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daycourtofficial · 2 days

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I will follow you into the dark

Pairing: Azriel x reader | WC: 3k | warnings: character death, depictions of violence and gore, depressive tendencies shown

Summary: going through the five stages of grief after Azriel’s death is much easier with his shadows’ assistance

Alternate summary: “daycourtofficial stabs everyone in the heart” - @milswrites

Author’s note: this is heartbreaking as hell but I think it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever written. I legitimately sobbed while typing this. Tagging my pookie @illyrianbitch bc I sent her an early draft and her fic ‘when the heart is still longing’ inspired a scene in this

Cold. Ruthless. Calculated.

Words used to describe who Azriel was for the first five hundred years of his life. He wore a mask of indifference, a cold exterior to the world, letting them believe he was nothing more than the cruel exterior he showed everyone past his beloved family.

Until he met you.

You, whose extraordinary kindness and never ending patience for him helped him through the darkest pits of his soul.

It’s this past self he thinks about as the blade meets his skin, tearing through layers of muscle, blood spilling down his chest as it’s removed.

It’s this past self he reaches out to, begging for one moment to go back. To go back and save himself so much time. He would go back, his wings carrying him across Prythian, his landing harsh as he sprinted through your hometown.

He wouldn’t stop until he knocked on your door, his knuckles aching from how hard he would knock. He’d give anything to go back, even if it was just an extra forty-five minutes. He would run until his lungs burned, his legs barely able to hold himself up. He’d run down the cobbled street the two of you would walk down after a night at Rita’s, leaning against each other for support after a night of drinking.

He’d run past the bakery the two of you would meet at every Thursday morning, splitting pastries between the two of you and gossiping about your friends. He’d run up the stairs to your apartment, running up the steps you two walked thousands of times. He’d stop in front of that green door, the spot you two stood in for your first kiss.

He would knock and knock and knock, his fingers bleeding from how hard his knuckles were hitting the wood. He’d look at you as you opened the door, confused as to who he was and what he was doing there.

“You don’t know me, but in a few days I’m going to run into you at the bookstore. I’ll be with my friend Nesta and she’ll push me into you. She’s never admitted it, but I think she saw how I was staring at you and did it to force me to talk to you.

“You were so pretty, paging through some novel. I owe Nesta everything for pushing me into you, making me fall into the chair you were sitting in. It looked ridiculous - Nesta made sure to let Feyre broadcast it to everyone.

“I never cared. You were everything then, and you’ve been everything to me for over a century. What I wouldn’t give to come back here, to find you earlier, even just forty-five minutes. I’d give anything for more time with you.”

His eyes would peer around the apartment you moved out of decades and decades ago, moving all of your furniture into the house a ten minute walk from here. It would all smell like you, not a trace of him on you yet.

He would beg and plead with any god as to why he deserves just one extra minute of your time.

But he’s not in that apartment that you don’t own anymore, he’s somewhere in the present, he thinks. Azriel’s not sure where he is, but he reaches out towards you, trying to send every ounce of his love down that bridge that connects the two of you. He reaches a hand out, wanting to hold you one last time. He can feel your fear thrumming his chest as your hands frantically apply pressure to his neck, trying desperately to stop the bleeding.

He interrupts your pleas, stroking his fingers on your cheek, smearing his blood across it.

You’re here, he thinks.

He loved making you blush, your own blood changing the color of your cheeks as he flirted with you. Now his own blood was coloring your skin, a last marking of himself on you.

Every word from his mouth caused the blood to gush from his wound, but he didn’t care. He was fighting for every breath, every word. He knew this was the end. He was just grateful to the Mother that the last thing he’d see in this life was you.

He chokes on his blood, coughing exacerbating the wound.

“In every life.”

He pulls himself up, using your shoulders to brace himself. He pulls your lips to his, soft and delicate, as if it’s the first time he’s kissing you all over again. As if you’re back on that cobblestone street, the two of you standing right in front of your door, a mess of limbs and lips.

The blood on his neck is traded for the tie he wore, one that you had complimented him on as you saw him. You had pulled him down to you by his tie, pulling him to your lips.

And now he was pulling himself up to you, a final goodbye.

He pours everything into it, pouring every last bit of himself through the string connecting the two of you, clinging desperately to that connection for every moment.

You kiss him back just as urgently, hands holding his wounds. His mouth is salty as your tears start running into the kiss, your hands sticky and warm with his blood.

Your kisses become more and more urgent as he starts losing energy, your sense of urgency increasing as he starts fading, that golden bridge connecting the two of you not as bright as it was with each passing moment.

You know he stopped kissing you back a moment ago, but you can’t bring yourself to stop. This should be a fairytale and true love’s kiss is enough to bring someone back.

You pull back, moving his face into your neck, unable to let go. You can’t hear anything except the echo of where your bond was, as if it clanged all the way down your body as it disconnected you from him. You feel someone grip your shoulders, desperate to pull you away from your mate. Your sobs are piercing as you tighten your grip on him.

He’s still warm, he can come back. Still warm, he’ll be back. You start rocking with him in your arms, your tears creating tracks in the blood on your face. A body is pressed to your back, large and warm, and large tan hands cover your own on Azriel’s face. You hear slight sounds, you think it might be Cassian, but you’re not sure.

You don’t feel his tears on your neck

All you feel is a deep, gaping hole inside of you where Azriel lives.

Lived.

Your breaths come fast and choppy, and you start jerking in Cassian’s arms, the feeling of him too much, too much. You felt suffocated, your powers boiling within you as his body grows colder.

His shadows slithered over you, several of them still remaining with their master. Their patterns were meant to be soothing, but it wasn’t working. Several of them cloak Azriel in mourning, their usual energetic nature dulled in the aftermath.

The air in the room changes as all the heat is sucked into your body, your skin blazing. It happens so quickly - you feel Cassian pull away from you as someone slides Azriel’s body from yours, somebody else rushing forward and tackling you to the ground. Instead of hitting hard flooring, your head hits grass, your body racing with adrenaline.

You look up to find Rhysand letting go of you before backing up. He has tears down his face, his eyes a muddier shade of violet than before.

“Let it out. Here. Now.”

Your skin is boiling, everything in you desperate for release. All you feel is the tendril of a lone shadow around your ankle as you burn. You can’t hear Rhys’s sobs, only the roaring of the fire as the grass catches the spark.

The next week goes by in a blur. A funeral - one where the town of black wore deep blue to honor your mate’s lifetime of sacrifice. A few shadows remain with you, the only reason you’re able to get through his funeral is with their touch.

“Hey Az.”

The grass is wet with dew, the early morning fog sticking to it. You don’t notice how damp the ground is beneath you as you sit next to him. Your hands grasp the grass next to his grave, the dirt over his grave too fresh for anything to be growing on top of it.

Your fingers thread through the blades, holding tightly, as if you can uproot them and pull him back to the surface, back to you. As if you kept digging you could find that bond nestled within you somewhere.

Your lip wobbles as you try to say something, anything. The various flower arrangements that surround you both speak of how many visitors he’s had.

He would tell you that the bouquet of orange lilies are from Elain, because those are currently in bloom in Day. He would tell you that the arrangement of blue and black came from Rhysand and Feyre, the flowers meaning ‘a great sacrifice’.

You can’t bring yourself to tell him how the world has become duller in his absence, how you hardly eat or bathe, hardly leave your home at all. How Nesta and Feyre take turns visiting you, ensuring you eat and bathe, getting you to move your legs at least once a day.

He’d be disappointed you weren’t taking care of yourself. He’d want you to continue on, despite the unbearable horrors that live in your chest. It felt like your entire ribcage were burst open, your pain and sadness leaking out of every pore for all to see.

Despite the fact that centuries together have led you here, at the end of the road. A road you happily traveled, knowing it would end here eventually.

You’d never regret choosing him, opening yourself up to this inevitable heartache.

You just regret every moment that happens now that he’s gone.

His shadows have followed you to the cemetery, their presence one you’re grateful for. You know they love you, much like Azriel did, and you’ll take any part of him you can cling onto.

You know they’ll leave eventually. No one understood them. Were they sentient beings? Or were they mere whispers of Azriel’s presence, an echo of an echo of his power, disappearing whenever they wish?

You sit, your back leaned against his tombstone, the words “beloved mate” pressing into your back. You moved over, wanting to be as close as possible to him. You don’t much care if the dirt sticks to your skirts. Nuala and Cerridwen won’t say anything to you. They felt his absence too.

You push your hand into the dirt, grasping at it in hopes he’ll grasp your hand back. All you feel are the shadows swarming your fingertips, imitating his soft touch.

You lay in your bed, the one that is much too large without your mate. The shadows cloak over you like a blanket, carrying his smell with them.

They missed him too.

You sealed some of Azriel’s clothes away, a magical enchantment that preserved their smell. You were grateful you had the shadows for now, however fleeting their presence may be.

Where Nesta and Feyre helped you bathe, the shadows helped keep your room clean. You stayed in the House of Wind, everyone agreeing you shouldn’t be alone during this time. That was weeks ago, you think.

You’re not really sure.

Time wasn’t moving like it used to anymore. Hours and days pass without your notice, a gray fog hanging over you at all times. You move through the monotony of grief, unaware of your surroundings or how you get anywhere half the time.

You blink and find yourself at his grave.

“It was supposed to be me,” you half yell at the grave marker, your blood getting warmer with your anger.

You hate it. You hate how everything he was, six centuries of a life well-lived, were boiled down to adjectives and monikers.

“Beloved mate.”

“Beloved brother.”

You hated those words, as if that’s all he were. The words don’t tell how he would pick you up when you fell asleep reading and carry you to bed, how he’d help you cheat every time you played cards against Cassian because you laughed so hard whenever he flipped the table, or how his fingers would brush the hair from your face when the two of you cooked dinner every night.

‘Beloved’ is nothing to how your chest felt when he’d come home and see you before he updated Rhysand after being gone so you knew he was okay.

‘Brother’ is not enough to convey how much he loved Rhysand and Cassian, how much love and sacrifice they poured into each other.

“You said I could go first. You promised. And now I’m here, alone, without you. And I don’t- I don’t know how to do it.”

You were yelling, screaming at this slab of granite. You kicked the flowers on the grave, watching them fly through the air as the petals fell.

Yellow for friendship.

“It was supposed to be me! Not you!”

You tug at your hair before you lose all your strength, sinking into the grass covering his grave. Your tears resemble morning dew as they cling to the grass, your knees becoming green with the contact. A few shadows wind through your hair, a few others bring back the bouquet you kicked, placing the flowers back where they were, albeit a bit damaged.

“You’ve never broken a promise before.”

Your voice is weak, the stone in front of you unresponsive to your breakdown.

Life moves on. Everyone feels Azriel absence - even Lucien, so full of words is quieter around you. They don’t know how to talk to you anymore, your life becoming more and more hollow as the mating bond in your chest decays, growing into a moldy, decaying thing that turned you rotten.

Why him? Why couldn’t it have been anyone else? Why was it your mate - the one who sacrificed everything all of the time? Why wasn’t it Cassian or Rhysand or any of his spies?

Anyone but him.

You’d do anything.

The days keep moving, the forward progress of time a joke to you. Or perhaps you were the joke to the Mother. You slug through the days, finally able to bathe and dress yourself, but struggling to remember to eat.

Then the voices start.

It’s one soft voice, one you could hear in any lifetime, any world and know who it belonged to. His voice soft as ever delicately telling you to eat, coming and going on the wind around mealtimes.

You listened to it. You could never stay no to him, even if it was just an echo of him living in his shadows.

It was well known amongst his family members that Rhysand required his beauty sleep. Eight hours minimum of undisturbed slumber.

Which is why he is tearing through his house on a warpath at whoever is at his door at 2:30 in the morning. He angrily slung on a robe, harshly opening his door, ready to chew out who lay on the other side.

He did not expect to find you, panic stricken, shadows swirling around you.

Your sobs fill his ears, “they won’t stop, Rhys. They keep telling me everything. That Feyre’s asleep, Nyx is asleep and cooing. Cassian’s snoring, Nesta’s awake and brewing tea. They won’t stop.”

You start to collapse, but the shadows hold you up long enough for Rhysand to grab you and bring you in through the threshold.

