in surprise, “it’s quite easy to make you cry, isn’t it?”

“This must all be so new to you,” he hums, rubbing at your cunt until your panties have begun to stick uncomfortably to you, your arousal soaking through and coating the heel of his hand thickly, “so pretty. Like an angel.”

His words cause a wave of heat to wash over your body; you feel restless, desperate for more, yet unsure of how to communicate as you find yourself hesitating each time, the undying guilt within you forcing your fingertips to dig into Beomgyu’s forearm a bit deeper.

“Hmm? What is it you need, my lamb?” he asks, even if he can practically see the thoughts running through your head, reading your body and the way your hips fight to cant against his hand, “Tell me, what do you want?” 

The way you shake your head petulantly brings a huff from Beomgyu; he watches as you heat up at his question, lips trembling with embarrassment, chin tucked down into your chest as though it would be enough to hide from his gaze— chuckling, Beomgyu allows a few more seconds to pass, letting you sit with your own confliction, before he finally decides to take pity on you; a shaky gasp escapes your lips as Beomgyu’s hand shifts, middle and ring fingers trailing up until they press against the fabric of your panties, pushing in and teasing your leaking hole. 

“Why do you hold back still?” he asks softly, his hand that isn’t teasing you incessantly smoothing down your thigh, stopping at your knee so he can wrap it around his slim waist, “there’s no need to continue this act of yours; do not lie under the eyes of god.”

You cry softly, a cacophony of emotions raging within you as your nails dig deeper into your palms, cunt throbbing and sending sparks of electricity as Beomgyu presses his fingers further into you, stretching the fabric and soaking it with your own arousal— through hushed, trembled words, you finally gather the courage to speak. 

“I want…” you hesitate, shifting on the cold marble of the altar table, turning your head to the side in a faux attempt to avoid Beomgyu’s scrutiny, “I want more.” 

“I don’t believe you.” Beomgyu immediately chides, his fingers moving to ghost over your clit, a satisfied smile growing on his face as you feel the shocks of pleasure from his movements, already too much for your innocent body, “you expect me to take such a weak request seriously?”

You gasp in surprise as Beomgyu suddenly takes a hold of your chin, forcing you to face him once more as you feel him hovering over you; his breath fans across your face, eyelids fluttering behind your blindfold at the sensation. 

“Tell me again,” he says, his fingers applying just the slightest more pressure on your clit, watching as the pleasure breaks you effortlessly; his lips brush against the corner of your mouth, able to feel his coy smile as he speaks. “Tell me like you mean it.”

Beomgyu waits for you eagerly; his touch on your cunt is almost nonexistent, applying just enough pressure here and there as a reminder of what it is you so desperately wish for— it’s so easy to get you to where he wants, he thinks, watching you become overwhelmed by his presence, by the pleasure he continues to give and take away. After a mere few seconds, you finally cave. 

“Beomgyu…” you trail off, the sudden use of his name bringing a shiver through his body, the sound sweet and pure like he dreamed it to be, “Beomgyu, I can’t— I feel so strange, please help me— I need more.”

He chuckles lowly at your words; placing a gentle kiss at the corner of your mouth, Beomgyu straightens up, leaving you for a moment in order to hook his fingers under your panties, ready to drag them slowly down your hips. 

“Do you have any idea what you do to me?” he sighs aloud, watching with fond eyes as you startle at the sensation, legs jumping to close back together— but he won’t allow it, standing firmly between them and forcing your hips to lift, all so he can pull off the only article of clothing standing between him and what he’s desired for so long; his eyes darken at the string of arousal that follows the seat of your panties, eagerly taking in your puffy, needy cunt, body becoming alight with a carnal need to consume you whole. “You’re perfect. Truly a gift from god.” 

He can’t help but grin at his own comment, eyes flickering back up at the altar above him, the candles that flicker wildly— then he looks back down at you, your puffy, tear stained face and your hands that remain tense at your sides, lips pressed together in fear of letting a sound escape— but Beomgyu is much too eager to let you have what you want. 

This ashamed and reserved attitude of yours will be no more— he’s determined to have you melt under his touch, fingertips curious as they finally begin to caress your bare cunt, teeth sinking into his lip as he takes in every gasp, arch, and tense your body gives him. 

It’s slow and oh so cruel, the way he swipes the pads of his fingertips along your slit, bringing the arousal to your clit and circling it softly, all so he can watch you pant and shiver at the sensations— your hands have moved to grasp at your clothes, jaw clenched as your mind tries to keep up with all these new sensations: you feel so hot and restless, a fiery itch settling deep in your core, only alleviated with the stray sparks of pleasure Beomgyu gives you— it’s too much, yet not enough at all. 

“Won’t you let me hear you?” Beomgyu asks, fingers beginning to prod at your entrance, circling it leisurely as he observes you, “it’s no fun like this.”

You can hear the pout in his words, petulant and teasing as he coos out your name, “C’mon, I know you sound as sweet as you look.”

You’re given no warning when his fingers breach your entrance; a yelp escapes you before you can process it, the sudden stretch bringing chills down your spine— it’s just his middle finger first, lithe and calculated as it curls and prods at your walls, feeling you flutter and clench around him as he adds his ring finger in next— you’re letting out a cry at how fast it all happens, a hand reaching down to grasp at his wrist, a mixture of shock and pleasure filling your being. 

“Beomgyu…!”

“Again,” he murmurs, fingers beginning to stretch your walls, pumping steadily and curling, listening to the quiet mewls and moans you let out, “louder. Show me how much you like it.”

“Beomgyu… oh–! N-not there, ah–!” You’re a squirming mess, shifting beneath his hold and shaking your head, the feelings far too much for you— Beomgyu doesn’t bother to heed your requests, abusing the soft, spongy parts of your walls that seem to make you react the most; you choke and hiccup pathetic moans, thighs tensing and spasming around him, hands shaking from the tight hold you have on your nightgown; it gets difficult having to chase your hips after a while, Beomgyu’s eyes narrowing as he places a harsh hand down on you, pinning you down against the table, fingers digging into the soft skin as you gasp. 

“Stay still.” is all he says to you, palm pressing against your clit as he slowly fingers you, drinking in the miniscule changes of your expression eagerly, “Don’t fight it.” 

“It feels good, doesn’t it?” He asks, punctuating his words with a cruel curl into you; you gasp, chest heaving as a tight coil builds up within you, “doesn’t it feel so nice?” 

“So sad, you’ve been denying yourself such bliss for so long,” Beomgyu utters softly, cooing at the way you cry and struggle to remain sane, overwhelmed by everything Beomgyu does to you, “won’t you let me take care of you?” 

Carefully, he hovers over you, strands of his hair brushing against your cheeks as he presses a soft kiss to your jaw, lips caressing the column of your neck as he smiles softly. 

“Wouldn’t you like for me to taste you?”

He’s sure you don’t fully grasp what it is he might mean— but you’re eager nonetheless, a gasp escaping your lips, so soft he might’ve missed it if he hadn’t been so close— the tight clench of your cunt around him is enough of a sign anyway. 

You can only hear shifting; your ears perk up as you try to decipher what could be happening, feeling Beomgyu’s hand wander down your thighs, the loss of his heat above you, the flickering warmth of the candles around you— you lay still, with bated breath and buzzing nerves. 

Your mouth falls open, a loud moan falling from your mouth and bouncing off the walls. 

It’s all too much for your poor, inexperienced body; it’s overwhelming, the pleasure wrapping you up and burning you alive as your thighs attempt to shut, only to close in on Beomgyu’s head that remains steady, large hands splayed on your hips as he holds you down, his mouth continuing his assault against your cunt. 

The chants of his name and your broken moans are enough to keep him motivated— he’s lapping at your clit hungrily, moving down to suck at the arousal that leaks from your entrance, perfect nose bumping into you as he sighs and groans against you. 

You think you might’ve gone mad; sounds you didn’t think were possible are escaping you, each more pitiful and helpless than the last. Your hands wander absentmindedly, not realizing what it is you’re searching for until they’ve finally curled into his thick hair, tangling strands around your fingers and tugging rashly— you can feel him moan against you at the actions, the feeling bringing a shiver down your spine. 

“B-Beom…gyu!” you whine out, hips attempting to wiggle out of his hold, hands tugging his head closer— your eyes remain screwed tight behind your blindfold, tears pricking at them as your mind races to process what is happening to you— between your legs, Beomgyu grins triumphantly, nails digging into your delicate thighs as he licks a long stripe along your slit.

In times like these, Beomgyu can’t help but be reminded of who he is, what his existence is for— his tongue is long, abnormally so, as it enters you, eyes rolling to the back of his head as he laps up your essence and fucks you with it, listening to your startled cries morph into nothing but wanton lust, choking on the syllables of his name and brokenly pleading for him to not stop— as if he could ever be capable of doing so.

You’re delicious, like a ripe fruit that has been eyed for too long, too high on a tree for anyone to take— victory feels sweet on Beomgyu’s tongue as you clench and leak around him, allowing you to grind against him and take the reins of what you want, giving you the pleasure you seek— and he can feel you getting wound up quite quickly, your keens and cries loud enough to rival the screams of fear you were letting out only moments ago— but then again, none of that matters as long as Beomgyu has his hands on you. 

You’re almost there, a climax strong enough to wreck you approaching quickly— and as much as Beomgyu would love to feel it, to swallow your cum as it drips out your fluttering cunt— he can’t. Not yet, and certainly not like this. Though it pains him, he pulls away from your cunt that attempts to suck him back in. 

The sob you let out almost makes Beomgyu regret his decision; you’re a broken, confused mess, panting like a dog as you cry and wonder why it is that Beomgyu stopped so suddenly— gently, Beomgyu pries your hands off from where they tug at his hair, listening to your disoriented mumbles of his name, reaching blindly for him as he rises to his feet. And you’re left in the darkness once more. 

Before you can react, Beomgyu’s hands lift your head, quickly undoing your blindfold, letting it fall against the altar next to your face; your eyes flutter open from the action, brows furrowed as everything slowly comes into focus. 

Beomgyu hovers above you, the flickering candlelight around the two of you casting an ethereal glow around his face; it is warm and fond as he looks down at you, plump lips pulled into a gentle smile as he caresses your cheek, letting out a breathy chuckle at the way you fluster immediately, unable to hold his gaze. 

“Look at me.” he says, his voice compelling enough to have you following his command, the feeling so natural you haven’t realized you’ve obeyed until you’re meeting his dark eyes— there is no light in his pupils, despite the many sources that continue to fall onto the two of you. He smiles, a hand continuing its reassuring strokes against your skin, the other moving down to grab your thigh, wrapping it around his waist once more. “Don’t be afraid— keep your eyes on me.”

You feel something prodding at your entrance; you stiffen, breath hitching and hands instinctively reaching up to place themselves flat against Beomgyu’s chest— with wide eyes, you stare back at him, unable to break this entrancing spell you’ve caught yourself in, lips parting in a silent gasp as Beomgyu’s eyes soften. Slowly, he pushes in.

The feeling of his cockhead breaching your walls has you gasping sharply, shock painting your face and nails digging into your chest as your back arches slightly— the stretch is new and unexpected, the feeling of him inside you causing your stomach to twist in pain and pleasure— it’s so sudden, you feel as though you’re not ready, yet your body cries for him to continue, feeling him pause and still inside you. 

The smile on Beomgyu’s face is practically permanent; words could not explain the satisfaction he feels, the twisted victory he gains from every inch he pushes inside you, virgin walls fluttering and squeezing him like a vice, your wide, doe eyes glazing over with pleasure the longer he takes, the more he allows you to adjust. 

Your chest heaves by the time he’s fully inside you, face screwing up as you feel him bottom out, his tip pressing firmly into you— your voice breaks as you call out his name, searching for comfort he will not be able to provide. Instead, he coos softly at you, empty, sugary words and reassurances that are merely practiced in his mind, feathery caresses against your temple as he shushes you, telling you that everything’s okay, that you’ll feel good soon enough.

“I’ve got you,” he purrs, even if you continue to tense every time he shifts, legs twitching at the sheer stretch you’ve suddenly been forced to take. “It’s okay, don’t be nervous.”

When he begins to pull out, criminally slow and teasing, you gasp— and he grins, fully expecting it as he hovers over your lips, only to press a chaste kiss to your nose as he moves to stand straight, only the tip of his cock left inside you. 

The sight of you is nothing short of divine; just seeing you like this is enough to bring him energy, greedy gaze taking in your broken expression, eyes flickering to your parted lips that tremble and gasp out his name. He groans softly, the eyes fluttering shut as he takes a moment to appreciate the way your cunt clenches around him, warm and wet, nothing like the scraps he was forced to feed on as punishment. You’re perfect, pure, full of life. 

Before he can second guess himself, his hips slam back in. 

The pace he’s set is nothing short of cruel; his feather-light touches and chaste kisses had been nothing but a show, all an attempt to lower your guard and allow him to seize you at your weakest; you yelp in surprise and attempt to cling onto him, overwhelmed by the harshness of his cock as it pounds into you, aiming for the most sensitive spots within you that leave you begging and crying out— but whether it’s for him to stop or continue, you’re not entirely sure— your reasoning blurred into one big mess long ago. 

It doesn’t take long for Beomgyu to lose himself in the feeling of you; greedy, rough hands grasping at your skin, groping the soft skin of your thighs, your hips, wandering up to squeeze and toy with your breasts— and you can only lay there and take it all, watching him use you to satisfy himself, unable to help the way your cunt clenches and drools at the sight. His hips angle and his cock slams deep against you, hitting a spot he’s never hit before— and you stiffen, eyes rolling to the back of your head as you cry out. 

“Oh!” you yelp, tears pooling at your eyes, a hand slamming over your mouth at the sudden noise— but even so, your muffled cries still slip out from the cracks of your fingers. “O-Oh my—! ah—!”

“Why silence yourself?” Beomgyu laughs softly, slightly out of breath as he continues to cling to you, hips rutting wildly into you, chasing that familiar bliss he grew addicted to; he proceeds to aim for that particular spot over and over, watching tears ebb from the corners of your eyes, flowing down the sides of your face and dripping onto the pristine white marble of the altar table. “Go on, say it.”

“Say it, call out their name, let this whole sanctuary know how good it feels,” he hisses, face hovering over yours once more, eager to watch you crumble. 

“Call to your god,” he whispers, a soft moan falling between heavy breaths, feeling the way you squeeze and suck him in, your peak approaching much too fast for you to handle, “go on, pray that they forgive your sins and look past the way your tight cunt begs to keep this demon inside you.”

His cock feels like heaven inside you; it’s relentless, slamming into you as his hand falls from its tight hold on your thigh to your clit, rubbing tight circles that cause your body to tighten until it can no longer hold back. 

“Oh my God— Beomgyu!” you’re a drooling, tearful, pitiful sight as you finally crash down, sobbing and babbling words that blend together, your hands pulling at Beomgyu’s shirt until you’re bringing him down to you.

Beomgyu’s kiss is celestial. His lips slot perfectly against yours, a soft grunt escaping him as he finally cums inside you; thick, hot ropes of cum flooding your cunt, filling you until you can no longer hold it in— you tremble and you hold Beomgyu close to you throughout it all, your mind emptied out and craving nothing but him. 

Your eyes flutter shut; your body tingles, your hold on him weakening as you begin to slump back against the altar. It’s getting harder to move, sluggishly trying your best to keep up with Beomgyu’s sloppy kisses, your chest beginning to cave in as your lungs burn and beg for air. 

You want to pull away. You want to stop— yet, you find with a delayed horror that you can’t. 

Beomgyu won’t pull away; Beomgyu can’t pull away, feeling his arms snake beneath your figure, one wrapping around your waist tightly, the other slithering up your back and cradling the back of your head, holding it up so he can keep you as close to him as possible. 

Your vision has begun to blur; your hands have fallen limp at your sides. You feel weakened, only your lips able to move as they mindlessly follow after Beomgyu, sluggish and messy movements that go on whether you want to or not. 

Behind him, a crackling sound emits; the candles around you flicker wildly, divine feathers that were once proudly on display above you beginning to darken and fall, burning off and becoming a charred black— blood seeps from the crevices where feathers slip away, landing on top of you and on the altar you lay on. 

His wings are a shriveled, grisly sight. He’s transformed entirely before your very eyes, pulling away slowly and sighing softly into your parted lips. Slowly, his hands slither off you, laying you gently and standing straight to take in the mess he’s made. All you can do is stare back through bleary eyes. 

“My lamb,” he says affectionately, bringing a hand up to cup your face; it is only then that you’re able to notice the state of his hands, charred and injured, just like his wings, animal-like claws replacing his nails. They dig slightly into your skin as he smiles down at you, utterly enamored.