He places you down on the couch and inspects the shadows swirling around you. He watches them flit about, some moving away, some circling you. He steps on one as it slithers past him, holding it in place.

He looks at you as he grabs the shadow, holding it between his thumb and forefinger, watching it wiggle in his grasp.

“Is this the first time they’ve spoken to you?”

You shake your head no, whispering, “they speak one at a time usually. And not like this.”

His gaze is sympathetic, sitting you on his sofa. “What do they usually say?”

You look down at your shoes, a sense of shyness overcoming you. You pick at your pants, “mostly to eat and take care of myself.”

You hum, remembering, “last week one of them told me Nyx was going to fall, which is how I caught him so quickly.”

Rhys’s eyes are penetrating as he gazes at you, his eyes are a curious shade of violet.

“Can we try something?”

Months later, you return home, the black of your clothes hiding the blood soaked within them. You traipse through the foyer, forgetting it was even family game night. Their conversations halt at your appearance. Despite wearing the same colors of the Night Court, the black looks like a deeper shade on you.

Or perhaps the shadows circling you made you look as if you belonged amidst them rather than the fae looking at you.

You nod to Rhys, your only form of communication these days. He nods back, a strained smile on his lips, devastated to watch what you’ve become, grateful he made a pact with Feyre to never continue on without her.

You don’t miss how his hand squeezes her a little too tight.

Your family watches as you step back into the shadows, the darkness consuming you once more. You prefer to stay in them instead of being alone. You linger in their embrace, their consumption of you everything you need, the remnants of Azriel’s scent lingering in this liminal space. You inhale his scent once more, tears stinging your eyes. In the darkness that surrounds you, never knowing where you end or begin, not knowing exactly where in the world you were.

Where nothing and everything existed, floating through your mate’s truest companions, you hear his voice calling to you, the soft tenor of his voice coming from a direction you can’t quite pinpoint.

Or perhaps it was only an echo.

Permanent taglist: @vanilla-seabass @cyrygher @lees-chaotic-brain @topaz125 @chessebookgirl @fides25 @lady-of-tearshed @ashbatz @fxckmiup @lilah-asteria @justvibbinghere @daughterofthemoons-stuff @mybestfriendmademe @heartless-tate @tsunami-of-tears @idrkwhatthisisimsorry @olive-main @azrielsmate3 @pit-and-the-pen @durgenyx @dee-writes-smut

Azriel taglist: @brieflyclassymortal @thisiskaylin

Thanks for reading 💕

#acotar fanfiction #azriel x reader #azriel #azriel x you #azriel fanfic #acotar writing #azriel x y/n

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golden1u5t · 2 days

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mean but he likes it | s.r x fem!reader

ꨄ requested: anonymous

ꨄ genre: smut

ꨄ summary: spencer finds that he likes it when your upset

"yes, well, if you were doing your job- i wouldn't have to do it for you." you gritted out between clenched teeth, you took the file away from the officer and stepped forward. "it's surprising that you made this far into your career with how lazy-"

"y//n!" hotch's voice pulled you out of the anger induced state you were in, you looked over your shoulder at hotch and stepped back from the officer. you glanced back at the officer before dropping the file on the table and brushing past him. the officer stood there for a moment before turning around and leaving, he was embarrassed no doubt. the room was silent, everyone working on what they were assigned to, before spencer cleared his throat and scooted his chair back. he moved his satchel over his crotch.

"i should- um- i should go check on her." he stood up and rushed out of the room, his face beat red as he beelined to the bathroom. he put his ear up to the bathroom door before knocking, "y/n, it's me. can i come in?"

once you gave him permission to come in, he didn't hesitate to open the door and lock it behind him. you turned around and looked him up and down, your eyes landing on the satchel covering his crotch. it didn't take a genius to know why it was situated there of all places.

spencer stepped closer to you and you met him halfway, cupping his face and crashing your lips into his when you got there. he whimpered against your lips and let you walk him back into the wall.

you pulled back long enough to take his bag off and drop it down on the ground. instead of going back to kissing him, like he expected, you tucked your head in the crook of his neck and started to press your lips to his skin, occasionally biting and sucking. you started to work on unbuttoning his pants, spencers hips bucked into your hand when you grazed his cock.

"y/n, please-" he breathed and grasped at your hips. you pushed his pants and boxers down, taking your head out of the crook of his neck in order to look at his cock.

"what's got you so worked up, baby? huh?" you teasingly smiled at him and wrapped you hand around his cock. spencer closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the wall.

"we're you thinking about last night?" you hummed, tilting your head down and letting your spit drip onto his cock. "or was watching me yell at that cop? that's what gotten you so turned on, spence?"

his cock twitched in your hand and that's how you knew you were right, you started to pump your hand on his cock. spencer gasped and moved his hands from your hips and wrapped his left hand around your wrist.

he wasn't going to last long, he never did, but that was a good thing in this case seeing that you were still actively working a case and you were in a public bathroom. so, you did everything to make him cum faster, you lightly squeezed his cock with every pump, swiped your thumb over his tip, used your free hand to cup his balls, and it worked.

"oh- i'm gonna cum, m'gonna cum, m'gonna cum!" he babbled, hips jerking forward into your hand as his stomach tightened. you stepped to the side so his cum wouldn't land on you and ruin your pants.

you pumped his cock a few more times for good measure before walking over to the sink and washing your hands, you looked over at him and laughed the sight of him leaning against the door trying to catch his breath. you dried your hands and walked over to him, you pressed a soft kiss to his lips before pulling his boxers and pants up and making him look presentable again.

spencer thanked you and opened his eyes, he looked down at the floor where his cum laid in a small pool. "what about the mess?"

"don't worry about that, i'll clean in up."

when spencer walked back into the room where the rest of the team was, they were all staring at him. he took a seat and opened the file again, trying to ignore all the eyes on him. hotch gave them a look that told them to keep quiet and get back to work, but of course derek wasn't going to do that.

"so... how's y/n?"

"she's good-uhm," spencer cleared his throat and looked up at derek, a small blush coating his skin. "she's really good."

"oh, i bet she is." derek snickered, earning a slap on the shoulder from emily. spencer blushed even harder and looked back down at the file, trying to ignore the small snickers traveling through the room.

#golden1u5t #myrarants #criminal minds fandom #spencer reid #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fandom #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x you #spencer reid smut #sub spencer reid #sub!spencer #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x fem!reader smut

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vivwritesfics · 2 days

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I almost forgot but here’s your reminder 🫶🏻

THANK YOU LILY

(this is gonna be the only thing I do today bc my head fuckin hurts) (Also happy Rhett Abbott day, I definitely didn't base readers family on the abbotts)

Series Masterlist

Logan Sargeant never saw himself doing a fifteen hour drive with his pet raccoon in the passenger seat. But Moon would have freaked out on a plane.

But it was worth it. Logan missed his girl and moon missed his mum. For that, Logan was willing to make the drive.

He knew her family had a working cattle ranch. He just didn't expect it to be this fucking huge.

He drove through the gate and kept on going. There were huge pastures either side of the drive up to the house. There was a good five minutes of driving until Logan finally saw the barn, and then the house.

The house was huge, but it was old and definitely needed repairs. He parked up outside of the house, scooped Moon into his arms and climbed out of the car.

His heart was in his throat as he knocked on the front door. She had no idea she was coming, and Logan hadn't met her family yet. Nervous was an understatement.

But then a literal, real life cowboy pulled open the door. "Can I help you?" He asked, voice deep, accent country. It was a world away from what Logan knew. This guy was huge. Tall, taller than Logan, and all muscle. He had a Stetson on his head and hair curling around his ears.

But then his eyes moved down to the raccoon in Logan's arms and his eyes lit up. "Is this Moon?" He asked.

"Yep," Logan said and held Moon's hand up to imitate waving. "I'm Logan," he said and help out his own hand towards the cowboy.

The cowboy shook it, introduced himself, and then let Logan into the house.

The cowboy, her brother, was more interested in Moon than he was in Logan. But Logan didn't mind. He'd been nervous to meet her family and Moon was definitely helping. When her mother came down the stairs, she fussed over Moon, not even noticing Logan at first.

When she introduced herself to Logan, she offered him lunch. Logan had thought that he'd take his girl out for lunch, but it was clear the offer from her mother was about more than actual food.

Her mother stood on the porch and hollered their names. "LUNCH!" She shouted.

Logan could see from the window as three people, all wearing Stetsons, walked out of the barn just across from the house. There were two men in front, one much older and one younger, and her bringing up the rear. But she stopped and pulled out her phone and pressed it to his ear.

Logan felt his own vibrate in his pocket, but he didn't answer it. She watched as she pulled her phone away from her ear in disappointment before she slipped it into her pocket and headed up to the house.

But then, as she walked through the front door, she saw him. Her jaw dropped as she stared at him. "Hi, baby," Logan said.

She ran towards him.

But completely ignored Logan.

"Oh, my baby!" She cried as she scooped moon into her arms and pressed kisses all over his face. "Oh, I missed you, my baby." She turned towards her brother, the one she had walked up from the barn with. "Per, come meet your nephew!"

#logan sargeant #logan sargeant imagine #logan sargeant x reader #logan sargeant fluff #logan sargeant x you #ls2 #ls2 imagine #ls2 x reader #f1 #formula one #f1 imagine #formula 1 #f1 x reader #formula one imagine #formula one x reader #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 imagine #moon the raccoon

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vxnuslogy · 1 day

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— the angel who lived. ft sunday

— warnings: f!reader (referred to as mother) but still uses "you/they" pronouns, angst, mentions and themes of death, brief mentions of blood, very lengthy/word vomit (~8k words), not proofread that much so apologies for any grammatical errors

— author's note: this is more of a character study on sunday and how i think he'll come to learn that escapism isn't really the way go about things but overall, i'm really happy with how this turned out. i hope you guys enjoy :p

death doesn't have a requirement. regardless of age, gender, or race, it will eventually reach everyone at the right moment.

sunday has always remembered the words - or rather the rumors the dreamchasers spoke of - that when death comes knocking at their door, they'll be clad in purple and a trusty crow perched on their shoulder for a companion. sunday wasn't the type of man to believe such rumors, but now, after waking up from what seemed to be an endless dream, he was forced to believe their words.

“can the angel walk?” you spoke. emphasizing the way you called him angel made sunday furrowed his brows in contempt. you were mocking him. with a huff of his breath, he slowly rose from his position and walked with you.

“where are we?” he asks. you looked at him from the corner of your eyes before replying. “death's waiting room.” sunday felt his blood run cold. “you'll be staying here with me and the rest until your time is up.” he wanted to question you more. press you for answers on when and where death will take him.

but he never had the chance to. not when children of all ages came rushing towards you, all with bright smiles on their faces. he stood in shock, mind boggled at the thought. they were hugging death. did they not feel any ounce of fear?

one of the many children that surrounds you took notice of his presence. she had long brown hair kept in two low pigtails and bright green eyes that remind him of the garden he and robin used to play in when they were just their age. she waved him over and you urged him to walk up the steps of the giant house that stood in front of him.

“you'll be staying here with us until your time runs out. do be an angel and help me around with the chores, alright?”

and so for an indefinite amount of time — and against his will — helped you around the “orphanage”.

the younger children were all unruly and liked to cause trouble. every morning he'd wake up to a young child jumping on his bed and would be subsequently dragged into his bathroom to get ready. they'd tug at his hand with an iron grip - it really wasn't, sunday could easily pry his hand away but choose not to hurt the child’s feelings - leading him to the main kitchen where you and one of the oldest girls, elenaor he learned, cooked everyone breakfast.

“woke up on the wrong side of the bed, i presume?” your voice laced with amusement made sunday sigh. putting on the apron elanaor had given him, he reluctantly stood by your side and waited for you to hand him a few ingredients to chop. “it was more of woken up by a gremlin and getting dragged all the way here.” your and elanaor’s snickers of amusement never failed to make heat rise up to his cheeks. he had to fight the urge to hide behind his wings, if he did, you'll tease him relentlessly. this wasn't how he would normally act under any circumstances. he had a reputation to keep, but here, in what you call “death's waiting room”, no one knew him. so he was free to act how he wished.

“you've been here for a while,” turning off the tap, you pat your hands dry and walk towards a pot on the opposite side of where he was. “you'll get used to it.”

“i don't think seeing “death” act like a mother towards soon to be dead children is something i’ll ever get used to.”

the halovian bit his tongue the moment his words stumbled out of his mouth. he could still hear you moving around the kitchen but you had made no effort to respond. sunday was ready to issue an apology but you had beat him to it.

“it's something i’ve never really gotten used to.” the sound of chopping ceased from his station. the sound of water boiling echoed between the two of you - he hadn't realized that elanaor had left to escape the tense atmosphere - he turned to stare at your back, watching you dutifully stir the pot. something that reminded him of his mother. he wonders then, did you also take his mother here to this very orphanage. did she also chop ingredients as you stirred soup?

“i find that quite hard to believe…” his voice is uncharacteristically quiet and unsure. so unlike the voice of the head of the oak family.

you turn to him with a raised brow. “and why is that?” he walks to your station, chopped vegetables in his hand as he dumped them into the pots before putting the lid back on. “you look at home here. is this your home, death?”

you close your eyes and smile. “for a while, yes, yes it is.”

sunday didn't question you further. the two of you quietly set the plates on the multiple tables in the dining room. he would often take glances at you, soaking in the black off shoulder top you wore under that frilly apron; the long muted purple skirt that swayed with your movement like it was your dance partner for years; and the most eye catching of them all, the black gloves you never took off. all of the sudden, sunday remembered this one particular rumor about you.

“they say before death became death, they carried life in their steps; but their fingertips eventually caused everything they touched to wither away.”

sunday wonders if that particular rumor is actually true.

elanaor came back with wary eyes flickering between him and you. with a small smile from you, the girl started taking the utensils from the cabinet and started laying them on either side of the plates. sunday will never get used to this almost domestic scene unfolding in front of him.

“breakfast is ready!” you cup your hand beside your lips as your voice echoed throughout the house. it wasn't long before little feet dragged against the wooden floor and started to pile in the dining room. “be sure to wash your hands first.” your gentle reminder was met with a chorus of ‘we remember!’.

sunday stood idly in one of the corners, hands crossed over his chest as he started to remind himself of the next chores he'd be doing. sighing to himself, he pushed through his messy hair as his wings fluttered. without another word, he left the dining room and made his way to the backyard where there were piles of wet clothes waiting to be hung dry.

“oh! good morning, mr. sunday!” said a young boy with blonde hair and matching blue eye - the other covered with a black eye patch. “good morning, louis.” he replied with a smile before starting to take a few pieces of clothing and helping the boy with his chores.

“breakfast is ready,” sunday reminded. “i’ll take it from here.” louis shook his head and continued his actions. the older man didn't bother to urge him to get breakfast further. if there was one thing he learned by being here, it's that the children had adopted your stubborn and independent nature.

after hanging all the clothes, sunday bid louis to get breakfast - scolding him for trying to skip eating - and quietly made his way back to his room and plopping rather ungraciously on his bed with a sigh. his arm came to cover his eyes as he pondered, “when will death come to me?”

“not now, that's for sure.”

sunday quickly sat up from his position to see you come inside his room, a tray with plated food in your hands.

“it's rather rude to enter someone's room without knocking first.” he barked. you only rolled your eyes at him and placed the tray on the small table in the middle of his room. “i did, but the angel seemed too lost in his thoughts to notice.”

“be sure to finish everything. once your finished, bring them downstairs so i can clean them.”

and without another word, you exited his room. sunday sighed for the nth time today and made his way to the table, pulling a nearby chair and said his prayers before digging in.

he didn't want to admit it, but you were a good cook. every dish that you served him tasted like home; as if you had dug around his mind to take all of his nostalgic feelings and poured them all in the soup he was eating now. for “death's waiting room” it was ironically peaceful. sure the children would get into scuffles here and there, but without a fail, you'd come just in the nick of time and quell the burning banters.

but today you seemed distracted. sunday was an observant person by nature; he reads through people's emotion by the frequency they create and interpret them through the halo behind his head. recently, your usual soft yet peculiar frequency was replaced by something erratic; something that couldn't sit still. in the back of his mind, sunday wonders if it's related to the crow that's been following you like a shadow recently.

taking the tray in his hands, he made his way back downstairs to help you wash the dishes. on the way the children greeted him with bright smiles as they haul one another to play in your reading room, eager to pick out the bedtime story he or you would read later tonight despite it not being even noon. sunday didn't fight the small smile that crept up his face as some of the older kids tried to take the tray away from his hands, urging him to rest while they wash his plates.

“it's nothing to worry about.” he would reassure them with a pat on the head. “a few plates won't be the death of me.”

by the time he was back in the kitchen, his chest began to feel heavy as you and elanaor talked. both your backs facing him but judging from the heavy and somber frequency you created, he could only assume you're talking about something sorrowful.

“angel?” you're voice snapped him out of his stupor. “apologies, i zoned out.” he avoided your eyes as he set the down his dirty plates to the side and pulled his sleeves up to his elbows.

“you alright?” you question him, a brow quirked up in wonder. he looked to elanaor who was already looking at him with worry, “i should be the one asking that, but i’m alright.” you only hummed as you wiped your hands on the spare cloth and took off your apron.

“i have something i need to do.”

elanaor's frequency spiked making sunday’s heart skip a few beats.

“ely, angel, can you keep an eye on the children? i’ll be in my office if you need anything.”

“mother, wait!”

sunday felt his eyes widen as elanaor called you “mother”, dropping the plates she held on the sink and instead came to grip at your arm. her head hanging low as her hands curled into fists.

“does he need to go…?” she asks, voice below a whisper.

golden eyes met yours. sunday was trying to decipher how, or rather, why, your frequency suddenly flatlined, like how a heart would when someone passed. you were the first to break eye contact. leaning down to whisper something in elanaor's ear that broke the girl’s heart.

“angel.” your voice felt off too. it made his ears ring uncomfortably. it sounded like an untuned violin trying to play a complicated piece to impress the audience. “keep the children entertained while i’m absent.”

sunday didn't like you; he hated you. but right now, as you left the poor girl trying to harshly rub away the obvious tears spilling from her eyes, not bothering to turn back as you walked away, he decided he hated you even more.

—

“i understand. we’ll proceed like usual.”

your office was off limits to certain people for various reasons, but sunday and elanaor were exceptions. without turning to look back, you heard elanaor's voice from the other side of the door as you put the telephone down.

“come in.” you called out. the creak of the door always unnerved girl, you said you'd get it fixed but after the angel’s arrival you hadn't found any time to do so. “do you need something?”

“the children are asking for you.” this time it was the angel who spoke. his voice like a river flowing endlessly in a creak, you were distinctly aware that his kind had a natural affinity to having captivating voices.

“i’ll be down in a—”

you were cut off as a crow started cawing and scratching at your window. from its reflection you see elanaor look down and sunday staring at you with a narrowed gaze. with a sigh, you circled around your desk and opened the window. the crow situated itself on your shoulder, a piece of paper tied around one of its foot.

“the two of you go ahead of me.” you spoke, taking the piece of paper from the bird. “i still need to finish this.”

from the corner of your eyes, you see elanaor leave but sunday didn't budge from his spot.

“something the matter, angel?”

“enough with the mind games, death.”

he barged in your office, closing the door on his way and standing face to face with you. an angry fog clouding his eyes that reminded you of molten gold and sweet dreams.

“what's going on?”

“nothing is going on.”

“you're a terrible liar.” he snapped. you quirked a brow at him with a tilt of your head that made him even more furious.

“so the angel can feel angry. that's good to know.” you turn your back on him and open up the piece of paper in your hand despite already having guessed it's content.

gaining back his composure, you heard him take a deep breath before trying to calmly question you further.

“what did you whisper to elanaor this morning?”

“i believe that's none of your business.”

“you—!”

sunday was ready to snap again but reigned himself in just in time for you to walk past him.

“if you're so curious,” you opened your office door and paused to turn back on him. “why don't you join us later tonight?”

“join you for what?” he didn't like where this one was going. the air felt heavy, it's as if the entire world were resting on his shoulders. it didn't helpt that you gave him a bitter closed eyed smiled as you left the room.

“one of our boys will be leaving soon.”

—

“and so, they all lived happily ever after…”

by the time you and sunday reached the reading room, children of all ages were all huddled into a cozy circle with elenaor in the middle. in her lap was an old storybook you had found in one of your travels.

you placed blankets on each and every children sleeping on their makeshift fortress of scattered pillows and stuffed animals. brushing some of their hairs away from their eyes, letting your gloved hand linger on their faces for a while longer. all the while, sunday kept his gaze on you as elenaor stood by his side, storybook in her hands with an iron grip.

after tucking in everyone, you joined the two of them. you were the last one to exit the room. turning off the lights and letting your gaze loiter around the many sleeping faces in the now dark room.

“let's go.” you uttered with a sigh. taking the storybook from elanaor's hand and tucking it under your arms. “where are we going?” sunday asked who was a few paces behind you.

“we'll be bidding farewell to one of the older boys here.”

he didn't question you further like you had imagined, but you were grateful nonetheless. on the way you stopped by your office to take a candlestick and lit it up to serve as your guide through the dark house.

after climbing up a few steps, you stopped in front of an old rusting door. turning back to elanaor and sunday, you asked, “are you sure you want to be here?”

sunday was the first to answer.

“you were the one to invite me.” he crossed his arms over his chest. he kept his eyes closed to hide the anxiety he felt, but the wings behind his ears betrayed him as they came to try and hide away half of his face.

you turn to elanaor who only nodded solemnly.

“death doesn't have a requirement..” you mutter as you open the door and enter the room. the two followed you inside and heard elenaor choking back on her tears. “it will eventually come to everyone, regardless of their age, gender, race.”

“death will find us all.”

in the cold and lonely room stood a bed, a boy with deadly pale skin laid there as he looked at you with a knowing look on his face.

“it's good to see you again, mother.”

sunday was at a loss for words as you sat down on the edge of the bed as you took off the gloves you wore and placed them on the bedside table along with the candlestick. the crow that was perched on your shoulder came to rest on the boy's bedframe instead.

“it's good to see you again too, corvy.” the sickly boy reached out his hand to pet the crow’s head but heaved a cough in the middle of the action.

the sound of his coughing urged elenaor to leave his side and run towards that other side of the bed opposite to yours. she gripped the sheets in a tight fist, sunday feared her palms would begin to bleed if she gripped any tighter.

“everyone's time eventually runs out…” you mutter as a strange red chord appeared in your hands the moment you touched the boy's forehead. “it's only a matter of when and how you're time runs out.”

“did you enjoy your stay here, michael?”

the boy named michael smiled with content. his boney hand holding yours that rested on his cheek.

“i did, mother.” you smiled at his response. the same smile you would greet the children with once they have woken up; the same smile the children would close their eyes to whenever you finished reading them a bedtime story.

“that's good. i’m reassured that i did my job just fine.”

“you've always done a good job, mother.”

sunday couldn't believe his eyes. he didn't want to believe his eyes as your tears slowly cascaded down your face as you leaned down to press a kiss to the boy's forehead. elanaor jumping over to your side and hugging you tightly as her tears soaked your shirt.

your other hand came to hold the red string that was tied around the boy's sickly figure on the bed. you motioned your hand in a weird way and suddenly a pair of black scissors appeared. sunday felt his blood run cold as sweat dribbled down to his chin.

“may destruction have mercy on you.” you whisper to him, forehead resting against his. “leading your journey in the afterlife, forever peaceful.”

“may this be the end of your painful dreams.”

and in the blink of an eye, the cord was cut and the boy closed his eyes.

sunday read the way his lips moved and felt his heart break in sympathy.

“may you have peaceful dreams, too, mother.”