“I will cherish this ‘till kingdom come.”

His enchanting expression is the last thing you see. His claw moves faster than the human eye can process as it slices cleanly across the canvas of your neck. 

Your body jolts at the action, not a single shift in your expression as your body relaxes against the altar table. Your eyes remain open and dazed with pleasure.

Blood flows from the deep crack of his cut; it flows from your mouth as well, and all Beomgyu can do is watch as the color slowly fades from your skin, the light in your eyes no more. He looms over you in silence, lingering on even when he knows there’s nothing left for him there. A pool of your blood has formed around your head, a twisted halo that stains the marble. 

Beomgyu’s eyes remain transfixed on your wound, emotionless eyes watching the blood drip out steadily. Then, they begin to wander, trailing down until they stop at a certain point, hypnotized by the thought that suddenly enters his mind. 

Before he can second guess himself, Beomgyu’s hand hovers above your chest. 

It is not easy to reach your heart. It is an obscene and difficult process, though Beomgyu doesn’t bat an eye throughout it all; blood coats his forearm once he finally succeeds, a happy hum escaping him as he examines the item in his hands with fascination. 

It’s just as transcendent as the rest of you. Taking your life force was enough to make Beomgyu feel normal again, but with this, he’s sure that you would fuel his energy for the rest of his miserable eternity. 

His eyes soften; it’s so fragile, it drips onto his skin and sings to him, the last of your innocence begging to be released, to be given peace; instead, Beomgyu brings it closer to him, sighing slowly as he gets one last look at it.

And he bites. 

He can almost hear your voice, the memories trapped within as he closes his eyes, chewing and swallowing and biting again. Tilting his head back, he all but groans in satisfaction. 

His eyes slowly flutter open. He’s met with the chandeliers above him, the looming altar to his left calling his attention. Apathetically, his head lolls to the side, getting a better look at the statues that stand over him. Taking another bite, he feels blood leak onto his lips that curl into a sickly sweet smile.

He’s never tasted anything purer.

[faeriekit]

Frozen Out

Another phic phight fill, another day; this one's for @akela-nakamura. No one is allowed to say anything about my need for Far Frozen fics.

(Sister fics are Snow Day and Snowdrift Sanctuary)

Breakfast comes, and breakfast goes. Frostbite cooked last night, so it’s leftover soup. 

There’s some kind of bird meat in it that Danny’s vaguely aware of, and a root vegetable that’s basically a hardy onion. The grain in it is a wild rice that’s virtually identical to the one in the human world, supposedly; Danny never had wild rice while he was eating at his parents’ house, though, so it’s new to him. 

It’s interesting how it cracks and breaks apart on his tongue. The food’s different here, but the Far Frozen has food that mostly matches human cuisine in far climates. Sure, it’s made of ghost birds and ghost vegetables and ghost grains, but they’re at least recognizable as sea birds, vegetation, and grain. It’s not weird for him to eat food that looked like food. 

If Danny had moved in with Princess Dorathea the way she’d offered, he’d be eating ghosts that looked like people. 

Yeah. This is better. 

Danny likes his soup. It’s reheated on the stovetop so that it’s warm. 

His bowl goes beside the door— he’ll scrape the dishes in the snow later— and goes for his coat and boots. There’s gloves that Neuschnee, Tundra’s mom,  knitted for him, on tiny needles that would have been hard for him to manipulate even without her huge clawed hands. 

They’re very warm. They have little green and blue stripes and little blue snowflakes spun on yeti-fur yarn. He likes them a lot. 

Danny leaves the warm interior of the cave, takes a big breath, and wanders out towards the center of the settlement. 

There are lots of occupied caves in the Far Frozen. Some of them are constructed in ice, but many are formed from natural rock— or whatever passes as ‘natural’ in the Infinite Realms. Early history of yeti society is rocky; there’s apparently debate as to whether the yetis found the land while wandering the zone, whether the land spawned the people to occupy it as a deterrent against wanderers and interlopers, or whether they all came into being together. 

“Aren’t you immortal? Or, you know…long-lived? Long-dead?” Danny had asked, confused. “Weren’t you here the whole time?”

“Yes,” Frostbite had agreed easily. 

“So…shouldn’t you remember?” 

“There are theories about that as well,” Frostbite had pointed out, amused with Danny’s frustration. “As it is, we do not.” 

So. There’s that. 

That being said, Danny knows there’s a lot of history; Arctic can recite cycles of songs for five hundred seasons back, and he’s not over a hundred years old. 

Probably. 

Danny stops beside a snow drift and scratches his head through his thick hood. Is Arctic a hundred years old? 

…Anyway, Danny continues, trucking onwards, if he is, he has to adjust his worldview on teenage yetis. If he’s not, then that means that Danny’s right about part two of his plan, which includes the vague idea that a society of yetis with an advanced medical techniques and application probably has a library somewhere. 

Or. You know. So he hopes. Man, if they pass down the entirety of their medical knowledge through oral tradition, Danny’s going to be screwed. Either way, he’s just in time to wander into Pritla’s glacial alcove before they’re finished with their own breakfast— a fish, apparently, devoured by sharp teeth and a huge maw. 

“Morning,” Danny greets, because he’s polite that way. He knows Pritla knows he’s here. Everyone so far has made fun of how loudly he walks. 

“Good morning, Phantom,” Pritla greets back, blue tongue licking bits of fish out from between huge fangs. Danny’s human right now, but for some reason, using his human name is culturally weird to them. It must be less intuitive, or something. It’s not like they can’t recognize him either way. “Is there something you’re missing?”

“No, thank you.” Last time he was here, it was because Jazz had sent over his workbooks and worksheets with pencils and no sharpener. Once the tips had snapped, it had all been over. “Is there a library?” 

Pritla’s furry eyebrows rise up over their brow ridge. “Did you expect there not to be one?” 

Danny’s nose squishes. “No. I assumed there is one. I just don’t know where it would be.”

The yeti’s eyes roll up to the ceiling; honestly, Danny knows that they do hard work for Frostbite, but they’re kind of annoying. “Have you tried downstairs?” 

“...Downwhat,” says Danny. 

So. It turns out. Far Frozen goes down. 

Like, there’s a hole in the ice, and it goes down— down long steps carved straight out of the ice, into blue-glowing tunnels woven with streams of rock and salt. 

“...Huh,” Danny observes. “Down.”

“Indeed,” Prita rumbles. The yeti turns, their bulk and form imposing as they head back up the stairs. “Everything is etched into the walls; feel free to make any copies of the writings you find. The farther down you go, the newer the writing becomes.”

“Thank you!” Danny hollers back, finally feeling some sense of burgeoning accomplishment. He’s almost there; all he has to do is take something impressive down, and get it copied onto something portable. He has old blank scrap paper stuck into his pockets. This should be easy. He feels very confident in reading into the yetis’ written cultural knowledge…

…And then notices that it’s written in an entirely different syllabary. 

Right. Danny wants to bang his head on the ice wall. Universally spoken ghost language, entirely different societal interpretation. Shoot. 

Interpreting this will take him ages. 

Still, Danny settles in; there’s no rush. He wasn’t supposed to have lessons today, since Tundra caught a wheeze and now he’s being all whiny about it, so he has all the time until dinner to copy and to get some graphite rubbings off the wall. 

Danny pulls up one of the carved stools, sits his butt down, and writes. 

*

“Frostbite?” 

Frostbite looks down. Danny smashes his face into the yeti’s fur; it’s hardly even a blow to his guardian, and it’s apparently instinctual for cubs to do something similar anyway. So. It’s a very affectionate gesture, even if it feels like playing rough to Danny. 

And Danny gets petted by a giant yeti hand. There are many advantages to living in the Far Frozen. 

Frostbite rumbles something, but Danny can’t actually hear him through the fur. He pokes his head out to get a listen. 

“—Good day?” 

“Mmhmm.” It had been productive, anyway. “I saw the library.” 

“The hall of records?” Frostbites ask, his voice a gentle rumble. Danny leans into the sound. “Ambitious of you. Did you learn anything new?”

Danny had. So he talks about the loss of the rainy seasons for snowy ones and The Year That It Rained Upwards, and about drifting too far against the edge of the Infinite Realms until they smashed into another kingdom and were forced to fight. He talks about the process of washing starlight moss until it becomes food instead of vegetation, and he talks about what it says about birthing traditions, and what it means to be Never-borne in a people that had probably never once lived in the human world.

Or maybe they had? There were some theories downstairs that speculated that they were the ghosts of real Yetis. Danny hadn’t known what to think. He’d taken the notes down anyway, because…well…what if they are? What if they’re all that’s left of the human world’s yeti population: ectoplasmic imprints and non-living beings??  

Frostbite knows everything Danny tells him about. Obviously. He was there for almost everything, too. But he lets Danny ramble on in a way that his parents never had, letting Danny explain his own history to him with new eyes and new words. It’s cathartic. Danny clings to Frostbite’s fur as the yeti walks around their living space, skinning and deboning Sky Whale meat to add to tonight’s meal. An adolescent human really weighs nothing to him. It’s so funny. 

“I am glad to know that you are able to take advantage of the histories,” Frostbite rumbles. Danny preens. “What encouraged you to seek them out?” 

Danny goes quiet. 

Frostbite looks over his shoulder to look at Danny, but lets Danny resolve his silence on his own terms. 

“...I wanted to see. If.” Danny licks his lips. Frostbite hums, showing that he’s listening. “If…if there’s records of a real ghost society, with its own language and culture and everything…they’ve gotta listen, right?”

The round knife in Frostbite’s hand stills. 

“They always say that…that ghosts are just pretending, that there’s nothing to ghost consciousness, that there’s nothing to anyone’s existence in the afterlife. But there’s records.” Danny’s throat tightens. “There’s known history. There’s language and a syllabary and…and there’s political conflict and agriculture and advanced medical care and weather charts. That has to be enough proof. If I show it to them, then they should be able to see.”

The knife gets set down. Frostbite wipes his hands on a towel. Danny can’t see his face. 

“It’s gotta be enough,” Danny tries again. His throat hurts. His eyes itch. But he thinks he could be right. “So if I show it to them, and they see it, and they see how far back the knowledge goes, and how careful everyone is to take care of each other and how nice everyone is and how good, and…and…”

Frostbite’s hug is soft, and warm. It’s amazing, and it’s not his Dad’s. Danny’s Dad is never going to hug him again. 

Danny cries. 

“Oh, little one,” Frostbite hums, and his face looks just as pained as Danny feels. “Little Phantom, it’s not safe for you to return to them, even to drop off records. If they had wanted to know more of the Infinite Realms, they would have tried to search them. I do not think that they are willing to listen, and I am too afraid to risk your health to see if they would change their minds when confronted with evidence.” 

He sobs. “But, but,” Danny cries, his throat torn with emotion. The hug pins his arms so his sides, so he just ends up snotting into his guardian’s fur. “...But I need them.” 

“I know, little one.” 

“They loved me,” Danny cries, because he knows that it had been true— that, once upon a time, there had been a family made of Jazz, Danny, Mom, and Dad. “They… Frostbite, I miss them so bad!”

Frostbite’s arms tighten. He lowers himself to the ground, until Danny is in a nest of yeti fur and pain and devastation and little else. 

“I know, little one,” Frostbite says, because there’s no other reassurance he can give. 

“I won’t… They’ll never want to see me again!”

“...I am so sorry,” Frostbite murmurs, endlessly patient with him. His ears are pulled back, his eyes taut with stress. 

He can’t help it. He breaks down. 

Danny clings. He cries— long, and loud, because pretending that he had a home to go back to had only worked until it stopped. He wants to go home. He wants to pretend to be all-human again. 

He’ll never go home. He’ll never pretend to be all-human again. 

He’ll do his lessons and Jazz will ferry his schoolwork to and from Casper High but he’ll never live with her again— never do his homework on her bed, never watch Dr. Phil with her on the couch, never eat lazy breakfasts with her or spend nights wondering if she’d come home safe from her date. 

Sam and Tucker can visit, but they’ll never be able to stay; every trip will be stolen, surreptitious, since they don’t have a reason to be in his house anymore. No more Tucker and Sam gaming nights. No more trips to catch dinner together at the Nasty Burger.

No more Ops Center. No more house. 

No more of Danny’s bedroom. 

Because otherwise, Mom and Dad would know. And they would get him. 

Mom and Dad don’t love him anymore. And…that’s the end of it.

So Danny cries himself out. Wipes off his nose with his undershirt sleeve. Resolves to get over himself. It hurts, because everything hurts, but there’s still life to be lived, kind of. Probably. 

Presumably. 

He doesn’t let go of Frostbite, though, who doesn’t let go of him; so Danny ends up eating his rare Sky Whale stew on a furry throne made of guardian yeti, blearily shoving food in his mouth until his stomach stops cramping. 

Frostbite puts him back into his coat, one arm at a time. Frostbite carries him out of their cave, even though it’s usually time for a bright night’s nap after dinner. Whatever. Danny doesn't have the energy to ask what’s happening to him. 

In the end, though, Danny does recognize Tundra’s Mom’s glacial ice cavern, since no one else has such carefully carved walls. 

Frostbite doesn’t ask, and Neuschnee doesn’t disrupt; she sits, calm, carving a soapstone block, as Danny gets laid down on their woven carpet. 

Danny blinks. 

Frostbite goes, and comes back— and Neuschnee smiles wryly as Tundra gets placed down beside Danny, fast asleep and dreaming of cars. 

Danny’s never been in such a huge, furry cuddle pile before, but as Frostbite lays down, his huge shoulder pushing him into Tundra’s smaller form in a cascade of ghost dominoes…

It’s nice. 

Danny will never have back what he had, but he has this. 

…That can be enough. Right?

Danny doesn’t know the answer for sure, but he falls asleep still thinking about it, the scrape of knife on stone all that he can hear. 

…Sure. This can be enough for now. 

[woniefull]

we can't be friends

hi guys!! this is my very first piece of writing! constructive criticism is always welcomed. please don't mind any grammatical/spelling errors. i wrote this at 2 in the morning and just wanted to do something fun. i still have a lot of room for improvement but i hope you guys enjoy!

warning: little angsty

song: we can't be friends (wait for your love) - ariana grande

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

he was the sweetest boy to you when you had first met. his puppy eyes, gorgeous smile, and brown fluffy hair were what drew you in. his flirty words towards you, and only you, had you captivated in a heartbeat. 

that’s why you couldn’t believe what was unfolding in front of you right now.

“oh god please don’t start.” jake groaned as you stared at him with angry eyes. or was it hurt? he couldn’t tell. 

“i’m not starting anything! if anything you are! why are you still talking to your ex after the countless times she’s crossed the boundaries in our relationship? i’ve told you how i feel about her!" your voice croaked and you felt helpless.

you had always tried your best to not be that jealous girlfriend everyone hates. but how could you? jake was attractive and every girl tried to get at him. it didn’t help that he was oblivious to the advances the women around him would give. that’s why you would get angry, but never at him. 

“how many times do i have to tell you that she came up to me? i was just being polite by having a conversation with her”.

jake was sitting on the couch now. his hands covering his face, unaware of the tears forming in your eyes.

it always came down to this. you voicing your problem with jake entertaining other girls and him trying to reassure you.

trying.

you both were growing tired of the constant arguing. 

“jake she was pushing herself all up on you and you just stood there! can you imagine how that made me feel? watching my boyfriend have another girl's hands all over him as if she were the girlfriend?” you were hurt. it hurt. all of this hurt. you knew this wasn’t your boyfriend’s fault. he had always been a gentleman, one of the many qualities you loved about him. but his next words made you second-guess yourself.

“that’s just her character, doll. she’s always been like that from the moment i met her. this jealousy thing of yours really needs to stop, it’s not cute anymore”. jake almost immediately regretted his words as he saw your reaction. he knew he was wrong.

“you think i do this to be cute? am i joke to you?” you cried out.

you don’t remember when everything went wrong. you don’t remember the last time you felt secure in your relationship. maybe you weren’t ready for all of this. 

“no, love i’m sorry i didn’t mean that” jake said as he quickly got up and made his way towards you.

“i’m so sorry, i just had a difficult day that’s all”. he slipped his arm around your waist and used the other to wipe your tears away.

“jake”

he looked at your eyes.

no

“whatever you’re about to say please don’t” jake pleaded.

“jake i just think we aren’t ready for this. for us”. you started to sob again. 

“i think we need to let each other go. we need to grow and learn to understand ourselves before we can understand each other".

“please” jake said as he dipped his head into your neck.

you let him stay there for a while before you detached yourself from him. it was hard to because jake wouldn’t let go. he knew it would be a while before he held you again. 

“i’m sorry jake, i really am” you said with a small smile, trying your best not to completely break down again. 

“no i’m sorry, this is all my fault.”

“we both had fault in this jake, don’t blame yourself.”

you both stood there for a moment, observing each other. it was as if you guys were taking in your last moments together. 

“i’m leaving now jake”. you wasted no time in collecting your things in order to head to the front door. 

“thank you for everything, really. i know things didn’t end how we wanted them to but some of my best memories were with you. thank you jake”. 

jake just stood there, still in disbelief at how quickly things had unraveled. 

right as you were about to walk out he calls to you.

“can we still be friends?” a little hope is visible in his eyes. he hopes that you say yes so that he’s able to see you again.

“we can’t be friends”. and just like that you were gone. the only evidence of you ever being there was jake’s broken heart.

i’ll wait for your love jake thinks as he slowly walks over to the sofa and slumps down.

[lauvgoods]

head over heels  ︱  jj maybank

SUMMARY : jj makes it his mission to find out how you feel

WORD COUNT : 851

GENRE : fluff

WARNINGS : none

𐙚₊˚⊹ 🦢 you’ll forever deny it, but it’s clear to anyone who has ever seen the two of you that jj maybank is your kryptonite. 

even before you realized you liked him, he would be the first to make you crack a smile, rolling your eyes at how absolutely stupid he was being. he knew how absolutely stupid he was being, but if it got you to laugh, he’d do anything. there was just something about those big blue eyes of his and that dumb, dumb grin that would chip away at your annoyed exterior, and you hated it. 

for jj, on the other hand, he had already been planning out in the back of his mind a thousand ways to ask you out if he could just get a foolproof sign of you liking him. 

it takes a little over three months in for you to realize how much you’re genuinely falling for him and, as you’ve told yourself, how could you not? lots of people go on rants about how much the person they like is different from everyone else, but with jj it’s undeniably true. this boy, oh this boy, shows more interest in you as a person than anyone you’ve ever met, friend or otherwise. he knows how to poke and prod at you without crossing any lines, which you find odd since he isn’t exactly known for having the best verbal filter. 

It’s like he somehow keeps track of everything he can find out just to surprise you out of nowhere with just how much he seems to remember (yet somehow can’t keep track of the date). the book you talked about wanting to read three weeks ago? “you ever get to that? talked about it nonstop for half an hour, how ‘m i supposed to forget that?” that one song you’ve randomly mumbled the lyrics to while cleaning? “yeah, looked it up ‘n it seemed pretty catchy.” even down to what you talked about wanting for your birthday months in advance. this boy makes it his mission to know every single little thing he can about you. he totally doesn’t put it all down in his notes app to come back to later on.

the point is, jj’s never seemed to be a romantic, and maybe at first he’d thought of you as a challenge. a mission. a puzzle to work out. and damn if he’s not determined. there hadn’t been a sign that you were interested when he would start calling you all these little nicknames in a hope to get even the smallest reaction out of you, though it’s clear he doesn’t know about the silent screaming WHATTHEFUCKWHATTHEFUCK looping in your head every time he calls you “baby” with, again, that stupid smirk of his. as far as he knows, it just makes you get this weird look on your face and you freeze up before pretending like it never happened.

it’s one night when he’s going on and on (and on) about this after a few drinks with john b. where his best friend just starts looking at him with the most deadpan look on his face, like he’s an absolute idiot. which, after he realizes, he can’t help but agree with, since he’d never thought of your lack of reaction as a reaction. thinking back, he doesn’t know how he didn’t see it sooner, seeing as the guys you usually rant angrily about to him later on for even thinking they’d had a chance. he was the one you always went to even though kiara would probably have been more than happy to agree with you on every bit of it. 

the next time he calls you princess, he doesn’t let it go. he doesn’t go along with you trying to switch up the conversation, doesn’t even have that smirk this time that’s always made you think he was just being, well, jj. he just looks at you with a look you haven’t really noticed before, probably because you’ve been a little too in your head to pick up on it. that, and he mostly saves it for when you aren’t looking, when he can really take you in for everything you are. 

it’s that look, that deep gaze that makes you feel like he’s staring into your soul and like you’re the most incredible thing he’s ever laid eyes on, that finally gets the reaction out of you. the one he’s been hoping for. the moment your cheeks start to go warm, start to turn the slightest shade darker, is when he breaks out into the biggest grin you’ve ever seen. you’re so caught up in it that you haven’t even noticed how close he is, how close you’re getting to him. 

but it’s when he whispers in what’s probably the softest tone you’ve ever heard, asking if he can kiss you, and you’re nodding before you can even realize what’s happening because your heart is suddenly pounding and you can barely focus with how your stomach is doing backflips, that you truly realize how head over heels you are for him. 🕯️⋆˙ᝰ.ᐟ

[chaoticbardlady99]

Yesterday I Felt like Dancing (Astarion x GN! Reader)

Synopsis: You have burnt both ends of the candle and haven’t been taking care of your mental health. Unable to get yourself out of bed, Astarion begins to worry about you…

Author note- I have been hardcore struggling with my mental health lately and writing my silly little fics has been the only thing pulling me along. I thought it might be therapeutic to write about my current feelings (I have ADHD, MDD, and GAD so it’s a party up in here). I hope you enjoy!

CW- Suicidal Ideation, symptoms of depression, brief outburst, mentions of mental health diagnosis and poor medical advice.

Title inspired by song “Into the Walls” by Griff.

*not my pic, could not tell you where I found it so I apologize in advance. If you think it might be your picture, please message me so I can give proper credit.

Your last day before backtracking from the Mountain Pass to the Goblin camp is a difficult one.

Not for the group as a whole- just you specifically.

Days before a Mindflayer kidnapped you, a healer back home had told you your brain was sick. You had been devastated- resigned to your miserable fate.

You had been struggling for years at that point with inconsistent motivation, exhaustion, nightmares, and irrational thoughts for months. You have been functional for the most part, but then an overpowering wave will hit you like Warhammer in the ribs and you are rendered useless until it passes.

The healer suggested sunlight, exercise, eating healthy, and spending time with friends to help your affliction when you hit rock bottom. You were wildly unimpressed with her. At the time, you preferred to self isolate so you stayed by yourself in the woods trying to find peace there. You would have to let her know that her “going out and enjoying the sun” message is not always wise- you may get a tadpole shoved in your head. You can’t be that mad though- the tadpole helped bring your pep back.

Anyway, you have been doing all of that for weeks now, you even felt great, but today? You could not have hit rock bottom harder even if you tried.

You woke up that morning unable to get yourself out of bed. It was a rest day so it wasn’t a big deal, but you also know that your companions are going to have things they need to talk to you about and favors they need you to take care of.

Gods you had tried to get up. You are grateful that your past self had the gumption to wash off and change into clean clothes last night, but your armor is still disgustingly sitting outside your tent and your hair is long and wild. You had wanted to braid it, but it all felt like too much work.

Everything feels like too much work right now- even staying awake- so you drift in and out of uncomfortable naps throughout the morning. No matter how many times you fall asleep, begging for relief from the painful brick wall sitting on your brain, it never leaves.

You can feel the midday breeze rustle your tent. You’ve been laying here for hours now. You are crying and you honestly aren’t sure why. You feel completely paralyzed by all the things you need to do to be ready for the Underdark.

You need to clean your armor, go over the Goblin Camp’s map with Wyll, find Gale a magical artifact, and probably comfort Lae’zel since she’s been branded a heretic- but you won’t. The shame and self loathing continues. You are a silly, worthless little human being.

Every person who knocks on your tent gets a simple, “I’m just not feeling well,” and then they walk away. You don’t know why it makes you more sad than appreciative. If you were in their shoes- you would be bending over backwards to make sure they had everything they needed and you wouldn’t let them feel alone. Then you resent yourself for feeling that way towards your companions- they don’t owe you anything and you were the one who chose to help them- you didn’t ask for anything in return. This is all your fault.

The only person who hadn’t come to visit you was Astarion- which hurt your heart just a little, enough that the numbness coursing thickly through your body wavered for a moment. You are quite smitten and he is obviously not. Another mistake to add to the swirling black hole your mind has fallen into.

You knew it was stupid to want his comfort and affections- you had merely slept together a little less than a week ago. Astarion has been quasi avoiding you ever since and when he does talk to you- he’s awkward. You constantly look for flying pigs- Astarion feeling awkward or being awkward is unheard of.

You have come to accept that you were just some tryst and obviously he hadn’t enjoyed it as much as he said he did.

Astarion isn’t to blame and the situation itself certainly didn’t contribute to the sudden lack of emotions. You knew that you were on the verge of a mental collapse sooner rather than later, but you had foolishly hoped you wouldn’t be alone through it. It feels less all consuming when you try to find a reason. It’s more comfortable to know than it is to give up and say, “my brain is fucked and there isn’t a damn thing I can do so I guess I’m stuck here.”

You are jolted out of your thoughts by another knock on your tent.

“I’m sick,” you say flatly.

“Ha- you act like that will deter me. I can’t even get sick, Darling.”

Before you even have time to register that Astarion is on the other side of your tent- he pushes his way through the flaps and stares down at you in confusion. And… concern?

Astarion steps inside and kneels down next to you- scanning you for evidence of illness or injury.

“I suppose I had been worried for nothing,” he smiles sweetly at you, “you are totally fine. Come on Darling, you have to get up and eat. Wyll is fumbling with that map.”

You look at him and begin to cry. Astarion’s face lights up with alarm.

“What- what did I do!?”

“Please don’t make me,” you sob, “I just want a break. I’m so tired. I want to lay in this bed forever and never leave, but there is so much to do and it’s paralyzing.”

You continue to cry and you cover yourself with the extra blanket- successfully hiding your face.

“Go away,” you whisper, “I need to be left alone.”

You say it, but you are far from meaning it. You want him to stay- to hold you- but he doesn’t want you so it will only make everything hurt worse once the numbness fades away.

You wait for several moments and then you hear him leave. Your silent cry turns into choked sobs and your body is shaking from the pain you are in. The numbness hurts. The numbness tells you that you shouldn’t be alive.

Maybe you shouldn’t be.

Everyone here would be able to figure it out on their own (eventually) and you would finally be free. Free of your uncomfortable brain, free of your ugly body- free of the expectations of others. You would no longer be holding them back like you are today- like you will again in the future.

You are sure they would temporarily grieve you, but that was the deal with this whole journey. You had all accepted that one of you or all of you could die at any moment. You will just put them in more danger by being here…

You shake the thought from your head, violently- your head is pounding from the growing tension headache and dehydration. The tears eventually stop and you just… well, lay in bed again. You stare blankly at a book over in the corner. You keep trying to convince yourself to get up and read the damn thing- do literally ANYTHING else than just stay here in your bedroll.

Instead, you fall asleep.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

You wake up to someone knocking on your tent post. You grumble incoherently, covering your head and you hear your unexpected guest sit down next to you. The smell of food fills the tent and your stomach grumbles.

“You need to eat, my Dear,” Astarion says softly.

You are stunned to hear his voice grace your ears. You slowly pull the blanket down to just below your eyes and look at him. Astarion looks distressed, like he doesn’t want to be here. Why would he? You’re a nuisance.

You sit up gingerly and grab the bowl from him. You manage to give him a lopsided smile.

“Thanks. You don’t need to stay, I will be fine on my own,” you say apathetically, staring into the broth.

“I want to stay,” he says, “if you’ll have me.”

The expression on his face is unreadable, but he seems genuine. You nod, your lips pressed together tightly. You eat as much as you feel like while Astarion studies you.

Usually your anxiety is at an all time high (in maybe one of the better ways) when you are around Astarion- he gives you butterflies, butterflies, and even more butterflies. Usually your heart is racing in his presence, but right now you just feel empty.

“Where is your hairbrush?” Astarion asks.

You frown with confusion, “it’s in my bag, why?”

Astarion gets up and goes over to the bag- digging out a few items. He pulls out a lantern, your hairbrush, and a hair tie. Astarion comes over to you and sits down behind you. You feel him gather up the stray pieces of your hair and get to work.

Astarion runs his fingers through your scalp and your tangled hair- the feeling is soothing and it opens something inside of you. Your body shakes silently with sobs and you feel the worm behind your eyes wiggle as Astarion asks for access. You aren’t sure.

“I want to understand,” Astarion says, “please.”

His voice is so raw and desperate- you swallow thickly before allowing him to explore your current emotional state. The silence in the tent is palpable and you feel tense, uncomfortable even. No one has ever cared for you while you are in this state before.

You feel him continue his hairbrushing after he exits your mind. Astarion leaves soft kisses on your shoulder as he gently pulls apart every knot. It helps- you realize- to feel cared for. The numbness still hurts, you still hurt, but it’s nice to not feel so alone.

After Astarion is done brushing your hair, you feel his delicate fingers begin to intricately braid your hair. You wonder when he learned how to do hair.

“Leon’s daughter, Victoria, used to ask me to braid her hair all the time,” Astarion says in a bittersweet voice as if reading your mind, “I picked it up so that she would stop bugging me about it. She said and I quote, ‘you have the perfect braiding hands!’”

You smile to yourself tenderly, “That’s very kind of you, Star. I am sure she appreciated it as much as I appreciate it now.”

You feel Astarion’s hands falter at your words and you are unsure if you have upset him or not. A pregnant pause occurs before Astarion finally clears his throat and goes back to braiding your hair.

“I’m glad that I can help,” Astarion’s delicate, vulnerable words hang in the air, “I’ve… been worried about you today.”

You feel positively flustered and bad for making him feel that way.

“Oh you don’t need to worry about silly ole me! This happens sometimes” you make your voice chirpier than it needs to be, “This is actually the longest I’ve gone for a long time without this happening. I have theorized that the tadpole might help which is kinda cool- I think?”

You laugh awkwardly- desperate to ease his worry.

“How often does this happen?”

Shit. That was the winning question wasn’t it? Astarion will surely never see you as anything less than broken now.

“I’m not really sure,” your voice comes out in a whisper, “I usually always feel a bit of it all the time, but it’s manageable. I function very well regardless.”

“But this one isn’t manageable and evidently you aren’t functional right now.”

You sigh, “No, it isn’t and no, I’m not.”

“What changed?”

“Nothing,” you say, maybe too harshly, “that’s the part that drives me crazy. Yesterday was incredible- I was on top of the whole world, felt like dancing and screaming from the rooftops, but today!?”

You inhale and hold back the muted scream that wants to fill the air.

“Today,” you hiss, “I don’t even want to deal with any of this shit anymore. I’m so fucking tired. There is too much to fucking do and too many people depending on me. Then everyone gets irritated with me if I ask to push off their problems so I persevere through it despite knowing I’m getting bad again. I’m a giant stinking trash heap that everyone keeps adding more to.”

Astarion finishes braiding your hair and presses your back to his chest, pulling you into him. He puts his arms around your waist and settles his chin and face in between the crook of your neck.

“I just feel like such a nuisance all the time- no matter how hard I push myself to prove I’m not. Sometimes I think everyone would be better off if I just… went away.”

You both sit there quietly. At some point he had taken one of your hands in his and he was tracing shapes into the back of it with his thumb. Your omission still hangs heavily in the air.

“I wouldn’t be better off,” Astarion says hotly, “I’d be stuck with all these weirdos by myself. That would be truly miserable, Darling.”

You shake your head, a half smile on your face.

“And besides- you are not even close to a nuisance,” Astarion states, leaving a kiss on your cheek, “at least you aren’t in constant need of magical objects to eat or blood to drink. Oh and you don’t require a painstaking amount of searching to prevent you from literally burning everyone alive.

“Oh and did I forget to mention, we have not one, but two women who despise each other and follow hateful Goddesses which was a fun choice for whatever sick bastard twisted our fates this way.”

You laugh breathily, closing your eyes and letting the sound defrost some of your insides.

“What I’m saying is- I think you are the least of everyone’s ‘nuisances’, my Darling,” he says, squeezing you tighter to his chest, “despite how little you think of yourself. We ne- no, I want you to stay. I know everyone else would say the same, but I must emphasize that I would be horribly distraught if you disappeared. Hells I’d even pay to have you resurrected.”

You gasp playfully, your voice falling slightly flat, “You? The most frugal man I have ever met would pay 200 gold coins to ‘Strike thy name from the record’?”

Your impression of Withers gets Astarion to genuinely laugh- the sound vibrating in your chest. You lean into him and he guides you back to laying down. Astarion entangles his legs with yours as he holds you tightly- your faces are mere centimeters apart. You love the way Astarion smells- rosemary, bergamot, and brandy. You wish you could be wrapped up in him forever. You are still in pain- everything still hurts and feels too difficult, but right now it feels a little less heavy.