—

you carried destruction — death — in your fingertips. ever since that night, sunday had kept his distance from you. he always kept his distance with you, but now, you would never catch him standing near your vicinity.

the children found it strange. the two of you, without a fail, would always banter back and forth until the halovian had to leave to do other chores. some would turn to elenaor and ask what had happened between the two of you, but girl would only smiled with her eyes closed, pat them on the head and say “it's alright, they'll come around.”

but sunday thought otherwise.

how could death, shed any tears? it didn't make any sense. you were an emanator of destruction - he deduced from your words that night - death itself, so how come you brought life to the very house he and the soon be deceased children here?

they all considered you a mother. a mother. a parental figure they could go to to share their sorrows and woes.

you couldn't possibly be the death he's come to know and fear, but at the same time you were.

he wanted to hate you. hating you would be easier. it is easier. but his mind kept reminding him of the multiple times you would treat these children with the utmost gentleness. because you knew that one wrong touch could end their dreams.

“mr. sunday,” he looked up from his downcast position to look at elenaor. she'd been crying, sunday concluded. her eyes were red around the corners and she would sniffle from time to time. “will you be joining us for lunch?”

“ah…” he awkwardly turned his head away to hide the scratch that one of younger girls had accidentally given him. if she were to notice, elenaor would come bursting into your office to inform of his injury. “i’m feeling rather full as of now. I'm afraid i’ll have to decline.”

“i… see…” she only gave him a closed eyed smile. “well, goodbye then, mr. sunday.”

he waved goodbye to the girl who ran back inside the orphanage and sighed. hand coming to graze the cut on his left cheek and wincing as he did so.

“it'll get infected if you don't get that treated soon.”

sunday visibly froze, much to his dismay, as your figure emurged from his side. speak of the devil and they'll arrive, he thought.

“it's a scratch.” he weakly argued to which you only just hummed.

he kept his eyes on his hand playing with the grass as a shadow was cast over him. sunday flinched back when a gloved hand came to reach for his face, making him back up more to the tree he had been leaning on all morning. his actions startled you making you recoil your hand, all the while your hair obscured your eyes. but sunday swore he saw a flash of hurt in them. he felt guilty.

against his better judgement, his free hand came to hold yours in his.

“sunday?!” you said in shock trying to pull your hand away.

your hand was warm. he wondered if they ever got sweaty and uncomfortable when the heat reached its peak, wearing black under the scorching sun didn't seem too appealing.

“you said my name.” sunday replied, making you furrow your brows. of all the things he took note of, it was the way you said his name. slowly, he let go of your hand and let it fall back to your side. you held such a strange expression on your face, but who was he to talk. he did something strange too.

with a sigh, you pinch the bridge of your nose. “come on, let's get that scratch of yours a bandaid.”

sunday walked quietly with you as you navigated to the house’s makeshift infirmary. on the way there, children looked at the two of you with wide eyes and quickly rushed to each other's side to have hushed conversations.

“sit down.” you command and he followed.

the following minutes were spent in silence. you scavenging for a bandaid and some disinfectant, while he sat on the bed watching you move from one place to another.

“look to the right for me, angel.” your voice instructed him. this time, it wasn't your usual soft tone, nor was it the mellow and somber one on that night. it was more monotone this time around but still held some semblance of what he assumed was “fondness”.

your fingers carefully dabbed the cotton on his scratch before placing a bandaid over it. sunday noticed you didn't let your touch linger on his face like how you would when you patched up some of the kids when they got their own injuries.

“do you sing?” sunday asked on a whim, making you pause as you put away your tools. “what brought this on?” you question with a tilt of your head.

“louis and i heard someone humming the other day.” his finger grazed the fresh bandaid on his face. gold eyes never leaving your figure as you turned to look at him. “he told me you often hummed some of the children to sleep.”

“there's your answer then.”

sunday wanted to throw a pillow to your face. with an aggravated sigh, he stood up and followed you out the door.

“would it kill you to try and answer directly?”

“maybe.”

before you could step out of the infirmary, a pecking noise came from one of the windows, stopping sunday and you in your tracks.

you left his side and opened the window and let the crow inside the room. like the first time, it sat on your shoulder as you unraveled the piece of paper it handed you.

“will another child be leaving?” he mumbled. you walk towards him again and the both of you walk out of the infirmary. “everyone in this orphanage will leave.” your eyes met his and sunday pondered on what was going on in your mind.

“including you?”

“yes.” your answer was unexpected. “including me.”

“how so?”

“i’m no exception, angel.” there you were again, calling him by that blasted pet name. he couldn't fight the urge to roll his eyes as he followed you to the library. “i may bring death, but death will eventually come for me one day.”

“will someone replace you once you're gone?”

you only nod your head in agreement. hands grazing the many spines of the books that make up your library.

“ely would probably replace me.”

sunday pressed his lips to a firm line. in his mind, it made sense. elanoar was undeniably the closest child to you. she even accompanied you and him when michael departed, and he could only imagine how many children she's seen leave this orphanage in that room.

“they aren't really children, you know.”

the gray haired man furrowed his brows in confusion. “what do you mean?”

“you know what dreamscapes are, right?” he nods and follows you to sit down on one of many seats in the library beside the window. “people sleep and enter this fantastical world created by your predecessors. this place is similar. the reason why i call it “death's waiting room”, is because it's actually a waiting room.”

“do you mean…” sunday paused, trying to connect all the pieces you've given him. “these… children… they probably aren't children. they're people who've fallen asleep and are waiting for death.”

“exactly.” you flip through the pages of the book you had taken from one of the shelves. every page was filled with different words in elegant cursive handwriting. “right now, you're in a dream. waiting for your time to run out. waiting for death to come to you.”

“then, if that's the case, when will you cut the cord of my life?”

“even i don't know the answer to that.”

“is my name not written on the paper your companion gave you?”

you shook your head. “then how do you know when someone's time is up?” you take a few minutes to organize your thoughts, trying to think of a way to explain it, but in the end you couldn't.

“i don't know.”

“you don't know?!” sunday snapped. hands crashing on the wooden table as he stood up. his eyes were furious at you, making you sigh. “i’m not a god, angel.” you snap the book shut in hand. the sound echoing in the empty library as sunday sat back down.

“i may bring death to everyone i touch, but i am no more than a pawn in the grander schemes of things.”

“even i don't know why death comes to take the lives of us humans.”

sunday was speechless as he looked at you. you looked tired — absolutely exhausted — just like how his sister would describe him whenever he refused to leave his office back in penacony.

“i… apologize..” he bowed his head in shame. “i don't normally lose my composure like this.”

“it's fine.” he heard you sigh. “everyone grows on edge when death is waiting outside their door.”

“do you have to cut the cord?”

what a silly question, you must've thought. but sunday wanted to know even if what he was asking was inevitable.

you only smiled bitterly in response.

“even i fear the consequences of death, angel. i have to.”

sunday felt sick in the stomach when dinner approached. his ears ringed with your response, that you too, will eventually meet your end. it made him sick, and he didn't want to admit it.

he didn't come down to the dining room as usual. he expected elenaor to knock on his door, carrying a tray of food, something she's been doing after michael’s departure. but this time, when he opened the door, he had to stop you from stumbling inside his room as elenaor kept pushing you inside even with her hands occupied.

“elenaor..?!” you both whisper yell to the girl.

“you two need to talk!” she said with a huff. you winced when she dropped the tray of food on his table. “everyone's been worried about you two, y'know.” you both look away, sunday scratching his cheek while you were blatantly ignoring the girl as she put her hands on her hips.

“mother,” she called out to you but you pretended to not hear. “mother!” she said a little louder, now standing in front of you as she tugged and whined for you to acknowledge her. “you're so mean, mother!”

sunday’s wings hid the growing smile and laughter that was bubbling in his chest at the comical sight.

your cold facade was cracking with the way your lips were curving upwards; eyes pooling with mirth as the girl continued to scold you for some odd reason.

“and you!” elenaor pointed at sunday with her finger. he saw you snicker under your breath, fist in front of your lips, a futile attempt to hide your amusement. “you're supposed to be the more mature one between the two of you!”

“i am?” he points to himself with a tilt of his head. “yes!” she replied with a huff. elanaor made her way to the door, but not without giving the two of you another half attempt to glare. “by tomorrow, the two of you should be back to normal!” and for good measure, she slammed the door shut on the both of you.

the room was quiet, that is until, your giggles filled the room. your poor attempt in stopping your laughter made sunday's eyes go wide in shock, though he didn't know why. you always laughed in the house. be it from the teasing you always do to him and the other kids or by something else, you were always a giggly person.

but this was different. sunday just knew this was different. the way your eyes crinkled and shaped itself into little crescent moons and how tears of pure joy would escape every now and then. and your smile, aeons your smile. that smile didn't belong to death, it belonged to you.

sunday's laugh rang like church bells, you had to double check if what you were hearing was real. the two of you shared a moment of silence before erupting into fits of giggles again. the sound reminded you both of children running around the orphanage, playing kings and queens, monsters and knights, and the laughter that came after all the playing.

“what a strange girl she is.” sunday said after coughing into his fist. he had to reign himself in when you laughed in reply. “she is. but she's my strange girl.”

your eyes lingered on the door the younger girl had slammed. they held such fondness, sunday wouldn't have guessed the “death” he's always been afraid of would be so loving.

“well, now that's done.” you wipe away any stray tears left and motion sunday to his food. “eat. louis told me you hadn't eaten lunch. you must be starving.”

sunday sat down on the chair while you sat on the edge of his bed. smoothing out any creases on his blanket as he ate his food. every once in a while, he'd look at you between bites and still see that smile present on your face.

“you should smile more.” he said before wiping his lips on the towel elanaor had kindly prepared his food with.

“i could say the same to you, angel.” you look back at him. the same soft smile still on your lips as the streams of moonlight in this beautiful dream started to fill in the gaps of the window in the room, bathing you in a glow that made you look divine. “you look more handsome when you smile.”

he coughed into his fist as you laughed. wings coming to try and cover his face and hide his flustered state.

“i never… took you one for compliments.”

you tilt your head curiously, “do i not look like the type to give compliments.” sunday shook his head. hair and wings following his movement that made you swoon inside, it was nothing short of adorable. seeing the always composed mr. sunday stuff his face with the food you cooked for him.

this wasn't good. but you couldn't bring yourself to stop.

“you're wrong then.” you say as you let yourself fall onto his bed.

“are you fond of children?”

“well, i wouldn't have gone through all this trouble by creating this dream if i wasn't.”

“just answer me directly, death.”

you laugh again in response. how strange it was, that the name “death” the halovian would always use to describe you no longer sounded hostile.

“yes.” you said softly. “i’m very fond of them.”

“why?” he questions. you hear the sound of plates and utensils move around and it wasn't long before another weight made the bed dip from the other side. “everyone dreams of having their own family, angel. i’m no exception.”

you closed your eyes for a moment before they open again in bewilderment as you looked to your side.

your right hand, still with it's glove on, was being held by sunday's own hands. his thumbs and index finger would tug at your fingers before his palm settled in your own.

you could hear the way your heart was beating in your ears. “do you not fear death, angel?” you ask as you let the man play with your hand like a child.

“i do.” he answered. you felt the bed dip and shift as he turned to lay on his side. “but recently, i've come to know them very well.”

you close your eyes again. letting the feeling of sunday tracing shapes in your palms lull you into a momentary sleep.

“what is death like, if you've gotten to know them very well.”

“death is a scary thing.” he paused, making sure you were listening. “i tiptoed around it back at home, like how two siblings would've tried to hide from their father when they played hide and seek.”

“i didn't believe death existed until it took something - someone - very important away from me. it was the first time in a while did i felt the fear and fury of it all being poured into my body.”

“do you hate death, angel?” you ask, still not opening your eyes.

“i do.” he answered with no hesitation, making you scoff. “death is impatient, not waiting for me to finish my explanation before jumping to conclusions.”

alright, you admit, he got you there.

“i hate death. i don't ever want to experience it anytime soon. it takes and it takes, and i don't want it to take anything important away from me ever again.” you felt sunday weave your fingers together as he spoke. “but i learned that death, also gives.”

“death is a lot kinder than i imagined. they didn't snarl or bite - but they did tease and scoff - at me. they're fond of children, much to my surprise. treating them with the utmost care and gentleness, even i believe i don't possess.”

“death, though not intentionally, showed me that even beautiful dreams can cause suffering. something i've refused to believe — to acknowledge — for the longest time.”

“are you scared?” you ask. opening your eyes to turn to lay on your side as well. not letting sunday's hand slip away from yours.