“I would throw bags of Gold Coins at that corpse out of revenge, my Dear,” he teases, “you couldn’t possibly think I would ever let you rest peacefully in your grave- I would be far too angry with you and unhappy without you to let that happen.”

You lay there and despite yourself, you lean forward and leave butterfly kisses along his cheeks with your lashes. Astarion scrunches up his nose reflexively and smiles at you. You plant a sweet, short kiss on his lips.

“Thank you Astarion- for everything.”

You close your eyes as he traces circles along your lower back. Your eyes begin to droop, and you fall asleep.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

When you wake up the next morning- you are disappointed to find that you are all alone in your tent. The heavy numbness is still there and you sigh. At least last night made it more bearable.

You look on the side where Astarion had been sleeping and find a note with a bottle attached to it. You pick it up and begin to read.

Tav,

Astarion had asked me about herbs for some relief regarding mental discomforts. I unfortunately don’t know many, but this is a mixture of St. John’s Wort, Valerian Root, and Ashwagandha. Historically, I know these have been used to alleviate emotional and mental pain.

Astarion didn’t tell me why he was asking, but I deduced it was you pretty quickly when he began shooing everyone away from your tent this morning.

I hope this helps- we are all here if you need us. May Silvanus light your path as you navigate this difficult time.

-Halsin

You sit in your own stunned silence for what feels like hours. Halsin knows and he wants to help? Halsin doesn’t think you are screwed or a nuisance? The man barely even knows you!

You are a bit embarrassed, but you can’t help but laugh at the image of Astarion telling everyone to leave you alone.

You open the bottle and a pleasant, earthy smell fills the tent. You drink the mixture (that definitely does not taste anywhere near as pleasant as it smells) and you do feel a slight bit better. Your apathy feels even more tolerable now. You will have to thank Halsin.

You slowly rise from your tent and look around. Everything is packed up neatly in the corner- your clothes from the previous day are folded nicely and you notice all the holes are sewn up.

You jump when someone enters your tent abruptly- the midday sun warming your skin. You turn around and Astarion is smiling at you, but looks nervous.

“I cleaned off your armor and your weapons,” he says awkwardly, scratching the back of his head, “I also packed up your stuff- as you can see. We have to start leaving unfortunately, but I’ll help you get on your armor like I usually do- I might still need help with mine though, but I can ask someone else if it’s too much for you right now. Lae’zel and Karlach offered to pack up your tent. Wyll and Shadowheart figured out the map- Wyll is going to be our ‘fearless’ leader for the day. Gale has some food for you to snack on while we travel- which you will be eating, by the way.”

Astarion is looking at you with a vulnerable expression on his face. He plays nervously with the gold coin in his hands.

You can hardly believe what you are hearing.

“Did- did you do all this for me?” You say with disbelief.

You never thought Astarion was capable of smiling shyly until he had admitted to you that you had been his first thinking creature- you certainly never thought you’d see him become shy twice in your presence.

“I did and it wasn’t a nuisance so don’t even begin to worry about that,” He walks over to you, gently cradling your face in his hands, “I hope this is all okay.”

You smile- the first genuine feeling of happiness you’ve felt in the last 24 hours gently sparks in your chest as you stare up at him. You get up on your tiptoes and bridge the gap between your lips.

“Thank you Astarion, this is perfect- you are perfect,” you are crying tears of joy, “this is the kindest gesture anyone has ever made for me. So just, thank you.”

“Of course, Darling,” he says smiling in between kisses, “I won’t let you lose to yourself. We’ll get through this together from now on- no more hiding.”

And for once? You actually believe someone.

-if you guys like this, please let me know if you would want a part two written from Astarion’s perspective.

Update- I did the thing you silly geese

https://www.tumblr.com/chaoticbardlady99/735969926279528448/i-took-all-this-love-i-found-and-i-hope-that-its

Tag-list: @spacebarbarianweird @domainoflostsouls

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

The Detour 1

Warnings: non/dubcon, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Characters: Thor

Summary: You find yourself stranded in a small village.

Part of the Backwoods AU

Note: So this is an idea I had for a while but I just know I wouldn't get to do it full length for chapters but I hope it's fun.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

You watch the green landscape pass outside the window. The tow truck rattles, almost to a concerning degree, as it chuffs down the winding country road. The driver, a man who calls himself Vol, sings along loudly to the radio as you make yourself small in the passenger seat.

This isn’t how you saw your road trip going. You don’t understand why something always has to go wrong. Even with your utmost efforts, there’s always some hitch.

You go over it all in your head. An oil change, standard check-up, some adjustments. All that on a nearly new model and you still ended up stranded. A flat tire but you don’t have a spare. The man promises one back at his shop. 

Whatever it costs, you don’t care. You’re annoyed at the time spent on this ridiculous mishap. It does seem to occur often that each time you attempt to do something for yourself, that there must be some disaster. It’s why you haven’t tried anything of the sort in years.

You look in the mirror and see the edge of your car strapped to the bed of the truck. You should’ve done the train. The view along the cross country rail is allegedly quite resplendent but you didn’t like the idea of having to abide by a schedule not your own. Once again, your stubbornness nips you in the rear.

The man slaps the steering wheel along to the beat of the music. You don’t mind the song, it’s considered a classic of the genre, but does it need to be so loud? You cross your arms and huff, the noise of your displeasure drowned out by the crackling speakers.

Country houses stand on hills and fields sprawl with freshly sowed fields. You try to imagine a life here, away from the bustling furor of the city. That thought makes your chest want to collapse. You couldn’t do it. You are urban to the core.

As you come to the heart of the village, the houses are placed closer but not clustered. Only along the sparse row of their ‘downtown’ do buildings dare to touch. It’s after five and the shops are all closed for the day.

“Garage is just behind Mary’s place,” the man turns down the radio, “we’ll get a better look at the damage.” He assures you, peeking at you in the rear view, “these old country roads aren’t meant for speeding.”

“I wasn’t…” you cut yourself off. You won’t argue. You just want a new tire, “right, thank you.”

He chuckles, nonplussed by your curtness. He steers around another long bend in the road. Why must everything be so tedious and slow? He shuttles up to a bright red structure that resembles a barn. Across the moniker, hand painted nonetheless, is the name Volstagg’s. He flips the stick to park and kills the engine.

“Here,” he proclaims, pausing as his eyes pinpoint through the windshield, “ah, of course.”

He clicks his seat belt and lets it repel. He swings open the door so violently it shakes the entire vehicle. You furrow your brow as he hops down and hollers. What on earth is he doing?

“...working. What d’you want?” Is all you catch through his chortling grit.

“Good to see you too, friend,” another voice counters, even deeper and smooth like silk. Great, another of the village folk.

You undo your seat belt and check your reflection in the side mirror. You open the door and plant your heel on the little metal step below the door. You let yourself down but stumble at the still jarring height of the truck cabin. You cling to the door as you gain your balance.

You shut it with a creak and a clang. Your soles mulch in the dusty gravel as you follow the voices. You clear your throat, facing the men chattering on the other side of the truck. You bring your hands to your hips in a show of your irritation.

“Hullo,” you sneer, “my tire, sir.”

The bearded redhead, Vol, and his companion, a blond even taller and blonder, look over at you with curious expressions. Their faces tint from surprised to amused. You want to roll your eyes. Your stature rarely affords you dignity.

“Yes, ma’am,” the redhead shows his large palm apologetically, “forgive me,” he faces the other man, “as you see, I have work to do.”

“So I see,” the other man drawls, his gaze stuck on you, “you are visiting Hammer Ford?” 

You curl your lip, “never. Passing through,” you turn and stride away, towards the front of the building as Vol gets back in his truck. 

The blond jogs in front of the high bumper, waving at the driver, as he crosses over to you. You keep your back to him as you strut up the edge of the dirt lot. You try to ignore him as you watch the mechanic angle around to bring your car along the front of the garage, steering the bed towards the doors.

“Passing through. On your way to…?”

“None of your concern,” you sniff, “I only need a new tire and I’ll be gone.”

“Ah, that’s too bad. This is a lovely village. Quaint. You might like it here,” he muses, “a woman like yourself, you might find it novel.”

“A woman like me?” You challenge, facing him at last, well, facing his torso. You look up, “how am I like, sir?”

“Well, from the city presumably,” he tosses back as if mocking your tone, “city folk tend to endear themselves to the quiet here.”

“Mmm,” you accept with a purse of your lips, “I’ll be off as soon as my tire is fixed. I have more important places to be.”

“Fair,” he shrugs, “you do seem rather… important.” He emphasizes the last word, echoing your own statement. You squint and turn away again. You’ll be gone soon enough.

“Vol,” he spins with a holler, bounding off to bother the other man as he works at placing the loading ramps against the truck bed, “before I go…”

His voice trails off as he claps the other man’s shoulder, his volume dropping notably. You slowly drag your heels towards them, receiving another glimpse from the blond’s sea blue eyes. He smirks before he releases his comrade from his bearlike grasp.

“Good day, lady,” he bows his head in exaggerated gallantry, “not to worry, Volstagg always takes special care of the pretty ones.”

[elliehase-blog]

Into the unknown

“Ah, Halloween. It makes the heart happy.” Patton turns the lollipop in his mouth, savouring the sweet taste, before removing it with a popping sound. He smiles. “There’s something about it.”

“Oh, there’s many things about it.”

Leaves crackle as Janus saunters past him. As always, he is impeccably dressed, a long coat, hat and yellow gloves. He stares into the distance and Patton wonders what he is seeing there through the autumn mist.

“Yeah, I guess you’d like it.” Patton shoots a smirk at him. “Everyone all dressed up... disguised as someone else.”

Janus spins around, eyebrows contracted in honest disbelief. “How is it that we’ve had so many of these visits and you still know so little about me!”

“Uh... ‘cause you don’t tell me anything.” Patton shrugs, his chest feeling strangely tight.

“You’re right, I don’t.” Janus’s face is illegible, and full of so many changing emotions that Patton becomes dizzy as he tries to decipher them all. “No one is disguised here. It’s just a little... make-believe.”

Janus starts to stare into the distance again, into the unknown. Silently, Patton nods, somehow uncomfortable near a Janus who is suddenly tame and attentive, not sarcastic or sharp-tongued as usual. It is so incredible, so unfamiliar, so not Janus at all, that for seconds it feels as if reality has received a crack, like a broken mirror that can only depict a distorted picture of reality.

And as if that wasn’t unusual enough, Janus begins to sing. It’s soft and gentle and Patton feels (against his will) very receptive and exceedingly charmed by so much beauty.

‘It’s exactly that,’ thinks Patton stunned. It’s the soft and gentle underneath the impregnable fortress that makes it so hard to resist him. If Janus were just cold and insensitive through and through, how much easier it would make this whole situation.

But he is not. He’s just pretending. Make-believing...

Janus lies to the whole world, just as Patton does, because what is their silence, what is their not naming their feelings other than that? A huge lie that piles higher and higher the longer it remains unspoken.

“You know, maybe things are going to be okay,” Patton says in a voice filled with hope that is bubbling hot and consuming inside him. “Maybe they aren’t... just a fantasy.”

Janus turns to him and a single painfully convoluted emotion glides across his face. “Yes,” he says, sounding softer than usual. “Maybe.”

The loveliest lies of all.

....

Oh my, this new video was so freaking cool! I loved everything about it 🍂🎃 the song, the setting, the clothes, the colours... and ofc this very adorable Janus and Patton content 💛💙 They were so soft, my heart! I just had to draw and write something about them 😊 And my apologies in advance about any mistakes in the text. English is not my mother tongue and I have no beta-reader atm.

[ironmandeficiency]

the hobbit + hozier songs

characters included: kíli, bilbo, dwalin, thorin, nori, bofur, ori, fíli, dori, tauriel

word count: 1166

a/n: the amazing and precious @wordbunch inspired me to write these bc of her lotr/th characters as taylor swift songs posts & i couldn't be more excited to finally post this labor of love!! thank you bestie for listening to me scream abt this for nearly two months lol

kíli: foreigner’s god

he loves outside of his race and this fact causes undue scorn to be thrown at his feet. it’s unheard of for almost any dwarf, let alone one from the line of durin, to do such a thing. this does not deter him - it empowers him; if his heart could go against the traditions forged into his bones, molten in his hot blood, how could it not be true? the strength of his love is what helps him ignore the doubts shouted by the prejudice plaguing those who know nothing of his heart. that, and the sound of your laughter at his antics, the soft smiles only given to him when he’s being a little too charming… he could go on.

bilbo: like real people do

as much flack as bilbo gets from the company for not being conventionally tough, he’s not weak by any means. he’s familiar with the pain of loss, and how the ways one tries to rise above the grief that follows aren’t always savory. he knows there’s a respect to be found in the absence of prying questions, choosing simply to coexist in the feelings and allow answers to come in their own sweet time. he’ll put some tea on to cook and scrounge up some leftovers from the previous meal, sitting beside you and letting the comfort flow naturally, his soft lips soothing the most tender aches.

dwalin: work song

just looking at him, you wouldn’t think dwalin a sap. but with his insanely strong sense of loyalty and stalwart dedication, he can’t be anything but. he’s faced down innumerable evils in his time, braved the fiercest of storms that many of his comrades didn’t; none of them even come close to keeping him from you. your arms welcome him home without question after each fight he braves, and your letters tucked into secret compartments in his armor keep him warm between embraces. he’ll read them by the fire every night when he’s away, every gentle word carrying his mind away from thoughts of the day’s turmoil.

thorin: sedated

this sweet, sad man doesn’t think he deserves good things in life. this, unfortunately, includes having someone love him despite his flaws and past mistakes. he couldn’t resist admitting his feelings for you and was ridiculously shocked that you reciprocated & allowed him to love you. on nights when he feels his failures deeper, he’ll try to convince you that he doesn’t deserve you. vitriol will escape from worried lips and terrified heart, piercing you in the way only a lover knows how. a soft kiss, gentle words, and a few strokes through his hair will soothe these wounds from him for a time and allow him some of the peace he’s fought to find, but doesn’t always believe is earned.

nori: it will come back

it was decades since the last time nori thought of love, even longer since he believed himself worthy of it. meeting you only solidified his disbelief; how could someone look at him and see someone that deserved such a pure thing, after everything he’s done in his life? he’s stolen, lied, cheated, and killed to survive (and sometimes not for mere survival). his attempts to spurn you away from him only increased your determination to break through the fortress he built around himself. he could only be strong against your advances for so long before he crumbled, reluctantly accepting the love and peace and safety you offered so freely.

bofur: nobody

bofur’s done a lot in his time. he was born in the blue mountains, a colony that never seemed to find the prosperity needed to do more than simply survive. he is a brother, uncle, cousin, friend, toymaker, miner, member of the great company that reclaimed erebor. but through all his adventures and hardships, he never lost his playful streak. he wants to have fun with who he loves, wants a little bit of mischief to make his laugh louder and brighter. bofur is a fun-loving soul who, despite his wandering past, will always choose you over anywhere that you’re not.

ori: francesca

ori’s life has never been a peaceful one. being raised by dori and being followed by the whispers of his late amad’s reputation (not to mention nori’s) without a mountain to call home, it weighed on his shoulders. even his craft, the pride of every dwarrow worth their beard, happened to be one seen as miniscule in importance compared to smithing. every moment spent with his one, doing anything or nothing at all, eases the burden he carries and makes every moment of strife worth it just to be with the soul made to mirror his.

fíli: i, carrion (icarian)

your love for him seems almost too good to be true, the remnants of stories told in dusty tomes written by those with far more eloquence than he can claim to possess. that being said, he is definitely not one to look a gift boar in the mouth. he relishes in each tender moment, every second spent in your presence that carries him far beyond the constraints life has placed upon him. but he recognizes that life isn’t always so simple, retreating into your arms and wishing that everything around you both just disappears. there’s always reality, waiting patiently outside of your chambers for one faulty misstep to throw you both askew. that’s why he dedicates himself to showing you that if life does what it does best and deals harsh blows, he will be there for you through it all.

dori: shrike

dori never had time for love; he had two brothers to protect, one more wily than the other was young. his focus was on getting his brothers through the days, putting food on their plates and the semi-frequently used stash of bail money well-stocked. he allowed his feelings for his one to fall to the wayside in the name of preservation. he ignored their call for decades and braved out the pain that came with such a silence. he begged for his one’s forgiveness every time they called for him. but once the mountain was reclaimed and his brothers safe, he yearned for what he could have had. he would approach his one with much regret and sorrow for the time lost, but a pure hope that they could find forgiveness in their heart for him.

tauriel: unknown/nth

to earn her love is a feat unlike that which the world has known for a long time. being seen as worth all these mortal struggles and painful toils in the eyes of an elf, let alone one as fierce as tauriel, is quite the achievement to anyone outside looking in. to the red-haired warrior in question, though, giving her love to you has the same unthinking ease as breathing; it’s beyond instinct to do and just as necessary to her survival. you’re worth every century spent alone, every moment after knowing you spent away from you.

[vampire-matcha]

Blood in the Wine-7

Chapter Seven: Mead

A/N: Thank you all for your love, patience, and encouragement. Life has its ups and downs, but one thing remains certain- I fucking love vampires

Word count: 4k

Warnings: Mean Soap! No smut in this chapter, just general spookiness and some suggestive language.

Song: Strangelove by Depeche Mode

MASTERLIST, CH1, CH2, CH3, CH4, CH5, CH6

---

Two pairs of eyes were fixated on you through the crack in the door. Gaz’s lips parted, as if he were about to say something, but Price waved his hand and the door slammed shut just inches from your face. You stood panting in the doorway. You couldn’t hear them say anything through the door anymore. 

Did you really just see what you saw? If the wetness in your underwear was anything to judge by, then the answer was yes. Your pulse was racing in your ears like a river. It was so loud, in fact, that you couldn’t even hear Soap walk up behind you until his hand was wrapped around your upper arm and he yanked you backwards away from the door. You stumbled backwards, barely managing to keep your feet under you. You shouted in surprise, finally snapping out of your stupor. 

“You’re fucking shameless, aren’t you? Just can’t fucking get enough?” he shoved you away from him roughly, and you had to catch yourself on the wood paneling walls. His voice was growling and vicious. You looked up at him and your breath caught in your throat. 

Dark, jagged gashes cut through his face; a particularly deep-looking one ran down over his left eye. The scabs were black, and they pulled at the soft skin of his cheeks as he spoke. 

“I didn’t- I didn’t mean to-”

“What? You didn’t mean to do what? Didn’t mean to sneak a peek at Price’s cock down Gaz’s throat?”

“No!” You took a step back as he took one toward you. 

“Or you didn’t mean to let Ghost tear up my face like this?”

“No!” He kept advancing on you down the hall. Your back hit the wall. 

"Then what? Huh? Look at me!" He said standing over you. "Look what you did to my face."

"I didn't do anything!" You pleaded. You could feel your throat closing up around the lump you tried to come down, and your vision blurred with salty tears. 

"You did! All because you couldn't follow the damn rules. You should be grateful I threw myself in his way." His voice was lower now, colder. "Because if I hadn't, if Ghost had gotten his hands on you," he shrugged, "we'd be out looking for a new familiar." 

You blinked up at him, hot tears dropping from your cheeks onto your collar, and his eyes followed the movement. 

"Could take a bite out of you right now, couldn't I? Then I'd be right as rain again. Heal up nice and quick…" He leaned closer. Your breath hitched as you felt the heat of his blow over your pulse point. 

“You’ve already had your turn with her, Soap,” said an admonishing voice just a meter away. Price stepped closer with an unspoken air of authority, and Soap stepped back in submission, throwing you one last resentful glare. “You’re dismissed, Soap,” he said with a touch more force. If looks could kill, you’d have been dead where you stood, and Soap would have been the culprit. His icy eyes chilled you to the core, but he finally turned his back to you and swiftly disappeared around the corner again. 

You sniffled quietly to yourself. You hadn’t meant for it to happen. Not the incident of the past night, not Soap’s injuries, and certainly, you never meant to catch a peek of Gaz and Price’s… intimate moment. You never mean to be a less-than-willing ward of this manor, but that was old news by now. There was nothing more you could do. You’d agreed to the pact, and somewhere inside you, you felt that your actions with Gaz last night only cemented your place here. Your role to play had been decided.

A touch to your face shocked you out of your head and you flinched. 

“Easy, love,” Price cooed to you, standing so close now. His thumb brushed your cheek, interrupting the wet path your tears had made. “Goddamn MacTavish keeps making you cry. I’ll have to have a proper conversation with him, eh?” He held your face so gently that it was hard to believe the man was capable of such cruelty you had witnessed the night before. His tenderness almost made you forget his utter hypocrisy.

You leaned away but his strong hands followed you, keeping you close to him. He studied your face. He always seemed to be looking at you with a strange curiosity. His eyes followed the freshest tear down your face with the sharpness of a cat watching a mouse. You did your best to compose yourself, but being in such close proximity made catching your breath quite difficult. Price wasn’t the same soft comfort that Gaz was. Instead, he was a sturdy wall, and you found yourself leaning into the stability of him all on your own.

He pulled you closer to himself and kissed the tear away. His lips were soft between the bushiness of his mustache and beard, which tickled and poked you ever so slightly. He licked his lips as he stood back with a satisfied smile.

“Now, no more tears, darling,” he said as you stared up in shock. “Come, follow me. I’ve got something to show you.” He didn’t wait for you to follow; instead he took your wrist in your hand and pulled you along, leaving you no choice but to follow. His grip was one of iron, yet wasn’t hard enough to bruise. Soft, but unyielding. He led you down the main staircase. The cobwebs were still hanging heavy on the grand chandelier as you passed underneath. 

“I’m sorry,” you said quietly, following him through the quiet halls, falling into step with him. 

“What for?” he asked. You were too ashamed to look him in the eye, but you could’ve sworn you heard that damn smirk in his voice. He was going to make you admit it, wasn’t he? You wouldn’t- you wouldn’t! But as you lied to yourself, you could feel your composure crumbling. There was something about Price that made you want to obey… to submit. 

“For… eavesdropping,” you relented, bowing your head lower. 

“Eavesdropping? Is that what they’re calling it these days?” he joked. You knew you were caught, and so did he. “And did you enjoy the conversation?” he teased. He squeezed your hand. When had your hand slipped so easily into his? “You should know now to knock before entering a room. There are things far more sinister than that to be found in this manor.”

“Maybe you should lock your doors, then,” you bit back, but there was hardly any venom in your words. You could feel your face positively burning at the way Price tiptoed around the fact that you saw him cum down Gaz’s throat, that he did so while staring you down. 

“Maybe I wasn’t trying to hide anything,” he said as the two of you stopped outside the double doors of the library. “Maybe I wanted you to see.” Your eyes stayed fixated on the old oak doors. You felt heat prickling at your brow and his beard sweeping over your ear. He pushed the doors open. The hinges creaked from years, maybe decades of unuse. 

You coughed as a surge of dust filled your lungs, but when it cleared, you stepped into a beautiful and spacious room, walls all lined with rows and rows of books, many of them looking utterly ancient. A rolling ladder was pushed into the farthest corner, and floor-to-ceiling windows lit up the entirety of the room with glowing golden sunbeams, making the speckles of dust more resemble fairy dust. You stepped into the room and trailed your hand along the carved wood of the back of an old velvet armchair. It was probably a vibrant purple once. Small round end tables were scattered about next to the various sitting areas, most covered with linens, but you were drawn to the reading nook at the foot of the wall of windows. The earthy, grounding smell of aged paper saturated your senses. A thin layer of dust covered every surface, and you imagined what the room must have looked like at its pinnacle. 

Price watched you with a sincere smile as you explored the open space of the library. He enjoyed the wonder and elation in your eyes. As you scanned the shelves, fingers tracing old spine after old spine, he picked three small, unassuming books from a shelf and waited patiently for your attention to return to him.

Once you made a thorough round of the library, you wandered back to Price. 

“This is incredible,” you said with a wistful smile. “When you said you had a library, I wasn’t expecting this. Some of these books look like they’re centuries old!”

“They are,” he says proudly. “I curated this collection myself throughout my first life, and continue to do so in this one. Whenever I’m able to, that is.” He lifted the books in his hands and nodded to them. “But this is what I really wanted to show you.” You looked down and read the old, simple cover, the canvas yellowed and the ink faded, but the title was clear as day. 

“Frankenstein.”

“Gaz mentioned you liked the classics.” He let you take the three volumes from his hands. You held the delicate books with reverence. You were worried they would fall apart if you breathed too hard, so you held your breath in your chest.  

“These are… how old are they?” you whispered. 

“First editions.” Your eyes snapped up to his in bewilderment. “Got them at a little bookshop one snowy January afternoon. It was a fascinating read, so I kept them, found a spot in here for them. Bloody good thing I did, eh?”

You were too stunned to speak, completely transfixed by the aged canvas and the soft, yellow pages. Price circled around you as you started to wonder if you should be handling these with gloves. You barely noticed the heavy presence of his chest so close to your back. 

"Big brute that everyone's afraid of… but he's really just scared himself. Can't control his own strength," he said, placing his hands on your hips. "Reminds me of someone I know," he muttered, and your body tensed at the feeling of his breath on your neck. You gasped at the feeling of his coarse hair teasing your skin, and subconsciously tilted your head to allow him room. You felt his chest swell with a deep breath, strong, firm pectorals pressing against your shoulder blades as he inhaled your scent. You closed your eyes to prepare for the inevitable bite you were sure was to come, although you didn’t know how much you could physically offer him after the events of the previous night. But the bite never came. 

“I had a very interesting conversation with Kyle this morning. He pleaded your case,” Price spoke into your neck, prickly lips tickling you with each word. “Said you were all worn out from last night, all shaken up from your little excursion outside… among other things.” You felt your face heat up as he once again alluded to your time with Gaz. “He asked me to give you the day to recover,” his palm moved up your back and brushed over the still-sensitive scratches through the fabric, “to let your back heal all the way before we start opening up new wounds.” He pressed his lips and face further into your neck and inhaled deeply, smelling the blood that pumped rhythmically just beneath the surface. 

“He was very persuasive. He’s quite good with his mouth, wouldn’t you agree?” he teased, and you could hear the soft laugh resting in the chamber of his chest. You shuddered at the memory of Gaz’s tongue licking through you, his eyes looking up at you from between your legs, his soft, plush lips kissing and sucking your clit. Price hummed at the way your breath hitched just from the memories he dug up with his own suggestion. With a final deep breath of your scent, he stated, “Take the day. I’m a patient man. I’ve been around a long time, dear. I can wait one more day to taste you again.” He pressed a final kiss to your tender skin, and you had to hold your breath to stop the quiet whimper that lodged itself in your throat. 

He stepped back, although reluctantly, and you listened to his footsteps distance himself from you, stopping at the door. 

“Enjoy the books,” he said, and then left you alone in the library, locking the door behind him. Your heart was racing, and your underwear was notably wetter than it was before. 

—

It took you a good while of deep breathing while standing in the same place that Price left you in order to completely calm yourself down. Once your heart was beating at an acceptable pace, you settled yourself onto the reading nook at the windows after wiping the dust from the aged leather seats. You tried your best to forget the sensation of Price’s lips at your neck, the tenderness of his kiss and the roughness of his facial hair. You brought your knees close to your chest and focused instead, on the first volume, and on not opening it too wide, lest you crack the spine. Before long, you had lost yourself in the world that the yellowed pages laid out for you. 

“Common misconception,” a familiar voice called out to you, making you jump. “But Frankenstein is actually the doctor, not the monster,” Gaz finished with a sheepish smile. 

“You seem to be making a habit of interrupting my reading with useless trivia,” you said, closing the book slowly and setting it on the windowsill beside you. You glanced outside and noticed the sun was higher in the sky. You’d been reading for hours. 

“Sorry, just figured you might be hungry. Made you lunch.” He sat beside you and placed a tray in your lap: coffee made the way you like, and a salad with grilled chicken. 

“Thank you.” You gave him a soft smile. 

“I used to like to cook,” he began, his gaze distant, “back before, well, you know. It’s nice to be able to do it again, even if I can't eat it.” He shrugged his shoulders, and the two of you sat quietly together for a moment. You sipped your coffee. 

“Thank you, again. For talking with Price. And I'm sorry for…” Gaz cut you off with a laugh. 

“It’s alright, don’t mention it.” he fixed his eyes on yours, more playful than embarrassed. “Seriously, don’t mention it.” Both of you laughed, the tension relieved. He placed a hand on your knee. “How are you feeling? Not too sore, I hope. Your back- I mean! The, er, scratches on your back.”

“They’re a little tender,” you answered, breaking eye contact with a small chuckle. “I should be all better by tomorrow, thanks to you and your magic tongue.” you nudge him with your foot and he elbows you back. 

“Yeah, you like my tongue, don’t you?”

“Yeah, so does Price, apparently,” you say, matching his smirk. He winces and rolls his eyes, letting his head fall back against the window. “So, what? You’re all together in some kind of… quadrouple?” you asked. He shrugs again. 

“I guess so. All we really have is each other. Or at least,” he rolled his head to the side to look at you, “until you came along.”

“Yeah, well… I didn’t have a whole lot of say in that,” you murmured, and his smile faltered. He sat up, then, looking down at his shoes. He patted your knee and then stood up. 

“Eat your food.”

“Gaz…” 

“I’ll be back in a few hours with dinner. I’ll give you your space.” You called after him again, but he was already out the door, locking it again behind himself. 

By the time he had returned, you had finished your lunch and the first volume of Frankenstein. You’d placed the book back onto its empty space on the bookshelf. The sun was hanging just over the trees, and the sky had taken on an orangy tint at the edges. Gaz had dropped off a single-serve premade lasagna with only a few words exchanged as he collected your dirty dishes, giving you a tight smile and a squeeze on your shoulder, and locked you in again. 

The third time he visited the library, the sun was behind the trees, casting long shadows across the expansive lawn. You found it more difficult to focus on reading. The darker it got, the deeper the feeling of being watched ate at you. You weren’t sure if your eyes were playing tricks on you, but you thought you caught movement in the woods; large, dark masses shifting and pacing, weaving through the thick trunks of old trees. You didn’t make it very far through the second volume. 

The click of the lock caught your attention. Gaz entered with a stiff back and squared shoulders. You stood to meet him, and he drew the thick curtains over the wide windows. You left the remaining two books on the cushions. The two of you stood together in the dark library, and he stayed at arm’s length. You wanted him closer. When Gaz turned to you, his eyes glinted red and green in the low light. Your breath caught in your throat. 

“You ready to go upstairs?” he asked. You nodded your head and let him guide you back out into the house. “Stay close,” he said with a hand on your back. The lights were on all through the house, but the warm yellow light seemed not to reach the corners. The cobwebs muted the glowing bulbs, making every shadow stretch out to you, like claws on an outstretched hand. The two of you walked briskly through the main hall, and when you hurried past the conservatory, you saw something large lingering outside the window, but the reflections of the lamps inside obstructed the view. 

“Keep moving, Gaz told you. “They can’t hurt you if you’re inside.”

“What are they?” you asked in an anxious whisper. 

“Just keep going,” he repeated, his face pinched into almost a sneer as his red eyes glanced out the windows, once again glinting in the light like a cat on the prowl. He ushered you up the back stairs, and once you were safely inside your bedroom, he bolted the door. 

“What are those things?” you asked once again. Then, your head whipped to the barred window as a howl pierced the quiet of the dusk. Your blood ran cold and your breath stuttered. It wasn’t like the hoots and screams of coyotes back home. It wasn’t even a familiar call of a lonely dog. There was something deeper, something dark and primal in that sound. It spoke to a fear deep within you, something ancestral that made your skin sting with pinpricks. 

“Get ready for bed,” Gaz said sternly. His eyes, too, were fixated on the growing darkness seeping through the window. 

“Gaz,” you pleaded, needing answers. 

“They’re just trying to scare you, they can’t hurt you in here.” When you made no move, he looked at you with a softer face. “You’re safe, I promise.” He nudged you closer to the bathroom. “I’ll watch the door,” he offers with a reassuring smile. You let him push you into the other room, your bare feet padding on the tile, but you left the door cracked slightly. You needed to hear him there, to know he was still there with you. 

The water from the shower was loud enough to drown out the howling outside, and it gave you the smallest drop of peace of mind. You played Gaz’s words back in your head. They couldn’t hurt you in here. You took your time, and Gaz waited patiently for you to emerge wrapped in a fluffy towel. He smiled to himself and turned around to give you your privacy to dress yourself. 

You settled yourself into bed and waited for him to join you, but he reached for the door instead. 

“Where are you going?” you asked, sitting back up. He turned back around to face you, looking confused and concerned. 

“I just thought… you’d want to be alone.”

“What makes you think that?”

“Well… what you said earlier. About not having a choice? I just thought that, maybe, you’d just want to be alone.” He looked down at his feet. It was quiet between you two, the kind of quiet that only came after midnight. The kind of quiet when the whole earth stood still and even the crickets slept. 