“no, not anymore.” somehow, you could almost see the smile his handsome face wore. “because death is gentle when someone's time is up.”

“what if they aren't gentle with you?”

“well,” he only chuckles. “death is gentle with me right now, are they not?”

ah, he got you again.

—

sunday, from a very young age, was taught that dreams were one of the many ways that the gods used to convey their intentions to mankind.

all his life, sunday had seen the ugliest side of humanity and yet he wished nothing but the best for them. he dreamed of creating a paradise where humanity no longer had to fight for survival; the strong wouldn't grow stronger nor will the weak grow weaker. everyone would be equal.

sunday's existence was to be everyone's savior; their saving grace in this perpetually cruel world. he would willingly spend the rest of eternity in solitude if it meant that others could live in a paradise, free from all misery and suffering.

he's never seen anything wrong with wanting to escape; taking the easy way out. who would want to be in pain after all.

you would.

why does life slumber? he always asks — he wanted to ask you but never got that chance to.

“we slumber because we don't want to wake up. we do not wish to see a painful and unfair tomorrow. we want to hold on to this beautiful dream where everything is alright. because we fear the future, we don't wish to wake up. the future is not kind, not to everyone. we will lose everything.”

“but we still have to.”

jolting awake, sunday pressed his hand over his chest where his heart was beating erratically, its sound ringing uncomfortably in his ears. no longer was he in the orphanage he'd grown accustomed to. now, he was all alone, in a damp, cold, and dark room.

“can the angel walk?”

twisting his head to the side, there you sat. the same black off shoulder top, muted purple skirt, and your companion perched on your shoulder as you close the book in your grasp.

you smiled at him. “so the angel can wake up, good to know.” your words ring in his ears. it feels nostalgic, a sudden sense of deja vu, but it left him with a feeling of doom as you walked to stretch a hand to him.

sunday took it with a moment of hesitation. he let himself be pulled up with your help and let you lead him somewhere else.

“where are we?” he asks.

“in reality.”

his eyes narrowed in a confused glare.

“what happened to the orphanage?” he didn't like the quietness of everything. he couldn't read your emotions, frequency practically nonexistent. “gone. everyone left.”

the ground shook along with his heart. he couldn't properly process the way you took hold of his hand and began to run straight into the darkness.

he was scared. he was so uncontrollably scared with what you've done because why…. why was he still alive?

“pick up the pace angel.” you turn your head to him. a teasing smile on your lips trying to hide the panic and terror in your eyes. “don't tell me the angel forgot how to run?”

“what's going on…”

“nothing's going on.” there you were again, avoiding the question; leaving him guessing in the dark.

against his instincts — the nagging voice in his mind to follow you and run — he pried his hand away from yours and skid to a stop.

“angel?!” you shout in confusion. your panic doubled as the ground shook more and more.

“you can't just keep me in the dark, death.” his hands balled up into fists at his sides. the look of foreboding did not suit you, he much preferred your easy going natured smile. “i’m not going anywhere until you tell me what's going on.”

what a stubborn child, your mind replayed. eyes fogging up with an unreadable emotion.

“alright,” you say calmly. “how about a game then?”

sunday looked confused but stayed patient with you. something you're not used to.

“let's play a round of tag. you're it. if you tag me, i’ll tell you everything.”

“this isn't a game, death.”

sunday had come to the forlorn conclusion that he didn't even know your name.

“all is fair in love and war.” your voice matched your somber eyes.

what did you mean in love and war? what love? what war?

“come on now, angel, can't you just play one game with me?”

his adam's apple bobbed up and down as he swallowed his fears down along with his hesitation.

“okay.” he said. “let's play, but just one game.”

you smiled in thanks. “on my count, we run.”

“three.”

“two.”

“one.”

“RUN!”

and so the both of you did. you ran with such vigor, sunday felt that he'd lose here. lose the chance of finally knowing the truth.

“don't give up on me now, angel. we're almost there!”

your laughter echoed in the dim lit corridors of this nightmare that seemed to never end. but the way a crown of light bathed you, sunday felt his feet push further and further until they burned from the pain.

you kept smiling back at him. the childish smile he'd always see on the faces of the many children back in the when they also played tag. you would always be “it” and tagged one child to another, leaving you the victor by the end of it all.

but this time, sunday would rise victorious.

“brother!”

sunday skid to a stop as a body slammed on his own, nearly making him stumble down. a warm embrace enveloped him, the same embrace that woke him from his dreams of order back in penacony.

“it's mr. sunday!”

“are you alright?”

everything was too fast. one moment he was playing tag with death and now he's reunited with his sister and the astral express crew.

“robin…” he quietly murmured. arms snaking to hug his sister tightly as tears pricked the corner of his eyes. “i’m here, brother.”

sunday let a smile break out of his face as he let robin check up on him. laughing at the way she weakly punched him on the chest.

“it's a good thing you're unharmed, mr. sunday.” welt said, fixing his glasses. “it took us quite a while to find you, but i’m glad our efforts weren't in vain.”

sunday furrowed his brows. “what do you mean?”

“after your disappearance in penacony, me and the astral express crew had joined forces to track you down.” robin explained.

“i… see…” sunday pondered if the reason they weren't able to find him was because he was inside your dream.

wait.

“death?!” he shouted into the space but no one answered. he was sure that everyone was looking at him weirdly as he lightly pushed robin to the side to try and look for you.

“death?!” the pink haired girl exclaimed. “what's going on mr. sunday?!”

before sunday could respond, another tremor broke out.

“brother!”

something flashed in sunday’s mind for a quick moment. his mind replayed the first time he arrived at “death's waiting room”, how he was forced to do chores and help around, tell the children bedtime stories and tuck them in for bed. how the first night he witnessed death made his stomach swirl with uncontrollably fear and how “death” itself cried for the departed.

he remembered how elanaor barged into his temporary room and pushed you in. how he ate his dinner in silence as you smooth out the creases on his bed. how, against his own judgement, came to lay on the bed and hold your hand that he couldn't believe brought upon ruin to someone's dream.

“it's time to wake up, sunday.”

sunday felt a body hug him tightly before he was pushed out of the way. in a quick flash, a red cord wrapped around him and death before it snapped.

the loud clamor of a giant gate dropping made his ears ring. sunday felt his breath quicken as he ran to the metal gate and slammed his fist against it in a poor attempt to get it to open.

“death!” another slam of his fist. “death you said you'd explain!” and another. “don't leave me in the dark!”

sunday felt his breath becoming shorter and shorter.

and how his heart dropped when crimson started to slip through the cracks of the metal gate.

“you didn't tag me, so i still win.”

“no…” another slam of his fist, louder than ever. “no! death hang on, we can save you!”

“you can't.”

“you don't know that!”

the trailblazer came to pry him away from the gate but he persisted.

“i know death better than anyone else, angel.”

“you…!” sunday felt his legs give out on him. he could only gaze at the way your blood pooled at the floor. “what did you do…”

you chuckled. “i never thought i’d die for someone else, you know.” sunday's caught wind of the cawing noises on the other side of the gate.

“no…”

“who would've guessed i would die for your sins.”

“the papers��” and you only hummed to confirm his suspicion.

there was one thing that sunday noticed whenever s child needed to depart: your companion will always bring you a piece of paper with their name written on it.

“my name…” he weakly muttered. “i was supposed to die…”

“you were.”

were. you didn't kill him.

the papers that started to pile in your office and the way your companion never once left your side; they way that never - not even once - have you taken off your gloves off whenever you fondly brushed his bangs away from his eyes or the way you let him hold your hands.

you didn't kill him.

the room shook again, this time stronger than the previous ones.

“we need to leave, now!” the navigator shouted.

sunday felt his body being supported as the trailblazer slung one his arms over his shoulder.

“fly. fly far, far, away from here sunday; you're free now.”

how ironic it was, that you, “death” itself, would die for a man who tried to go against the principles of the aeon he claimed to follow.

you brought the head of the oak family to your waiting room, waiting for the moment when his name would be delivered to you so could cut the cord of his life. but you never did.

“you're no longer guilty, your sins have been cleansed.”

you didn't want to let him go, as he did with you when he held your hand that night.

“i’m sorry i couldn't be gentle like you hoped for. but this was the only way.”

“i hope you finally understand that human suffering is inevitable. that even when we're in pain we still find a way to value our lives.”

“we are not gods, angel, we don't get a say in what happens to humankind. but i hope you'll come around to accept that it's what makes us all human. remember us — me — with fondness in mind.”

sunday will never come to know death, because death died for him and his sins.

“i hope you enjoyed your time with death, sunday.”

#✒️ — works #—stellaronhvnters.#honkai star rail angst #honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail sunday #honkai star rail imagines #hsr sunday #sunday x reader #sunday x you #sunday angst #sunday imagines #honkai star rail x you #star rail x reader #star rail x you #hsr angst #hsr x you #hsr x reader

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see you around | l. at

swim captain!anton x fem. reader | 5.3k words

ANTON SHOULD BE AT THE CLUBBBB. inspired by impossible mv party scenes and i was listening to kraftwerk the man machine album while making this so that’s the music i imagine playing at this party.

also this was a mix of two requests it was supposed to be a secret relationship type thing but it kinda ended up being a secret talking stage? idk i hope it's to your liking hehe.

even early in the morning in the empty hallways you looked left and right anxiously, scared that someone was going to catch you. all it would take is someone going to an extremely early morning class or an extremely late night run for you to be caught. it was already awful that you had to sneak into anton’s building by entering while someone was leaving, and you had to ask the RA to scan their ID so you could operate the elevator. two people already knew you were here and even if they didn’t know who you were, you didn’t want the number to go any higher.

you settled deeper into the black hoodie, reaching your hand to the door again. before you could knock three more times, anton opened the door. he stood against the frame with a big smile on his face as he looked you up and down. you did your own once over of him, taking in his band tea, boxers, and slides. he started at your sunglasses despite it being dark outside, then wandered down to your face mask and lingered on your all black outfit.

“i like your hoodie.” anton touched his chin like he was in thought before pointing towards the hoodie that was a few sizes to big for you. “looks realllll familiar.” he says.

seeing anton laugh at you trying to be inconspicuous made you turn on your heel and start walking back the way you came. you couldn’t even make it a step before anton reached past the doorframe to grab your arm, pulling you into the darkness of his room.

immediately once you were inside he closed the door with his foot, bringing you in for a big hug. you smiled despite trying to seem angry, taking your time before wrapping your arms around his waist. he pulled away to kiss your forehead, taking your glasses off and pulling your mask down to your chin.

“i was about to come down and get you.” anton says before kissing your forehead again.

he rocked back and forth while still holding you, and you let your body sway with his.

“you took too long.” you chide.

anton still holds you as he walks further into his dorm. you pass by the things you’ve seen a million times at this point. his standing jewelry organizer beside his gundam figurines, his swimming medals that hung up on the wall, and the picture of his swim team and family that rested on top of his dresser all looked at you as you went deeper into his room.

you kick off your shoes while anton continued to walk backwards, the two of you don’t stop until the back of his legs hit the edge of his bed. anton tries to bring you down with him, but you separate his heavy arms from your body to take off the rest of your things. you can see his outline in the darkness of his room, how he sits down and looks up at you while you make yourself comfortable.

you take your sunglasses from anton’s hand and put it on his dresser, taking off your rings and mask to put them all in a neat pile. when you put your phone face down on the dresser you put the framed pictures of antons’ family and his swim team face down too.

when you hear anton laugh you turn around. he’s leaned back on his arms, legs hung over the side of the bed as he watches your every move. he goes back to sitting upright to motion towards the photos.

“why do you always put those face down when you come over?” anton asks.

he knows why, and you know he knows it too. but you two have fallen into your own routine. like clockwork, you walk over to anton and stand between his legs so he can put his hand on your waist and look up at you again. he pinches the fabric of your black zip up between his fingers and you play with his soft hair.

“i don’t want them to see.” you say.

anton lets his hands go underneath your zip up and your shirt to feel the bare skin of your stomach. he pulls you a little closer and you let him, still playing with his hair casually.