“It’s true,” you started, and Gaz’s arms tensed. “I didn’t have a choice. You didn’t give me one.” His hands curled into themselves, balling into fists; not in anger toward you, but toward himself, toward the hunger he’d let turn him into more monster than man. “But I’m choosing you, now. Gaz-” another howl interrupted the silence in your room and both of you glanced at the window. You reminded yourself that it was barred with iron, and for the first time you were thankful for it.

 “Stay with me,” you whispered to him across the room with a quiver in your breathy voice. “Please.”

Gaz didn’t need to hear another word from you. He crossed the room to your bed in three long strides. In that moment, he knew that he’d do just about anything for you if you only asked him. In seconds, he had his arms around you, wrapping you in the duvet. 

“Yeah,” he said soothingly. “Yeah, I’ll stay.” He was paradoxically warm. A cadaver heated not by his own blood, but by yours. A scarlet silk thread tying you two together. “I’ll stay.” He reached to turn out your bedside lamp and covered you two in a blanket of darkness. The howling continued, but Gaz was there. They couldn’t hurt you in here. 

As time passed, you watched the shadows of moonlight glide over your walls from where your head laid on Gaz’s chest, and eventually, the clouds covered the beaming white moon, and the howling stopped. You focused on Gaz’s breathing. You didn’t know if he could sleep. You thought he was still awake, though. You sure couldn’t sleep. A question on your mind nagged at you, nudging you awake whenever the waves of sleep got close enough to wash over you. 

"Gaz?" You asked into the darkness, your voice the only sound in the nighttime. "Were you ever really my friend?" Your head rose on his chest as he took a breath. "Or was it all just a ruse to get me here?”

Gaz didn’t answer right away, and for a moment you started to wonder if creatures of the night really did sleep like you did, and if your words fell on deaf ears after all. But then he spoke, his voice low and uncertain of himself. 

"Talking to you late at night on the phone was the first time I felt a connection since I became… what I am. The way you laughed, the way you told your stories to me, like I was actually there with you. I wanted to be beside you, I wanted to spend time with you. I think maybe it was the phone calls, because for the first time, I was talking to a human without hunger, without thirst. Just listening and being listened to. The days that we talked, just talked… I almost remembered how it felt to be alive again.” Gaz’s hand held yours over his stomach, his thumb tracing over your knuckles tenderly. 

“I don't know if I'm capable of love,” he said, his voice heavier than you’d heard it before. “After being dead so long, the heart atrophies… in a way that’s more than just physical.” He sighed, and it sounded like he had a weight much heavier than your head on his chest. “I'm sorry I can't spare you from what I am, what we all are. I’m sorry that we’ve taken so much from you already, and we’ll just keep taking. I'm sorry that I’m not what you thought I was." You absorbed his words. His answers finally gave you some closure, though it wasn’t exactly what you wanted. His voice allowed the waves of sleep to draw you in deeper. 

"The house seems brighter since you've been here,” he told you, his voice carrying you like a raft in the sea. “The floors creak when you walk. I didn't realize how much I'd missed that sound." 

---

Tags:

@cherry-slushee @iimfae @newcomernewcums @cowboybxtch @quiurifam @sad--pigeon @desert-fern @grizzers @the-wandering-pan-ace @quiurifam @wasteland-babe @obi-wansorrow @tbrfic @tdurmi @xespresso-depressox @mauveserpent @bloodyknucklesforme @330bpm-whiplash @grizzersmamma @amazingpandaz-blog @the-pan-ace-writings @kakashiislut @erinwhelan99 @ghost-2513 @confuseddipshit @avalkyrieofparis @beesucculent @enfppixie @1234ilikecowsthanyoumore @ofmenanduhhhwellmen @lostmypopsicle @backupgal @wisp0329 @boxofgasoline @frazie99 @lothiriel9 @ummmmmbeans @roaringinthedeeap-blog @daristfx @itsberrydreemurstuff @legalpadawan @darkmelodies27 @discowizard88 @gloomdoomraccoon @warenai @thychuvaluswife @thriving-n-jiving @ihatethinkingofnames10 @warners-wife @sarraa-26 @bloodbatzz @yeoldedumbslut @ghostslvts

[eksvaized]

Part Five König / Ghost / Reader [ Previous 〡 Next ] ︱AO3 ︱Wattpad ︱ taglist (if you want to be added - let me know!): @strawberrygato, @ghostslittlegf, @eskalotte, @abcdbleh, @yawning-grave81, @liamwholover, @valira-demaur, @idek101-01, @mizu-bozu

You and Simon become friends. This friendship is something you haven’t experienced in quite some time. Simon makes you feel heard and understood. It’s a refreshing change from the usual dismissal of your feelings. He has a knack for making you feel like your emotions and thoughts are valid, and that you are not overreacting or blowing things out of proportion whenever you want to talk about something that bothers you.

Simon’s visits become a regular occurrence, and the two of you find comfort in sharing meals together during the long, lonely evenings. However, he only agrees to start visiting when you assure him that your boyfriend is out of town and won’t be coming back anytime soon.

Both you and Simon decide that it’s best to keep your growing friendship under wraps. Your boyfriend is a jealous man, and given the already sensitive state of your relationship, you fear he would react negatively to you having a male friend over and spending time with him. This could potentially jeopardize any chance of having a conversation about the suspicions you harbor over his fidelity; you are still seething with anger towards König, and you need answers from him about whether or not he has been unfaithful.

There are moments when guilt seeps in, making you question the time you spend with Simon. But then you remind yourself that you aren’t doing anything wrong. Your relationship with Simon is purely platonic. He always respects your boundaries, never attempts to make any unwanted advances. Despite this, however, there are instances when the playful banter and the unmistakable undercurrent of tension between the two of you becomes almost too hard to ignore. It’s as if you’re teetering on the brink, about to tumble into a territory that both of you are aware should remain unexplored. And yet, regardless of how close you come to this precipice, you always manage to pull yourself back at the very last moment. You never cross the line, nor does Simon.

* * *

Simon extends a rare invitation to his house on the day König is expected to return home. Remarkably, this marks the first time he has ever done so. Typically, the two of you hang out at your place, a comfortable routine that has naturally formed over the relatively short time you’ve known each other.

His unexpected invitation, coming out of the blue, throws you into a state of indecision, leaving you in a quandary. You find yourself caught in a mental tug-of-war, debating the likelihood of him ever asking you over again. The idea of visiting his home is tempting, yet you are know you must decline his offer.

So, later in the day, after you’ve taken a long shower and have settled into the living room, you pick up your phone and send him a short message, telling him you are busy.

Anxiously, you sit and wait with bated breath. Your eyes, wide and unblinking, are transfixed on the relentless ticking of the clock, its hands chasing after each other in an endless loop. Each passing minute feels like a drop of water in a vast ocean, inconsequential in the grand scheme of things, yet so crucial in this moment.

You had spent countless seemingly endless hours rehearsing your carefully crafted speech with Simon. Every word, every pause, every inflection had been deliberated over, practiced until they flowed like a well-rehearsed song. And all you wish for now, with a desperation that is palpable, is for König to return home sooner rather than later. You are a dam, filled to the brim, ready to burst and spill the torrent of words that have been shackling your heart like a pair of iron chains.

The moment the familiar purr of a car engine seeps into the quiet air, reverberating off the walls of the silent house, and the unmistakable sound of the front door unlocking echoes in the hallway, you inhale sharply. The air rushes into your lungs, only to become trapped in your chest. Your heart drops, sinking to the pit of your stomach as if it were made of stone. A sheen of chilly sweat begins to coat your trembling palms, while your muscles coil themselves into tight knots. The meticulously prepared speech, the one you had dedicated hours to memorizing, suddenly evaporates from your mind, dissipating like morning fog under the harsh glare of the sun. Your once unwavering confidence begins to waver, too, teetering on the edge of a precipice, threatening to dwindle away completely.

The moment König’s foot crosses the threshold of the front door, a chilling sensation grips him like icy tendrils. It’s a sensation akin to a discordant note played in a harmonious melody - something is deeply amiss. The comforting ritual of your presence to welcome him home is disturbingly absent.

Regardless of any argument or disagreement you two might have before he leaves for his mission, the unspoken promise between the two of you has always been that you’d be there, ready to bury the hatchet and jump into his arms in an enthusiastic, heartfelt reunion whenever he returns. But this time, there’s no such greeting.

In the dimly lit living room, he finds you. Curled up on the couch, you are lost in your thoughts, fiddling absent-mindedly with some nondescript object in your hands. As he steps into your line of sight, he can see the tempestuous storm brewing in the depths of your eyes. They flit over your shoulder, briefly meeting his gaze before quickly darting away. Your expression is hard—a stark contrast to the gentle warmth he’s accustomed to. This unexpected shift in your demeanor plants a growing seed of worry in his heart, a concern he can’t quite shake off.

“Shatz, is everything okay?” The words leave his lips when he steps closer to you, the space separating you two shrinking with each stride.

His voice carries the weight of weariness, the echo of a battle-hardened soldier returned from a grueling mission. Yet, beneath the veneer of exhaustion, a thread of worry winds its way through his tone, an echo of his mounting concern sparked by your uncharacteristic silence.

In response to his question, you morph into a statue and remain silent. Wordlessly, with a flick of a wrist, you toss the note you’ve been holding onto the coffee table. After the paper lands with a soft thud, you gesture for him to pick it up. Your arms wrap around your waist, and your fingers clutch the fabric of your shirt. Drawing your knees up to your chest, you wait for him to look at it.

His eyes lock with yours, brimming with a sense of confusion, as though he’s attempting to decode a cryptic, unreadable script that has been presented to him. He silently read the note. As he digests the words, his fingers start to tear at the rough edges, gradually shredding the paper into tiny fragments. They flutter to the cold floor, gathering at his feet like fallen snowflakes. The room falls into an eerie silence, only interrupted by the faint rustling of paper dancing in the air before settling down.

As the last piece of paper falls down, the silence in the room becomes even more pronounced, amplifying the heavy tension that now hangs thick in the air. The atmosphere escalates, becoming almost palpable, a physical entity that fills every corner. It’s as if the room itself holds its breath, waiting for König’s response; you can feel a knot forming in the pit of your stomach.

You expect him to explain it to you, and to reassure you that this note didn’t mean anything. You hope he would tell you that you spent all this time stressing over a mere misunderstanding. However, much to your despair, he remains silent, acting as if he is oblivious to the situation and doesn’t understand the implications of your question.

Summoning every shred of courage you have left, you voice out the question that has been tormenting you, gnawing at your peace, casting a dark shadow over your happiness. “Are you cheating on me?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper, yet echoing loudly in the room.

You dare to speak because you realize he isn’t going to initiate the conversation. He isn’t going to comfort you, or offer any words to alleviate the heavy burden of uncertainty that’s weighing you down.

His response comes as a shaky nod, but the word ‘no’ remains a prisoner in his mouth. You feel like a ticking time bomb, ready to explode any moment. What you find most infuriating, what feels like a slap to the face, is König’s casual attitude towards the whole situation. It’s as if he views this as just another one of those pointless arguments that you’ve started out of sheer boredom, with no real significance or underlying issue. His lack of seriousness, his inability to acknowledge the gravity of the situation, only fuels your growing frustration, making you feel more misunderstood and isolated.

“I found this note and... I wouldn’t have cared, but before you left, I read the texts from her on your phone,” you start, your voice trembling with emotions. You continue, “And based on what you’ve told me about her, the way she flirts with you, and the fact that you let her do it, it all points to... it appears as if you are having an affair with her.”

The words spill out of you like water breaking through a dam. Once the floodgates are open, it’s almost impossible to stop the flow. Fragments of the speech you’ve painstakingly rehearsed over and over in your head begin resurfacing.

“I need you to be honest with me. If you want to break up, if you don’t love me anymore and would rather be with someone else, just tell me,” you implore, your voice growing shaky as you valiantly fight back the tears that threaten to blur your vision and spill down your cheeks. “I can’t keep tiptoeing around you… pretending that everything is fine. The way you’ve been treating me lately makes me feel like I’m nothing more than an inconvenient presence in this house—an annoyance that you merely tolerate.”

You rise to your feet, feeling the sting of hot tears that blur your sight. You hastily wipe them away with the sleeve of your shirt, leaving the fabric wet. König remains silent, his eyes unreadable. His silence feels like a confession. An admission of guilt. Why else would he remain mute unless he was indeed cheating? Why else would he not rush to his own defence?

As you attempt to walk past him, the desire to retreat and hide in the safety of the bedroom overwhelms you. But as you move, his fingers curl around your wrist in a gentle yet firm hold—a silent plea for you to stay. His grip pulls you back, stopping you in your tracks, compelling you to pivot on your heel and turn back to face him again.

His gaze, intense and probing, sweeps over your face, as though trying to read the turmoil of emotions reflected in your eyes. The intensity of his stare makes you feel bare. Exposed. It’s as though he can see into the very depths of your soul.

König raises his hand to your face, cupping your cheeks with such tenderness that it makes your heart ache. His thumb slowly traces a soothing path over your damp skin, erasing the tear-stained trails that had trickled down your cheeks.

Overwhelmed, you tightly shut your eyes, feeling the weight of the unspoken words hanging heavily in the air between you. It becomes unbearable to maintain eye contact; the silence suffocating. There’s a tangible tension that engulfs you both, making it hard to breathe. The warmth of his presence, the brush of his fingers against your skin, and the intensity of his gaze all conspire to make your heart ache painfully in your chest. It’s a constant reminder of everything you’re desperately trying to escape at this very moment.

“I’m not sleeping with Sarah,” he says, keeping your eyes captive and refusing to let you look away even when you try to free yourself from his grip. His touch feels like it’s scorching your skin. “I would never cheat on you. I regret the way I’ve treated you. I never realised that my actions made you feel this way—”

As he continues to speak, his voice gradually fades into a distant murmur, barely audible amidst the vast expanse of your thoughts. It feels as though you are submerged beneath the calm waters of a serene ocean, the gentle waves muffling his words like distant echoes, as the liquid silence engulfs your senses. The world around you becomes hazy, and a profound realization sinks in - the bitter taste of being wrong.

The notion that he, the person you trust more than anyone else, could ever betray you, had lodged itself in your mind. But now, it appears absurd. The mere thought that König could do something so harsh, so utterly unthinkable, is crazy.

Doubt had clouded your judgment - how could you even imagine he would do such a thing?

[shira-cosmic-star]

Hi 😎

Last time I got struck by nostalgia and re-listened to the zombie song and (of course) it reminded me of Ren (the brain rot is strong) bc of the whole zombie/horror movie thing

So i thought I could ask u for some hc with either zombie!mc x Ren, Leo and Ritsu or the opposite with them being zombies 🫠🫠 thank u in advance 🫡

You’re a Zombie!? 

Tags: Comedy, GN!Reader, and Fluff. Inspiration from the song and an anime called “Zombie Saga” 

Warning: Small gore, nothing too graphic, gun violence, body parts removed or fallen off, 1,854 words

Before Darkwick: 

When Mc first came to Darkwick, they decided to keep one thing a secret. It's a huge secret too. They’re a zombie, Mc died a while back but doesn’t remember how they died. All they know is when and how they had found out. Mc met a strange man. This man has quite a loud voice too. This man is a scientist who brought them back to life. Though, they aren’t the only ones either. He had done this several times. Successfully too, before they joined the ghouls. They lived with the other Zombies. Mc would consider them family since they can’t go back to their original family. The scientist known as, “Father” now. Has made sure that if Mc and their siblings goes outside. They have to wear makeup and pretend to be, “normal.”

Father had forbidden any of them from leaving the house without makeup to cover their rotten flesh. Then again, makeup all over their body wasn’t all that comfortable. Yet, each of them has grown costume to it all. Father was also extremely protective of them. He’s extra when it comes to his personality, but he cares for each and every one of them. He also has rules set in place for them. No going out at night, avoid all types of water or anything that takes of the makeups, don’t talk to cops or strangers without him present, and if you are going somewhere, he needs to know where and when. If the outside world knows about zombies' roaming around. All hell will break through and each of them will be taken. 

This was extremely hard on Mc and the others when the news was broken to them. It was hard to fathom that they were dead. None of them remembers how they died. Well, now some of them knows but Mc doesn’t remember how they died. Father has told them that one day they will remember. He didn’t tell them himself because he simply couldn’t. When they do remember, he tells them that his and their siblings will be there for them. 

So, as time goes on. Mc lives their life the best they can. Now they were on campus, at Darkwick. Things moves so fast that sometimes Mc wishes that time would freeze. First, they were going home on a train, then they were attacked, now they are at Darkwick assisting the ghouls. Mc first debated if they wanted to tell the ghouls that they are a zombie, but they were afraid of what the school would do. They were also scared of their friends' reactions too. So, to keep themselves safe. They kept it too themselves.

----------------Σ(っ °Д °;)っ-------------

Ren: 

The first time Mc’s secret came out, it was when they were helping Ren with the water anomalies. They knew better, they totally knew better. It was one of Father’s rules, stay away from anything that can wash up the makeups. Yet, they really wanted to see the aquatic anomalies. Ren needed to feed them. So, as he went to get the foods. They stayed put near the water. One of the anomalies wanted to play. It started to make little bubbles as Mc watches. They laughed while watching the cute thing. Mc wanted to pet the little dolphin’s head. Yet, they knew better. They were tempted, while biting their lower lip and hugging their knees. They ended up giving up and reached out to pet the dolphin. However, they ended up slipping and fell into the water. They panicked as the makeup on their body washes up. Now their dark grayish blue skin was visible. They pulled themselves out of water.  

As they crawl on the dry ground. Ren had come back with a bucket of food. Ren had come back with the grubs for the aquatic anomalies. In shock, he drops the bucket as he stares at Mc. Since the makeup has been washed off, a huge stitched up scar on their face was now visible. The scar starts from the top of their forehead on the left side of their face. Then it runs down over their nose to the right of their cheek. Ren sees how different their skin looks too. Its darker, like a light gray with a tiny tint of blue. But that's not all that freaks him out. It was the fact, your foot with the shoe had come off. Mc hasn’t seen Ren yet, nor hears him. They reached out to pick up their foot that was floating in water. Then they popped in right back on like it was nothing new to them. 

“A-AHHHHHH!” Mc jumps from the scream and quickly turns around. They see Ren and tries to get him to calm down. 

“Ren, I can explain! Please stop screaming!” They desperately, begs him to calm down. Once he calms down, he demanded answers. So, they sighed and took a deep breathe. They patted the spot next to them. He sits down and Mc tells him everything.  

“So, that’s that, you’re not going to tell the school, are you?” They asked, fearful that he would tell the school. But he shakes his head no and rubs the back of his neck. 

“No, I won’t say anything. This will be our secret. It just caught me off guard, that’s all.” He reassures them, causing them to smile and laugh softly. 

“Thanks Ren, I owe you one.” 

“Just don’t pull a limb off in front of me. At least try not too...” He tells them, he’s cool with seeing it in movies. Though in real life, it’s different. The real-life sounds, the sight of it. Yeah no, he isn't a fan of it. 

“You mean I can’t lend a hand?” They spoke jokingly as they take off their right hand. 

“ARGGGHHH!” He screams again, Mc pops their right hand back on. 

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry! I won’t do that again!” 

-------------------(⊙ˍ⊙)------------------

Leo: 

Once again, Leo needed Mc to help him listen to Alan’s and Tohma conversation. So, there they were. Sitting on the couch, right next to Leo. Completely bored out of their mind. Leo has been holding their hand for nearly an hour. Mc was starting to grow bored by the minute. They tried scrolling through their phone to keep them busy. Yet, nothing grabbed their attention. Mc needed two hands if they wanted to play their games. They tried watching TikTok or YouTube, but they forgot their earbuds. 

They sighed heavily as they rolled their eyes. 

“Quit moving, you’re distracting me.” 

“Leo, I’m bored...” Mc whines impatiently as they pout. He ignores them and continue what he is doing. After a few more minutes. Mc starts to think about what to do to keep them occupied. Then, it hits them. Why not freak him out? He’s only holding one of their hands. Mc can easily slip away. So, slowly they start to remove their arm that Leo was holding. Leo wasn’t paying attention to Mc much. He was scrolling on TikTok as he listens to Alan’s and Tohma conversation. 

Slowly, Mc was able to slip away and slide of the couch. All without Leo knowing. They have always wonder if the ring would still enhance the ghoul's stigma with their arm being detached. Some of the ghouls already knew that Mc was a zombie. So, they shouldn’t be surprised if a limb or so, pops off. Right? 

Well, after they slip away from Leo. They head down to the kitchen where Sho is. They have told Sho what they did, and they shared a laugh. Sho have asked them to take Leo’s lunch to him. And so, they did. Upon arriving back in the room where Leo was. They stand beside him and tells him, they brought lunch. 

Leo looks up from his phone, see Mc, and then looks at his hand; holding theirs. He sees their hand in his, but that can’t be? He does a doubletake and realized by their grin. That they have removed their arm to sneak away. 

“Very funny NPC.” He rolls his eyes as Mc laughs little by his reaction. They sat back down next to him and still doesn’t place their arm back on. 

“Well. you did ask me to lend a hand” They joked, and Leo glared at them for their lame joke. Secretly finding it cringy in a funny way.  ----------------(o゜▽゜)o☆-------------

Ritsu: 

Ritsu and Mc needed his captain to sign papers again. Unfortunately, Taiga was in a mood. Not a good mood, a terribly bad mood. Mc and Ritsu had tried to reason with him. Yet, all has failed. Taiga ended up pulling out his gun and points it at Ritsu and Mc. 

“Get lost, you’re pissing me off.” He spoke in an indignant voice. Taiga’s eyebrows lowered and knit together, his jaw tightens and his lips curls into a frown. Whatever happened, has really set Taiga off. Once again, he tells them to leave. Ritsu, takes a step closer to him and tries to negotiate. Then, a gunshot was heard. Ritsu, didn’t have enough time to activate his stigma, though. He doesn’t feel any pain? Ritsu had open his eyes, only to see Mc. Shielding him from the bullets that were fired. 

In shock, he sees that Mc had a gun wound on their left arm and upper chest. He thinks that Mc was going to die or bleed to death. Yet, they didn’t collapse. Mc was still stand, they turned to Ritsu and ask if he's okay. 

“I’m alright, but what about you? What were you think?” He turns the questions to Mc. He was filled with worry and questions. How are they not bleeding? Aren’t they in pain? Why would they jump in front of him like that? Are they stupid and reckless? So many questions came across his own mind. Mc quickly grabs his hand, and they dash out of the room before Taiga strikes again. 

“Mc, tell me what is going on?” Ritsu demands answer, he feels confused. Not a feeling he likes to feel. He always finds an answer, otherwise it’ll bother him until he gets an answer. Mc nervously shuffled their feet on the floor as the thwittled their thumbs. 

“Well...” And so, they explain what is happening to him. About them being a zombie, on why there isn’t any blood, why they aren’t in pain, and any other questions he has. He was fascinated by what Mc is telling him. 

“A zombie, that would explain things. So can you remove any parts of your body?” He asked Mc. His eyes hold a shinning bright look, he even wrote down a few details of the answers to his questions. Mc smiled and nodded their head. They reached for their head and pops it off of their body. His eyes widen from the scene. 

“I can still talk if I lose my head” Once again, they joked with a cheeky grin. Maybe being a zombie wasn’t so bad after all. 

--------------------------------------------

(Unedited)

I hope you all enjoyed this one. It was fun to make. Ritsu's part was a little hard for me to make. So, it might not be the best, but I do hope you all enjoyed. Please feel free to like, comment, and reblog. Reblogging help putting my work out there. If you want request, you can request on my page. Just click the, "Ask me anything" box. You can also request more than once!

Ѕтay dazzlιng мy Ѕтarlngѕ☆

[panda-writes-kpop]

Can you lease write the sfw alphabet for Twice Chaeyoung? I will be very grateful, thanks in advance

Chaeyoung Fluff Alphabet (Requested!)

a/n: of course I can do this for you, my dear! hope you enjoy this. sorry for being late on my post. ...it's been a long week 🥲

tw: none!

♡ Masterlist ♡

Affection (How do they show their affection? What love language(s) do they use?)

Chaeyoung’s main love language is gift-giving - whether it’s art, lyrics, or a more tangible gift, she’s always got something thoughtful to give to you. Even if it’s as simple as a small trinket or matching phone cases, she loves to get stuff for you.

Beauty (What do they admire about their S/O? What makes their S/O beautiful?)

If you’ve got tattoos, she definitely has given them a second glance on multiple occasions, and she has run her fingertips over the ink whenever she needs to think or clear her head (as if you don’t distract her enough already). She also admires your independence when it comes to getting what you want out of life.

Comfort (How would they help their S/O if they were having a rough day?)

Chaeyoung lets you listen/read to some of her unreleased songs and music, especially if they’re about you, in order to cheer you up. She also likes to wrap her arms around you and bury her head in your back because you deserve to feel protected and loved.

Dreams (How do they picture their future with their S/O?)

Chaeyoung imagines you two living relatively remotely - in your own world, away from the prying eyes of others. Of course, that’s not entirely possible, so you settle on a small house a bit outside of a city center so she can have you (mostly) to herself while you can still enjoy life in and out of the city.

Equal (Do they tend to be more dominant or passive in the relationship?)

She’s more of a quiet dominant type - not the one you’d expect to be dominant on the first go. Chaeyoung plans dates and takes the lead in your relationship, but she doesn’t do it in an authoritative way. She takes your likes, dislikes, and opinions into consideration when she’s making plans for the two of you. She’s the first to initiate affection, too, although she can get a bit flustered if things get a little heated between the two of you.

Fight (Would they easily forgive their S/O after a fight? How would a typical fight go?)

She’s another member that I don’t see getting into verbal altercations with their partners. You and Chaeyoung may get into an argument and it may get intense, but one of you walks away before you say something that you regret. She’s usually the first to call you and ask if you’re ready to talk or if you need more time, and she’s open to either option.

Gratitude (How grateful are they for everything that their S/O does for them?)

She’s super polite, especially when it comes to your sweet actions towards her. Always says thank you when you buy her lunch or a small trinket that reminds you of her. She also likes to repay the favor with affection, dates, or buying things for you as well.

Honesty (Do they tend to keep secrets from their S/O, or do they share everything?)

Chaeyoung isn’t a secretive person, but it takes a while for her to open up about everything. She is an open book when your relationship with her deepens, so feel free to ask her about anything because she’ll happily tell you about it.

Inspiration (Did their S/O change them, or was it the other way around?)

Chaeyoung inspires you - she can sing, dance, rap, draw, write lyrics… it’s hard to not admire her abilities. You’re always there to support her whenever she needs you the most.

Jealousy (Do they get jealous easily? How do they deal with it?)

Chaeyoung does get jealous, but it takes her less time to step in and deal with the situation. She doesn’t mind wrapping an arm around your waist if someone gets a little too close for her comfort, or if they really aren’t getting the hint, a pet name or kiss on the lips will do.

Kiss (How often do they kiss you? Where do they like to kiss you?)

She loves to kiss you on the lips - they are short and sweet as a simple way to show affection. She also likes longer kisses where the two of you can get lost in each other. Chaeyoung doesn’t mind kissing your hand as a way to fluster you, but she gets flustered if you do the same back to her.

Lazy Day (How do they like to spend days off with their S/O?)

Chaeyoung likes to spend her days off at home with you. Even if you’re not in the same room or if you’re not doing something together, simply being in your presence is enough to relax her mind.

Marriage (Do they want to get married? How often do they think about marrying their S/O?)

Chaeyoung likes the idea of marrying you as a next step in your relationship, but she won’t force you into anything. Small conversations here and there will help gauge your interest in marriage, and she moves forward from there.

Nicknames (What do they call their S/O?)

Babe, baby, love, my muse

More modern nicknames are Chaeyoung’s preferences, but the last one is your phone contact name (her members tease her about this all of the time).

On Cloud Nine (What are they like when they are in love? Is it extremely obvious to others?)

Chaeyoung is a creative being, so her creative output explodes when the two of you are together. Her more romantic art comes forward with new life like no one has seen before. She also gets red in the face whenever your name is mentioned, so it’s pretty obvious that she’s head over heels for you.

PDA (Are they very upfront with their relationship, or do they prefer to keep things quiet?)

Chaeyoung doesn’t really mind PDA - it’s all up to you. If you’re comfortable with more PDA, she’s happy to kiss you in public. If you’re not, well, she gets all of you to herself at home.

Quirk (Some random personality trait that makes them an excellent partner.)

Chaeyoung likes to go with the flow of everything, so she’s an agreeable person to get along with. You tend to put her preferences above all, but she always has your comfort, safety, and affection in mind whenever she makes decisions.

Romance (Are they a born romantic ready to woo their S/O at any moment, or do they struggle to spark romantic moments with their S/O?)

Chaeyoung is a hidden born romantic - she doesn’t often display it in front of others, but when she’s in the mood for romance, you’re in for a treat. She isn’t the old-fashioned type of romantic, but she does buy your flowers and sweets if you’re having a rough day or if you need a pick-me-up.

Support (How do they help support their S/O to reach their goals?)

Chaeyoung supports you with her words. A gentle good luck, a sweet text on a rough day, or an end of day phone call is enough to motivate you to keep moving towards your goals.

Thrill (Do they like trying out new things to spice up their relationship, or do they prefer to stick to a routine?)

Chaeyoung likes to try new things with the two of you - new date nights especially. She doesn’t worry about them going well or not - it’s not about the experience for her, but the person she is with.

Understanding (How well do they know their partner?)

Chaeyoung understands you perfectly - you compliment each other as partners, after all. She can read your body language well and tell when you’re not feeling well, sometimes before you understand what’s going on yourself.

Value (How important is the relationship to the person versus other relationships and things in their life?)

Chaeyoung values your relationship just as much as she values her crafts and talents. She treats you with love and respect, as do you. Your relationship is one of the best parts of her life, and Chaeyoung doesn’t want to spoil that.

Wild Card (A random fluffy headcanon that you have about the relationship?)

Chaeyoung, the semi-romantic lyricist, has you as the focus of her writing at times. Sometimes you’ll appear in her drawings, but most of the time, your presence is felt in her lyrics.

XOXO (Do they like to kiss, hug, and cuddle you? How often do they do so?)

Chaeyoung loves to cuddle with you after a long day of work. She often kisses and hugs you, as much as you’ll allow her to, because it’s one of her favorite ways to show affection to you.

Yearning (How will they cope when they’re missing their partner?)

She sends you a lot of texts, calls you, and video chats with you if you’re available. She does go on with day-to-day life, but she wants to have you there, as much as you can be, while you’re away.

Zeal (Are they willing to go to great lengths for the relationship? If so, what kind?)

Although she might not say it, Chaeyoung would burn literal bridges for you. Of course, you’d do the same for her, which only makes her more willing to put herself on the line for you.

[whalesforhands]

Hi! I’m the one who requested dread creeps around the corner. AND MAN DID YOU DELIVER I WAS SPEECHLESS DUDE ADJKKJHGGGGGGHH. It perfectly captured what I was thinking thank you!!!! Honestly just the way you write Gojo being an ass but only cause he’s emotionally constipated and Geto balancing him out but also being a little sly in his advances and Shoko just bring the queen she is??? Mwuh chefs kiss. I have grown to love angst over the years but I still love my favorite of hurt/comfort. OHH MY GOD IDEAAAA!!! What if reader and Gojo get assigned to a mission (their first one together) and Gojo is forced to just be his asshole self without Geto or Shoko to reel him in and kinda just makes reader doubt their abilities and feel down the entire time unconsciously and doesn’t understand what he’s doing wrong and how to fix it when reader starts to withdraw from him and talks less. But that’s until they actually end up meeting the curse and Gojo is somehow caught off guard but is saved by readers cursed technique just in time and they end up syncing in the fight so well and he is just in awe and gains more respect for them (aside from their ability to keep fighting no matter what). And so they get home with Geto and Shoko anxiously waiting for them cause they know how Gojo is but are so surprised to see Gojo making dumb jokes and you actually laughing at them as you guys walk back. Sorry if my requests are too specific. I want them to be more inspirational then anything else so you have leeway to write whatever you feel fits and just wanna share my thoughts. No pressure to actually write any of this ofc!!

the way i loved this. but with infinity, gojo’s definitely not getting injured. i changed it up a little.

first gojo-centric fic, congrats to me!

can’t see you through my ego (gojo x reader, mention of geto x reader x gojo)

warnings: gojo is an ass and i hate and love him, i will step on any gojo hate train

“I think you need more experience with danger, (last name).”

Yaga sighs, massaging his temple as he looks up at you.

“You want to get stronger, right?”

So here you were, staff strapped to your back as Gojo held onto a small duffel bag. Skipping along as he hummed a popular idol’s song, as you trailed hesitantly behind him, hands nervously squeezing the strap holding your weapon.

“Who knows? Maybe Gojo will finally learn something.”

“And it was like,” He spreads his lanky arms out, your duffel bag hanging off one of them. “Thiissss long! But it was so ugly!” He was laughing as he described the apparent strength of a Grade 2 curse he fought.