“i thought you just came over here to cuddle?” anton asks innocently.

after hearing the sarcasm and seeing the glint in anton’s eye you laugh. each time it’s the same thing, the two of you going back and forth and each time it’s too amusing. maybe it’s the novelty of the situation, you sneaking into anton’s apartment so early in the morning it’s still considered late at night. even if you guys haven’t called this a relationship you’re stuck in a routine of domestic bliss. so as if on cue, you let your hand go deeper into anton’s hair until you pull at his scalp slightly.

“who comes over at four thirty in the morning just to cuddle?” you ask.

anton smiles and brings you closer, pressing a kiss to your clothed stomach. he pinches your skin underneath your clothes and you take your hands from his hair to pull down your zipper. you’re quick, too quick for someone who’s in this same situation seemingly every day. each time you’re in a rush to touch anton, and each time you end up stumbling in your haste. it’s comforting knowing anton is no better—he accidentally scratches your skin as he pulls down your black yoga pants.

“i’m sorry.” anton apologizes before you can even hiss from the pain.

he brings you close, his hands move down to cup your ass so he can kiss the part of your upper thigh where he scratched. it’s unnecessary, the pain was already gone but you let anton do it anyway. you just focus on getting your shirt off, letting it fall in the same pile with your jacket.

when anton pulls away from placing soft kisses you push him by the shoulders until his back is on the bed. you step out of your yoga pants that pooled at your ankles to crawl onto him. you start to straddle anton’s legs and he gives you a smile as he continues backing up on the bed, you continue to straddle him, knees walking on the bed as you follow his every move.

when he’s fully on the bed you press a hand to his broad chest.

“what time is your first class?” you ask.

even though you have anton’s whole schedule memorized, you still always ask. maybe you just like hearing his quiet breaths, how he tries to focus on your question. you let your hand drag down his body and he parts his lips to speak.

“ten.” anton answers.

when your hand goes to the waistband of his boxers anton looks at your lips. you sink down to kiss him the same time your hand pushes past his waistband. anton tenses underneath you and sighs into your mouth when you wrap a hand around his length.

“what time do you have practice today?” you ask.

you ask your question casually, reveling in the way anton is so distracted. when you squeeze around his dick anton sighs again, one of his hands go back to gripping your waist.

“eight pm. probably be done around ten.” anton jerks his hips up. “we have a meet tomorrow so it might run a little later.” he says rushed.

you hum at his answer, slowly pumping anton’s dick while he presses his body further into the mattress. precum that beads at his tip makes the job easy for you, and hearing the tiny whimpers and hisses slip past anton’s parted lips drives you to continue.

“any plans after?” you say, picking up the speed of your hand.

“i have a meeting with the head coach to talk about some people on team.” anton says while leaning his head back.

anton brings a hand to flex around your wrist, but he doesn’t stop your movements.

“such a good captain.” you kiss anton’s cheek gently. “any plans after that?” you ask.

anton bites his lip and shakes his head. one of anton’s hands moves to grip your ass and you arch into his hand to give him more. excitement tingles across your body when you see anton’s shoulder move so he can wedge his hand between your two bodies. he starts by pressing his hand flat against your bare stomach before slipping past the waistband of your panties.

anton starts by touching your clit, pressing his index finger deep into the bundle of nerves. the near pain causes you to drop your head into his shoulder, breathing heavily into the fabric of his shirt. anton takes pity on you, puling away from your clit to spread your folds with his index finger while his middle finger feels for your hole. you are already wet, and anton teases you for it, letting his finger prod past your entrance before pulling back to gather more slick. you’re almost compelled to bite anton from frustration, how he plays with you while you’re giving him your all. you only whine into his chest, moving your hips to show him what you need.

“so impatient.” anton sighs.

he cranes his neck to kiss your forehead before finally putting his finger inside of you. already you feel that warmth pooling in the pit of your stomach, lapping the edges of your resolve like a gentle fire. you speed up your hand when you feel more of anton’s precum bead at his tip and he puts in another finger.

“slow down baby.” anton whines.

he has to bite his lip to calm himself down. he doesn’t know what he’ll do if he gets another noise complaint.

“don’t wanna.” you whine back.

anton knows by now that you’re too stubborn, and he’s too desperate to actually make you slow down. so anton adds in another finger and bends them, picking up his pace to match you.

you and anton are chest to chest, trying to muffle the pitiful sounds you both make as you two bring eachother closer to insanity. anton feels you shake your head as you try to compose yourself. he opens his eyes just to try and see you laid against his body in just your bra and panties. your drool seeped through his shirt a long time ago, leaving a wet splotch underneath your cheek. anton just wishes you would turn your head so he can see your eyebrows cinch and your lips part before you cum.

“baby.” anton whimpers.

you turn immediately, eyes blown out as you still rest your head on his chest. your hands started staggering a long time ago, and anton makes up for it by lifting his hips off the bed to fuck your hand. the only thing anton needs you to do is keep letting the quiet moans fall from your parted lips as you look at him with your widened wet eyes.

“i’m close anton.” you say.

anton feels the tension in his stomach becoming nearly unbearable hearing the whiny lift in your voice. it drives anton to push his fingers deeper and faster inside of you. when he feels your hand loosen around his dick and your stomach tighten against his, he continues.

“me too.” anton says back.

you start quickly jerking anton off in his pants, and his hips still while he is suspended in the air. neither of you stop, so close but you’re just missing one more thing. you press your spare hand into the mattress to push yourself up far enough to press your lips to anton’s.

the kiss quick and rushed, but feeling him push his tongue into your mouth without hesitation was the last thing you needed. your legs try to instinctually come together, but anton’s legs remain steady in keeping them apart. you moan into anton’s mouth, and he does the same to you. when you start shaking anton’s hand that was on your ass wraps across your body, pressing you more into him. the restriction only heightens your climax, and you break apart from anton’s lips so a full moan can fill the space of his room. anton brings your mouth back to his, so he can groan against your lips as his cum stains his boxers and glides down your knuckles. the image of it makes anton quickly rut up into your hand, desperate to give you more. for a moment both of you are tense from stimulation, your stiff bodies resting against eachother. then you both come back, you’re pulling away with puffy lips still sensitive all over.

anton rests into his sweaty imprint in the mattress and you slump on top of him. your now messy hand lets go of anton’s dick but still rests in his boxers. anton’s fingers in your cunt bend one more time before he pulls out of your underwear completely. you sigh, trying to roll off of anton but his arm keeps you in place.

“you don’t have any classes today right?” anton asks, still trying to catch his breath.

“no.” you say.

anton’s wet fingers play with your hand that lays unmoving on the mattress.

“stay here for the day?” when anton hears you draw in a breath he continues speaking. “atleast sleep here until i leave.” he reasons.

you don’t have to look at the time to know it’s almost five in the morning. sleep is creeping up on you, and the thought of making the trek back to your dorm while your legs still feel so weak seems impossible. so you sigh and rest more into anton, laying your head over his steady beating heart. his hand across your back loosens and his body underneath yours becomes relaxed.

you ended up sleeping until anton left to go to class. you woke up underneath the covers as anton was fully ready, taking his backpack from his chair to sling over his shoulder. when he saw you were awake he looked apologetic, getting on his knees on your side of the bed to rub your sleepy face.

“what time is it?” you were groggy, wiping your eyes as you looked for your phone.

“almost ten. i’m running late i didn’t want to wake you up with my alarm.” anton says.

you blink again, trying not to be blinded by the light that comes through the windows.

“so you just guessed when you were supposed to wake up?” you asked confused.

anton only shrugged his shoulders, looking at your eyebrows before rubbing out the crease. he smiled and pressed a kiss to your skin before getting up. he put his backpack on fully and was at his door after realizing he was really about to be late.

“feel free to stay as long as you want.” anton said.

“okay.” you were still tired, your voice was raspy when you spoke.

anton didn’t say goodbye before leaving. you both knew you’d be seeing eachother later anyway. you let yourself lay in bed a little longer, thinking about how you ruined your sleep schedule once again.

you were half tempted to stay in anton’s bed all day. he offered after all, and his bed somehow felt softer than yours. everything also smelled like him, his sheets, his pillow, his clothes that you ended up in. it felt like a perfect thursday to do absolutely nothing. but then your mind went to the party you promised giselle you would go to.

“parties are important.” you heard giselle’s voice so vividly as you imagined bailing out on her. you imagined that serious look in her eyes as she told you why you should go. “you need to relieve the stress of the week so you can go back to society on monday happy.” she said.

that would be giselle’s primary reason, declaring any day there was a party as the weekend. you agreed to some extent, that’s why you reluctantly put your clothes on and grabbed all your belongings before sneaking out of anton’s dorm.

that’s also why you were dancing on sticky concrete in an abandoned dance hall on a thursday night. the eight am lecture you were probably going to skip tomorrow was in the back of your mind as the song changed. giselle opened her eyes only for a moment and smiled seeing you dance, pulling you closer to her as she turned around. at the same time your phone vibrated in your hand, making you look at your screen. the previous text messages of your conversation with anton lit up your face.

anton: went back to my room and you weren’t there :(

sorry

anton: no worries i just wanted to see you.

anton: are you going out tonight?

yeah.

are you?

anton: i am now

you continued dancing against giselle as you responded to his message.

anton: what time are you leaving?

idk

i’ll text you when i’m ready t|

“shit. i dropped my phone!”

giselle yelled next to you and you could see her immediately look towards the crowd for her device. you used the open messages app like a flashlight, pointing your phone screen towards the ground to illuminate the dark floor.

your phone was the only source of light in the party that wasn’t an annoying strobing light that did nothing but cast people’s faces red, deep blue, and white. both you and giselle squatted to the floor, disrupting the dancing throngs of people around you. you could heard the soles of peoples feet dragging against the concrete from down here, even the occasional sound of feet pulling from the sticky floor. people complained as you two disrupted their groove, feet lifting up to accommodate your crouched bodies. the two of you couldn’t be bothered as you waved your phone around.

when your phone’s white light caught on the back of giselle’s phone case you tapped her shoulder.

“there it is.” you pointed towards giselle’s phone and she picked it up from the ground quickly, turning it on and wiping the screen with a disgusted look on her face. “any cracks?” you asked.

giselle shook her head before sliding her phone into her back pocket.

“no, thank god.” she said.

before you could turn off your own phone and try to enjoy the loud party around you, giselle took a quick peak at your screen. instantly you saw that stupid knowing smile across her face once she saw who you were texting. you turned off your phone immediately and held up your finger before she could speak.

“don’t even.” you said.

giselle laughed and shrugged her shoulders. that was her way of telling you it was basically your fault for having your phone brightness all the way up. you were practically begging her to look at your phone and bring up the fact you were texting anton.

“i wasn’t even going to say anything.” when the dj—or the glorified aux—finishes one terrible song to do a terrible transition into another giselle crosses her arms. you turn from the staircase to mirror giselle, both of you watching the booth and the people dancing in amazement. after a second giselle leans to you with a smile on her face. “i was just going to ask if your little shadow was coming.” she says.

you try to ignore giselle, you really try to. you try not to mention your little shadow, the one that spent the better half of three years pining after you. at first it wasn’t obvious, you guys were two people who just happened to get along very well. but over time, the playful banter turned into flirting and you started acting oblivious.

when anton’s advances started getting bolder and everyone started finding out you denied it more and more. you denied it to giselle, you denied it to anton’s friends and curious onlookers—you even denied it straight to anton’s face. but when you were with him in his dorm with no friends to hide behind, things came to light. but you two didn’t sit the other down to have a meaningful conversation about your relationship. instead you two communicated with your bodies and quiet hushed sounds. deep lingering kisses unveiled anton’s crush and your whimpers told him you felt the same. anton didn’t hear you speak for the next two hours until you got dressed a little to fast and headed for his door. just when he was about to call out to you, begging you to stay you turned your head around to face him.

“don’t tell anyone about this.” you said.

anton nodded, wanting to show you he was a good listener so you would come back. before you could walk out the door he said one more thing too.

“can i take you out on a date later?” he asked.

you hesitated before leaving, but you walked out his door and closed it behind you. anton started slumping in his bed, distraught that he ruined his one chance with you. but then his phone vibrated next to him and he was a little too fast reaching for it.

yes you can.

ever since then, you and anton have been stuck in a limbo. you hated the dating scene, especially the one in college, so you refrained from calling what you and anton had as dating. all you knew was that you two were exclusive, you guys hung out whenever you two had free time, and you guys had your numbers saved in eachothers phones with little hearts next to them. you also knew that no one else knew about it, and you wanted to keep it that way.

“anton never comes to these things” giselle said.

even in the darkness giselle could tell you were scanning the crowd. she opened her eyes only for a moment before going back to dancing to the new song while you only swayed. you watched the lights roam and flash over the cluster of people dancing like a spotlight, occasionally shining on people’s faces. each face that was illuminated looked unfamiliar, but they almost all had their eyes closed and their hands up, letting the music guide their movements.

you shook your head, turning to face giselle. before you could lean over into her ear to yell about how you weren’t looking for anton, the words were caught in your throat.

both you and anton saw eachother at the same time. you would’ve wished to see him first—it was the main reason why you stayed at a certain part of the dance floor. your spot on the outskirts near the wall gave you a perfect view of the staircase where the entrance was. even if you had to stand next to the stained mattress where a couple made out it gave you a vantage point. he came through the door with his eyes already scanning the crowd, disguised as him trying to find the vibe of the party. but when he found you he kept eye contact, smiling so subtle you knew no one else saw it.

with anton looking at you, and the electronic music playing around you infinity felt distilled. he paused at the top of the stars when you felt another flashing strobe light illuminate your face. you remained dancing, suddenly matching the pumping energy of the people around you—but your eyes stayed on anton. he had to be pushed by his friends behind him before he broke away from you, flashing a smile over his shoulder before finally continuing down the staircase.

you continued following anton down the stairs, watching him greet almost every single person on the way down. at each step he was dapping someone up, getting pulled in for an embrace as he smiled big. his posse followed behind him doing the same except louder. people came in behind them had to wait for the big crowd to make it down the stairs, but anton couldn’t be bothered. he even stopped for a quick conversation in the middle of the staircase, turning his head so some girl could talk directly into his ear. you saw anton listen carefully, probably straining to hear their voice over the blasting music. when he was done he nodded and did the same, speaked with his hands as he yelled in the girls ear. when he was done he didn’t linger, only giving his signature smile and looking towards you before you had the chance to look away.

you believe anton’s confidence came with becoming swim captain. being regarded as the best at anything in college automatically made you “popular”, as if that meant anything outside of high school. but winning awards for your university gave anton enough cool points that he was able to go into any party and be known by everyone, and his easygoing personality made everyone greet him. the fact that he didn’t come out to often made his attendance all the more special. even in the dark dance hall you could see the shock on people’s faces and the casual shrug anton did said i’m here, aren’t you happy? everyone loved him. you almost thought that the dj was going to stop the music to have everyone on the dance floor welcome anton and chant his name to celebrate his recent win. but it was cool and relaxed, that’s how anton was now.

when he made it to the end of the stairs anton and his friends disappeared into the crowd of dancers. you finally let your gaze drop back down to giselle, whose eyes have been closed for the past god knows how long as she danced to the music.

both you and giselle laughed as she danced against you. too many times in the night you guys would end up like this, getting lost in the music while your bodies pressed against eachother. anton came into your line of sight, standing in front of the staircase while talking to his friends. he chatted with them and you continued dancing with your friend, but the two of you kept holding eye contact. anton’s stares lingered while his friends talked directly to him, replying at the last second or when his friends bump him. giselle turns back to you and you look down at her without missing a beat. when giselle turns you around so you can dance on her, you try to not think about anton watching you.

“i’m going to go request a song. i’ll be back.” giselle said in your ear.

you turned back around but before you could respond giselle left you on the outskirts of the dance floor as she went in deep to get to the booth. you still felt the music, moving along as you followed giselle’s head through the crowd.

you were focused on your friend when anton came up to you. he didn’t have to timidly tap your shoulder when no one else was around. surrounded by people at party it oddly felt like it was just the two of you, so he touched you the way he always did. he let his arm wrap around your tricep, and he saw your hand immediately go over his and squeeze it. you kept your eyes on the dance floor for a second longer before turning to anton with that bright smile on your face. he smiled too, even when a red strobe light blinded him.

“i like your beanie.” your hand went up to mess with the thick hat, feeling anton’s wet hair touch your hand. “did you just finish practice?” you asked.

anton nodded his head before turning slightly so he could kiss the hand that was almost playing with his hair. you instantly brought your hand down and scowled at anton, looking around to see if anyone saw. he smiled back at you and his hands went to your hips to feel your rhythm.

“my friends are getting me a drink.” anton’s eyes went to the middle of the dance floor. “and giselle is preoccupied.”

you turned to see giselle lost in the moment as she continued to dance. with everyone focused on different things you could focus on anton. you liked feeling his hands on you in public, and you liked seeing the lights illuminate different parts of his face. he came in a little closer, craning his neck towards your ear so you could hear him.

“i missed you.” anton said.

you couldn’t help but roll your eyes. sometimes you think anton said corny things on purpose just to annoy you or make you cringe. he tried so hard to woo you with the stoic persona he created to try and finally get a chance with you. he tried approaching you like you were on the swim team, trying to dap you up for years like you were one of the guys. once you finally gave anton a chance the facade crumbled. he wasn’t casual about anything, evident in the way he got mushy at the drop of the hat wherever and whenever.

you leaned close to him, feeling his fingers hook around your belt loops to keep you there.

“you saw me earlier today.” you pulled away for a second before going back in. “well you did more than see me actually.” you said back.

anton’s grip on your belt loops tightened at the recollection of this morning. you guys were at a difficult point in your relationship—if you could even call it that. after you had given anton a chance all those months ago you two had gone on a couple dates but it mainly was about the alone time you spent together in eachothers dorms. anton wondered how long you guys would sneak around before you finally let this become official.

the music dropped, filling the room with complete silence. anton spoke straight to your face, trying to see what reaction you would give him.

“you enjoyed it though right?” anton tilted his head as he spoke. “especially when i did that thing you like.” he said.

anton said it as confidently as he could, a smirk stretching his lips. now it was your turn to stiffen as you remembered this morning. when you and anton collided, it was always hard to remember all the details. maybe it was your mind trying to save some of your dignity—the way you called for anton in your moments of desperation made you almost cringe in embarrassment. but when you were face to face with the reason you were desperate he was practically forcing you to remember. anton’s strong body underneath you, his arms rippling underneath your iron grip. everything flooding back made you shyly duck your head, and anton had to smirk to try and hide the heat creeping up to his ears that were tucked into his beanie.

you were saved by the music resuming. instead of responding to anton you let the deep synth made your hands go up, feeling each beat and the rest of your body followed the baseline. the synth made anton feel different, he kept both hands on you as you turned around to continue feeling for the music. without saying a word you came close to him, and he kept a hand on your hip to guide you backwards.

the flashing strobe lights syncing up with the music and anton’s chest against your back made you feel the music even more. the entire party danced, even the people on the stairs too cool to do anything else nodded their heads and swayed their bodies. the drink in your hand was taken by anton, you turned around to make eye contact. he kept his eyes locked on you as he tipped your cup back, holding your drink for you so you could dance freely.

you looked around for giselle, she had found someone to dance with closer to the center of the floor. you laughed to yourself before trying to emulate her, bouncing a little more and embracing the music to its fullest. from behind you anton leaned forward, until his breath fanned your hair and his chin almost rested on your shoulder.

“not too obvious right?” anton said.

even speaking at full volume felt like a whisper from the loud music, but you heard him clearly. you shook your head, speaking straight forward as you continued to dance.

“i dance with everyone.” you said.

“even like this?” anton asked.

when he pulled you by your belt loops until your hips were flush with his, he let his parted lips ghost over the skin of your neck. one of his hands creeped upwards, resting on the exposed skin from your crop top. you let your shirt ride up a little higher when you put your hands up, still moving them with the beat.

as if on cue, the song ended. you pulled away from anton before giselle could notice, taking your drink back from his hands. you saw his friends approaching from behind as giselle started making her way back through the crowd towards you. you had to manually detach antons hands from your body, placing them at his sides as you turned to face him.

“see you around, anton.” you said, patting his cheek.

when the light flashed on anton’s face again you could see red tint across his cheeks.

“still gonna text me when you’re leaving?” anton asked.

anton said it underneath the loud music, but you heard him clearly. you nodded your head as you started heading towards your friend. anton still stared at your back as you walked away deeper to the dance floor, not turning back towards his friends until they handed him his drink.

#requestz #01zfan: anton #anton smut #riize smut

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julesthequirky · 3 days

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The Choice: Chapter Thirteen

All my work is purely aimed at those 18+ so minors kindly, DNI.

Summary: You find three of your favourite characters in your home. It shouldn’t be possible, but there they are. In the flesh. How the hell did they get there? And surely there’s a way to get them back? But as you get close to each one, the thought of sending them back proves difficult to comprehend.

Characters: Fem!Reader, Dean, Beau, Soldier Boy/Ben.

Warnings: Female masturbation, female fantasy, language, typical Soldier Boy behaviour, cheesy euphemisms.

W/C: 1,596

A/N: I can only apologise for how long it took me to get this chapter out. I don't really have any excuses, except for the fact that I had a bit of a break, wrote some other ideas knocking around, and then had another break. I wish I could keep a schedule, but they don't work for me. I struggled with this chapter, struggled to push the story forward to get to where it needed to be.

A/N 2: I can't believe it's only day three! As a writer, I, too, forget the concept of time within the story. And it's not until I read past chapters that I realised how slowly time goes by.

The hot water splashed down, and you leaned your head back, getting a face full of the spray.

Was Ben right? Was Dean jealous? Or perhaps he had just been mad. He slept in the next room. A wall was shared, after all. He had to have heard everything. But Dean had no reason to be jealous. He hadn’t shown any inkling that he wanted anything more than platonicness.

Ben knew how you felt about Dean. About Beau. He’d seen all your interactions with the hunter and nearly bitten your head off in Walmart when he found them ‘impersonating’ him. Ben was an enigma. One moment he was flirty and casual, bantering with you, and the next, he was aggressive and damn near violent, threatening anyone that gets on the wrong side of him. And it was him you had fooled around with first. Not Dean. Not that you initially intended to mess around with any of them.

Water ran down your body in rivulets, and your hands followed the flow. Again, Dean, in complete ecstasy, slipped into your mind. Would he grip the shaft tightly? Would he squeeze to feel the intensity of pleasure? Would he stroke his thumb across the slit, rubbing pre-cum across the mushroomy head of his cock?

Below, you throbbed, and again, your mind turned to comparisons. Would Dean be as wide? Would the head of his cock feel so pillowy against your entrance? Would it pulse as strongly? Would he feel as heavy and as thick as Ben?

You shuddered, arousal burning through your body as you tried to wipe those thoughts from your mind. It didn’t feel fair. Dean was his own person. But…Jensen…Jensen was the man who played them all.

Your hand reached for the shower head. It unhooked from the wall attachment, and you changed the head settings. The water sprayed out powerfully in a more concentrated manner.

You gripped the shower head and the shower bar with your other hand. And before you could think yourself out of it, you turned the shower head upside down.

You gasped. A sharp inhale of air. Your hand tightened, gripping the shower bar. The jet of water shooting up from the shower head pelted your clit with intensity.

You bowed your head, hair dripping into the shower floor, pulse spiking as Dean masturbating occupied your mind.

You changed the angle of the shower head, and your knees almost buckled. Your toes curled, and you shook as you fought to contain yourself.

Your pussy clenched.

Your eyes squeezed shut. Dean, touching himself, left your mind, and Ben replaced him. You shook your head, trying to get Dean back. But Ben stayed. And he stood in all his glory, shameless, hand wrapped around his cock and giving lazy strokes, wearing that damn smirk.

Then, his words from yesterday came to mind.

“Would you suck me off as prettily as you suck my fingers?”

And in your mind’s eye, you were on your knees, pleasing Ben, wrapping your lips around his cock. You saw yourself sucking, could feel the weight of him on your tongue, could taste the saltiness of him.

In your mind, you watched as the rapture completely took over Ben. His head leant back, eyes closed, and his fingers fisting your hair. He cursed under his breath as you slowly dragged the man’s soul from him.

Would Dean react the same way? Or would he watch?