“Of course, it was never any match for me!” His chest puffed out as he continued to walk backwards, sunglasses beginning to slide off his nose as he looked down at you with a bright grin.

You giggled politely, happy to distract yourself from the nervousness of having your first mission with ‘the chosen one’.

(It helps that he was always so cheerfully silly.)

“Mhm, you are very strong, Gojo-san.”

A small blush was dusted across his cheeks as he heard your laughter, quickly turning his back on you to hide his face.

Suguru told him that compliments can put you in someone’s good graces.

“You know,” He began, sunglasses clad eyes turning briefly to you before they looked away. “Don’t you think your little shields are like my infinity? Just less effective, I guess. Since you’re so weak and all.”

You still.

…oh. He’s not wrong. You aren’t very strong compared to him.

“I-I guess you’re right, Gojo-san.” You didn’t expect to have your technique ridiculed today. It wasn’t flashy like his or Geto’s but it was good enough.

Good enough for you to be Grade 3 sorcerer anyway.

(Having 2 special grade sorcerers in your class, and 1 having a special focus exclusively on reverse cursed techniques didn’t help your insecurities.)

“I suppose you would be fine even if Yaga sent you alone on this mission, huh?” You didn’t even know your insecurities were starting to be vocalised.

You don’t blame him. You really doubt in your abilities as a sorcerer compared to him and Geto.

Gojo takes barely even a moment to respond. You were complimenting him back, right?

“Of course! I’m one of the strongest, after all!” He was proud and happy, his pride swelling in his chest as he said that out loud with confidence, with ego. It felt nice to have you find him to be soooo dependable.

Embarrassment rolls over you like a large tidal wave, smashing into you violently, the pressure crushing you under its weight.

You don’t really get why you even agreed to come anymore. You should’ve just stayed home and wallowed even more in your shame.

Gojo continues to talk, anticipating your replies. It… Seems that they were getting shorter and more brief?

(“Mhm.” “I see.” “That’s nice, Gojo-san.”)

Did he say something wrong?

——

The Grade 1 curse had been a pain in the ass. With a technique that was based off of wind, it was blowing everything to smithereens.

The unconscious civilians it had taken hostage weren’t a factor Gojo had considered either.

The curse screams, it’s breath sending the bodies of its victims hurled into the air, the strong gusts threatening to form a tornado to rip them limb from limb to digest them bit by bit.

They need saving. Time slows, his eyes counting the number of civilians. 18.

18 people need saving. 18 useless, non-sorcerers that required the strong, the protection of the sorcerers.

18 nuisances to his mission. Whatever happened to kill the curse and get out?

God, this wouldn’t have happened if these non-sorcerers weren’t so damn weak.

Gojo Satoru finds protecting the ones who can’t protect themselves, a pain. He should ignore them and focus on the curse, right? Suguru wasn’t here to chide him anyway.

Suguru… Suguru would be disappointed in him. Suguru would’ve wanted him to save them. Gojo grits his teeth. How would he save all of them in time?

Using Blue was out of the question, his technique not quite fully mastered. It’s a risk.

A risk he has to take if he was to prove himself as one of the strongest.

He’s surprised when he sees you hurriedly crashing your staff into the ground, he was sure you were out of commission after sensing the sheer energy this curse possessed. He thought you would finally give up and run away this time.

“Cursed technique: Claustra!”

He feels your cursed energy begin to flare up exponentially.

“Just…” A huff of breathlessness. “Because… You’re strong…” You dig your staff deeper into the ground, your cursed energy blaze out of you as you release your technique. “Doesn’t mean you can ignore the innocent!”

Multiple of your barriers begin to form midair, catching the unconscious civilians and bubbling them up safely as you tried to maneuver them to safety.

“Gojo-san!” You shout, the force of your cursed technique increasing as your feet dug themselves into the dirt, trying to stand your ground. “Focus on the curse! I’ll make sure everyone is safe!”

He’s never been ordered around before. Not even by Suguru.

He decides to listen anyway, activating Blue to appear behind the curse.

“Well then.” He stretches his arms over his head. “My little lady has commanded me to destroy you.” He breathes out a puff of air, as if annoyed when the curse thrashes its arms against his infinity.

It snarls at him, spittle flying out and reflected back at it. Gojo watches you bubble more knocked out civilians to safety. They won’t even know you helped them.

What’s the point of you even focusing on them?

“I want to make her in awe of me, you know?” He speaks to the curse that was blasting him with its acidic slime, growling as it bounced off of his technique.

Gojo grins, slipping off his sunglasses as he looks at the curse dead-on, watching it freeze in its movements as it felt the threatening flare of cursed energy emanating.

“So why don’t you die a little more dramatically, hmm?”

——

He approaches you as you sit against a tree trunk, heaving heavily and out of breath, your nose bleeding as you held your handkerchief up. Your uniform had been torn from the force of the debris flying around you, a few bruises and scratches decorated your hands and arm due to the torn off sleeve of your uniform.

Must be tough not having Limitless. Running out of cursed energy was never a problem for him, nor was getting injured. Not in small fry fights anyway.

“Yo.”

“Ah-“ You continue to press your handkerchief to your nostrils. “Gojo-san…” You take a deep breath in. “Good job… On taking care of the curse.”

You must be quite the pathetic sight for him. Laying on your ass, barely able to move due to some wind that didn’t even graze him.

To win in a fight so easily with one blast of his cursed technique whilst you were useless in the fight, struggling to save the people around you.

You’re pathetic. Your eyes cast themselves down towards the ground as his shadow looms over you.

It reminds you of the time he first saved you. You’re surprised when he settles down next to you, his arm brushing your shoulder due to his height as he crossed his legs and laid against the trunk with you, closing his eyes.

It’s then that you notice the cut on his cheek.

Perhaps it was instinct, your worry for him. Your hand reaches out and brushes the skin just below the injury.

“Are you okay…?”

His eyes open, those beautiful optics of his opening to look at your worried expression.

Before he bursts out laughing.

It was the absurdity of it. You, who definitely was in a much worse state than he was, asking if he, the Gojo Satoru, was okay from a singular tiny scratch.

You’re too precious.

“You should look at yourself first!” He laughs, his arm coming round to wrap around your shoulders as he ruffles your hair.

(He’s right, you know? You’re in a terrible state.)

You blush, embarrassment creeping up as you struggle to stop him from messing with your already tragic looking hair.

“Well- I’m sorry for being worried about you!” You huff, frustratedly turning your head away from him.

You feel his hand settle itself back on your hand. This time, it simply patted you. Softly, gently.

“Thank you, thank you.” You can practically hear the grin in his voice. “Good job out there.”

A… Compliment?

“I wouldn’t have saved those people in time at all if it weren’t for you.”

“…”

“You were really helpful out there.”

You peek back, only to see a smile on his face. His sunglasses were off, his eyes upturned and happy.

He was being genuine.

You feel your heart beat just a little faster.

——

“Geto, with how much tea you’re drinking, I’m surprised you haven’t exploded.”

“No…” He pauses, brows furrowed in thought for a moment. “That’s not going to happen.”

She grins, her finger tracing the rim of her own can of green tea.

“Worried about the mission those two are taking together?”

Geto smiles, the expression tight, almost constipated looking as he tries to feign calmness and serenity.

“Now whoever said that? I’m as calm as can be.”

Silence as Shoko scoffs, hands playing with her lighter in one as the other held her open can.

“Sure. That’s why we’re waiting by the entrance of the school, looking for their transport back.”

“I’m not worried at all.”

…

…

…

“What was the car plate number again?”

“34-67.” The reply was immediate, as if he had committed it to memory.

Geto coughs awkwardly into his hand as he realized he took the bait.

“Maybe I… Am a little anxious.” Suguru lets out a sigh, leaning forward and placing his elbows on his knees. “You know how Satoru can be.”

“And that’s how he treats the people he likes?”

Suguru hums, a small smile making its way onto his face. “He’s just an idiot who can’t put a finger on his emotions. We’re only human, after all.”

Suguru had firsthand experience.

“Hahahah! Right? Right?!” Geto and Ieiri both whip their heads up at the boisterous laughter of Gojo.

They’re surprised at the sight.

You were donning a blazer far bigger than your usual one, holding your duffel bag as your staff was strapped to Gojo’s back.

Gojo, in his uniform, minus his blazer.

You were giggling, hand over your mouth as you tried to contain the laughter spilling from your lips.

“You shouldn’t eat all those treats just because you were angry at him, Satoru-kun!” You were basically babbling with happiness, tears gathered at the corner of your eyes as you tried to hold back the joy, your middle starting to hurt.

“Ehh? Lose the honorifics already. They sound weird!” Gojo shivered in mock horror, tongue sticking out to express his disgust as you laughed again.

“Okay, okay. I’ll stop okay, Satoru?” You grinned up at him, looking into his eyes.

A breeze blew through the both of you momentarily, the setting sun casting a warm orange glow over the both of you as you stared at each other. The way the shining sun shone behind him…

It was… Odd. A fleeting warmth enveloping your heart as you trailed from his eyes, to his bandage covered cheek to his lips.

He always looked so pretty. You could spend hours just staring at him. It felt… Nice when he was looking at you. You want to keep his gaze here. You want to stay in this moment forever. Could you…?

Before Satoru was tackled to the ground by two people, anyway.

“What did you do to her?!”

“Did you replace her with a robot?!”

“Get off of me-! You big, heavy lugs- Suguru, you don’t feel as heavy?!”

You laugh at the sight, Geto laying atop Gojo as Shoko sat on Satoru’s knees, holding him down. It looked like a piled on hug.

You laugh, kneeling down carefully and wrapping your arms around Shoko and Geto as Satoru whines about letting him join on the ground.

“We’re back!”

masterlist

Notes:

The scratch wasn’t from the curse. Satoru let himself get scratched by a tree branch to see your reaction.

You and Gojo actually have matching bandaids here! Though you only got to pick out one, whilst he could choose many, many wacky little designs.

You both actually ate ice-creams before coming back. (Gojo paid.)

Geto was worried that you would come back somber and downcast, a product of hearing Gojo’s backhanded words. He hasn’t slept very well whilst Gojo was gone as well.

Ieiri thought that Gojo would brainwash you into thinking you were useless, and was ready to give him a lecture on manners if she saw you sad.

There were originally 35 known hostages. With the time of travel and days needed to track down the curse, both of you had expected all 35 to be dead. 18 live on.

i was thinking of bubbles when trying to think of reader’s cursed technique lol

[hannahssimblr]

Not coming anymore

Jen’s text message comes in when I’ve already left the house, and I groan as I pull my phone out to see it on the screen. 

Are you serious? I’ve already left the house, you have no idea wh-

I delete the message and phone her instead. She picks up after one ring. 

“Jen, seriously?” 

“I know, I’m sorry.”

“What the hell? My mom was going out again tonight and I had to sort a babysitter for Ivy. It took me an hour, and now I've already showered and changed my clothes. I'm on the way to the beach, are you seriously telling me I have to turn back and undo everything I've just done?”

A pause, “No, you can go. I just can’t.”

“Wh-” I fling my arm up and sigh. She can’t expect me to hang out with the emos without her. What if they get peckish and start eating me? 

“Michelle isn’t allowed to go, so she doesn’t want me to go either.” 

“Oh I see, so Michelle just asked at the last minute. And was shocked and appalled that she’s not allowed? How stupid is that, my god, she isn’t allowed to do anything. Why would she think her parents would let her do this without advanced permission seventy-two hours in advance?”

“Hey! Stop ranting at me! It’s not my fault! I told her I was going to go out anyway and she gave out to me and now we’re mad at each other, okay?” 

“She’s miserable so she needs you to be miserable too?”

“Yeah, apparently.”

I scoff, “that makes no sense.”

“Yeah well a lot of things don’t make sense in Michelle’s world.”

I sigh and turn to face the sea. The sun has only begun to set and toss colour over the clouds. It’s a nice evening, the kind that makes you guilty about staying in, and so my annoyance at Jen morphs quickly into annoyance on her behalf. “Can’t you just come anyway?”

“No, I’m too upset now.”

“Jen…”

“You should go. I already told Evan you were going to meet him there, and you could probably use the fresh air and conversation… I can’t bear to think about you stuck in your room drawing your own fucking toes on an evening like this.”

“Okay, fine. I’ll still go.”

“Good, I’ll talk to you later, and you can tell me all about what happened.”

“I’ll come over, yeah?” 

“If it’s not too late.”

“Bye, Jen.” 

“Yep.”

Speaking of Evan, I spot him up ahead, dashing over the grassy bank towards the path with his dirty old school bag bobbing on his back. I call out to him but he doesn’t hear me, so stuffing my phone back into my pocket I begin an easy jog toward him.

“Evan,” I do a half jump onto his shoulders and he almost dies with fright, his knees practically going from under him, and twists around combatively to realise it’s only me. 

“Fuck,” he wheezes, “Fuck sake!” He yanks his earbuds out, pulsing with the tinny beats of some pop punk song , “You fucking scared me!” 

“I know, I’m sorry, I need to stop doing that, it’s just a habit.”

“Yeah, God.” He combs fingers through his floppy fringe and sets it in place in a gesture, habitual and a bit compulsive, that he repeats constantly.

I fall into step with him once he has gathered himself and I smirk, “Why are you so jumpy, Evan?”

“I dunno.”

“What do you think I’m going to do to you?” 

“Nothing, I just… This is how I am. I don’t like it when people sneak up on me, it makes me nervous.”

“C’mon, it’s either that you’re afraid of getting beaten up or you’re afraid of getting caught doing something you shouldn’t, that’s what I think.”

“Wow, aren’t you full of theories?”

I laugh, “And related to all this, what’s in your locker, Evan? What are you always guarding it for?”

The corner of his mouth ticks up as he glances at me, “My locker? Do you really want to know?”

It's not like I care that much, because honestly, how exciting can it really be? It's the locker of a seventeen year old boy, so it probably contains a mouldy lunchbox and the crumpled remains of last month's chemistry assignment, but Evan seems pleased that I've asked him about it. I feign interest for his sake.

“Well, yeah, of course I do.”

He swings his bag off his back and fumbles through the front pocket. It’s got a huge ink stain on it and the zip has broken, so it’s just hanging wide open, “I’m showing you because I know you probably won’t tell anyone, you know, seeing as you don’t really have friends anymore.”

“Harsh,” I say, but not untrue. Even since the cowards from rugby took Fitzy’s side in our tussle over Alison’s nudes my lunchtime calendar has looked a lot emptier than it used to. Where there used to be banter at the picnic benches there is now... decidedly nothing at all, save, maybe, for a few unimpressed glances my way, an accidental or not-so-accidental shove against my shoulder in the hallway. Maybe my absorption in art is related to this somehow, but I haven’t been in the headspace to psychoanalyse myself that much lately. My mind is so full of values, tone, shape, and line quality that it has (blissfully) no room for other, less interesting things...

But, as it appears, this is interesting.

Evan pulls out a bag of pills, about twenty, all blue with little batman symbols on them, then digs his hand back in for another, this time filled with green buds.

I look at him and say simply, “You’re a drug dealer.”

“Yeah, man.”

“That makes sense.”

“Yeah, I've been at it a while now, I think I have a pretty good business going with it and all... So if you’re ever looking for something, you know…”

“You sell to Alison.”

“Uh huh,” He stuffs the baggies back into the front pocket after a rather over the top glance around him, like he thinks this empty street is suddenly going to burst to life with guards and sirens coming to hunt him down, throw him in handcuffs with a boot against the back of his neck and toss him in Mountjoy prison, like there are no criminals wanted more in Dublin city than Evan Henley and his fifty bag of weed. “She comes to me from time to time, not lately though.”

“Yeah,” I cough out a laugh, “I took your molly a few months ago. It was shit.”

He shrugs, “I get what I can get, not my fault.”

“Hm.”

“You could go to someone else, you know, but there actually isn't anyone else in our school, is there? I have a monopoly.”

“Fair.”

“You won’t like, tell Michelle or anything though, will you?”

I stare at him incredulously, “Michelle doesn’t know?”

“No, she hates all this stuff, like, she’s really strict about all drugs and shit and I just know she'll blow up at me and start shouting and roaring if she knew about it. I’d just rather not deal with it.”

I pause to consider this. It probably isn’t any real harm keeping this from her, is it? It’s not like she needs to know, and realistically if she did she would only freak out and and tell Jen, and then if Jen knew that someone close to her was in possession of any of this stuff she might-

“Yeah, no worries, I won’t tell her.”

He pats my shoulder in a gesture of camaraderie, so I guess we're real buddies now, “Ah, thanks Jude. Had a feeling I could trust you with this stuff.”

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