Heat swamped your gut at the thought of Dean watching you suck him off. Your body shook, edging closer to that inevitable brink.

You’d please him. Who? All of them.

Ben.

Dean.

Beau.

Beau. With his cheeks tinted pink, and looking at you hungrily sent you hurtling over the edge and crying out, your legs almost buckling from the strength of your orgasm.

The shower head clattered to the floor, continuing to spray upwards. You leant against the steamed-up shower wall.

You hadn’t done that in a while. Not with a showerhead.

The TV played in the background. Some football game Ben had put on that Beau was absorbed in. With three men living with you, sports were perpetually on.

After breakfast, Dean excused himself and headed upstairs with a coffee, claiming he needed to decipher the language on the frame’s box, reinforcing the idea that maybe he was mad at you. He’d asked to use your laptop to aid him in his research, and you were compliant, handing him the device and the cable. You had written the password on his hand, desperately trying to ignore the sparks rushing up your arm.

Trying to read with Ben glancing at you occasionally was nigh-on impossible. All you wanted was to relax with a steamy romance between a Rugby player and a sassy fan. At least this one wouldn’t come to life.

Ben nudged you from where he was sitting beside you. You glared at him as he rudely pulled you out of the world where fans have hot instances with insanely built Rugby men.

“What?”

He leaned his head closer.

“If you needed help installing a pipe in your bathroom, you could have come to me.”

What the shit?

You tilted your head in confusion. What the Hell was he going on about?

“You know….”

He kept his voice low so as not to capture Beau’s attention. This was something he wanted to keep between you both.

“I’m just saying you could have come to me.”

You shook your head.

I shake my head and try to get back into my book.

“You need installations in your bathroom? Y’know I’m a dab hand at DIY.” Beau asked, finally turning away from the TV.

“What, no.”

Ben snorted and shook his head.

“Ya hear that, Y/N? Beau is a dab hand at installing pipes in a bathroom.”

Ben’s tone was a little sarcastic for your liking. And whatever he was alluding to, you just weren’t getting. Ben wasn’t one to mince his words, so why was he being so elusive? It didn’t make sense.

You sighed, closing the book you’d barely read anything of. You placed it down and stood up.

“Ben, could I see you in the kitchen, please?”

You saw Beau’s quirk of his eyebrows in your peripheral vision as you started walking out of the living room.

Ben followed you into the kitchen. He closed the door behind him, a smirk on his face. You stood there, leaning on one hip, arms folded against your chest.

“I don’t know what you’re playing at, but it’s gotta stop.”

Ben’s smirk grew wider as he stepped closer.

“Aw, c’mon. I’m only messing. Besides, maybe next time you have a solo flick fest in the bathroom, you should remember that some ears are far more acute than others.”

You stood stock still. Shit. He’d heard everything. That’s why he was teasing the Hell outta you.

“So, c’mon, what prompted this solo session?”

Your cheeks burned. Could you tell him? Probably should. He was only gonna bug you otherwise.

“It was what you said about Dean…”

He grinned wickedly.

“Doll, if a man beating his meat has you wetter than the Pacific Ocean, then baby, I don’t mind doing a little corn shucking just for you.”

You blushed. You actually blushed. Maybe it was the cheesy euphemisms, but Hell, they made you redder than a tomato.

“You gunna listen to him?”

You scratched the back of your neck, unsure. Honestly, you didn’t know what you were gonna do. The thing was, Dean wasn’t the only one concerned. Beau was, too. That meant that Beau thought the same as Dean. Or similar. Beau had mentioned intentions, and it was such a dad thing to say.

“Because, if you did, it’d be real shitty of you.”

Fuck. This was all you needed. Ben would hold a grudge. You knew that. But Dean. Dean had your heart. It was stupid. And yeah, you wanted to make him happy. But the real question was: what would make you happy? And that you didn’t know.

Sighing and easing yourself in a seat, you rested your head in your hands. Your phone buzzed. You slipped the gadget from your pocket. Your brow furrowed upon seeing a message. It was from your mother. Wondering what she wanted, you clicked it open.

Mom: Dear Y/N, Mark mentioned to your father and me that he saw you in Walmart with a man. He thinks it's your boyfriend. Is he? Why haven’t you said anything to me? I’m your mother. Your father and I insist on your presence at dinner tonight, 7:30 PM. Don’t be late. Dinner will be at 8. Your father said texting you was more likely to get your attention. He also said to bring your man. Sincerely, Mom.

Fuuuuuuuuck. You didn’t need this right now. You groaned, letting the phone clatter to the table.

Fucking Hell.

“She can fuck off.” You muttered.

Ben snorted, taking a seat beside you.

“Problem?”

Yeah. At this moment in time, you had too many problems. You were not bringing Ben around your mother and her partner. However, it made you smile at the thought of her clutching her pearls when Ben cussed like a sailor as he spoke with his mouth full. Then it faltered. Ben, behaving as he does, would double down her efforts to get you with Cole. No. It would be best to pick someone else. But who? And would Ben understand? Probably not.

You faced him.

“Yeah. My mother’s invited me to dinner and wants to bring my so-called boyfriend.”

Tags: @yvonneeeee, @curlycarley, @angelbabyyy99, @sassy-pelican, @k-slla, @deans-spinster-witch, @ashdoctor, @eretsupremacy89, @fanfic-n-tabulous, @deans-number-one-fan, @afro-hispwriter, @tiredstrangerr, @zemosdarling228, @justjensenandhisalteregos, @ladysparkles78, @nescavaneck, @winharry, @stellasfictionalworld, @mishkatelwarriorgoddess, @freefallthoughts, @realityshifter111, @slvtforhotchner, @hobby27, @grxyveins, @emily-roberts, @jamerlynn, @mimaria420, @kr804573, @just-levyy, @leigh70, @eexphoria

If for some reason you aren't tagged, or I've missed you as I went through to update my tags, lemme know. And A, we'll grumble about Tumblr together, or B, I'll chide myself and update the tagsheet.

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missvelvetsstuff · 2 days

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No Benefits

Bucky Barnes x Reader, Bucky x Sharon

Summary: Reader and Bucky are best friends until a drunken hook up. Bucky wants a friends with benefits situation because he doesn't feel ready for a relationship but reader knows that will lead to a broken heart.

Then Sharon Carter comes to work with them.

Notes: Steve and Tony are around but retired, everything else is mostly canon

**Previous chapter**

Cookie looked at the cold face of her friend, the man she had loved for 2 years and rasped out "Bucky. Please." She looked into his emotionless eyes and she realized this was it, she closed her eyes and tried to say "I forgive you" as she lost consciousness.

Chapter 6

Note: sorry this chapter took so long, hope it's worth the wait.

Warnings: Swearing, angst

The Soldat was distracted by a door slamming open, the sunlight that shone through it and the shield that hit him in the chest, knocking him back. He dropped an unconscious Cookie and turned in the direction of the distractions before stalking over towards them. He approached the man who threw the shield and a man in a red and gold metal suit but before he could throw a punch the guy in the metal suit put his hand up and some red mist came out. The Soldat covered his mouth and tried not to inhale it but failed.

Bucky coughed and shook his head before looking up to see Steve and Tony in front of him, holding defensive positions as they waited to see if it worked.

Bucky rubbed his eyes "Steve? What the Hell is going on?"

Bucky looked around as his head cleared and saw Cookie, crumpled on the floor and rushed over to her, falling to his knees.

"Cookie! Nonononono. Fuck! What did I do? Please doll, you have to be ok"

He started to reach out to her but pulled back when he saw the bruises starting to form on her neck. He turned to look at Steve and begged "Help her, please."

As soon as he sprayed Bucky, Tony aimed the mist at Nat, Sharon, Yelena and Antonia. All but Antonia shook themselves out of the trance they were in while Antonia tried to escape up the stairs. Unfortunately for her, Nat and Yelena were faster and tackled her to the floor.

Steve carefully picked Cookie up and hurried towards the quinjet.

Bucky stood, looked around and saw Sharon. He glared and started towards her when Tony stopped him. "We'll take care of them, you go back to the jet with Rogers and Cookie.

Bucky flinched when he heard her name "I don't think-"

Tony cut him off "Don't think, just go, everything here is handled."

Bucky just nodded and turned in the direction Steve had gone. When he arrived at the jet he saw Steve standing next to the medical bed where he had laid Cookie.

He turned to face Bucky "Friday is monitoring her but there doesn't seem to be any serious damage just some bruising. She'll be alright, Buck."

Bucky scoffed "Yeah, no thanks to me. I'll just keep my distance." and sat as far away from her as he could.

Steve tried to comfort him "C'mon Buck, it's not your fault. They were controlling you."

Bucky just turned his back to him without a word and Steve knew he would need some time.

Tony and Sam walked up the ramp with Antonia, Nat, Sharon and Yelena all in front while Clint and Sam were last so they could keep an eye on everyone.

Antonia was restrained and belted into one of the seats with Sam and Clint on either side. Tony took the pilots seat and they raced home as quickly as possible.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Cookie felt herself being pulled awake by an annoying beeping in her room. She tried to tell Friday to turn her alarm off but quickly realized that no sounds were coming out. She tried to clear her throat but it was painful like a sore throat when you're sick but much worse.

She tried to open her eyes but the room was too bright and as she sniffled detected a strong antiseptic smell.

Once she put it all together she realized she must be in the med bay.

Cookie opened her eyes again and was able to keep them open this time. She felt a hand holding hers and looked around the room to see dark hair. She squeezed the hand gently and tried to speak, which made her cough and woke him up.

"Hey sweetheart, how are you feeling?"

Cookie tried to speak but on squeaked and coughed. She shrugged and pointed at her throat.

"I know, I'm sorry Cookie. We tried to get there before it went that far but I'm glad we found you in time. Here, have some water." He sat her bed up and held the cup of water so she could drink from the straw. As she drank he explained that Bucky, Sharon, Nat and Yelena had all been controlled by Antonia with a serum that the Red Room had been using on the Widows, to keep them in line.

The cool water soothed Cookie's throat but when she tried to speak it still came out as a croak "Sammy" and made her cough again.

Sam set the water down "Dr Cho said your throat will be sore for awhile so no talking for a few days. If you can manage that, Imma be seriously impressed. Here, this will help." he handed her a tablet so she could type out what she wanted to say.

Cookie slapped his shoulder before taking the tablet and trying quickly into it. *How's Barnes?*

Sam shook his head "After everything that's happened, that's the first thing you wanna say?" he sighed "Bucky is fine. He's been in the waiting area all night but won't come in here. Blames himself, which he should, if you ask me."

Cookie scowled at him and started typing again

*I didn't ask. According to what you just told me, wasn't his fault. Tell his dumb ass to come in here!*

Sam looked at her, frustrated "I also just told you he won't come in here. Did he mess up your hearing too?"

Cookie sighed *Tell him I said so*

Sam shook his head as he left the room to talk to Bucky. It didn't go well.

Bucky refused "Goddammit Sam, I already told you I wasn't going in there. What if I see her and he decides to come back and finish the job? That was his last order and I don't know if it'll still be there when I see her. She deserves better than me. I'm stupidly damaged and can't promise she won't end up hurt, whether it's by someone I've hurt, Hydra wanting me back or just me and my unstable mind. I can't risk hurting her again. Just tell her I'm sorry."

Sam tried to reply but when he looked where the super soldier had just been standing, the entire waiting room was empty.

When Sam returned to Cookies room she frowned and he shrugged "I told you he wouldn't. He bailed before I could convince him. You're gonna have to wait till he's ready."

A few hours later Cookie was released by Dr Cho with the conditions that she take it easy and not try to talk for a few days. On the way back to her room she saw Nat and Yelena. Both women looked at the floor and mumbled apologies as she walked past.

Cookie was happy that she made it to her room without seeing Sharon. Even if she was being controlled, Cookie couldn't wipe the images of Sharon and Bucky all over each other or the nasty comments she had made. Maybe after some rest and time to put it all into perspective she would feel more rational about it.

Cookie wasn't sure what her next move should be since her being here seemed to be traumatic for everyone involved in her adventure. DC and Boston were always options. She could transfer to either one and still do her job without much trouble, thanks to Stark tech and wouldn't be too far away by plane or Dr Strange in a real emergency.

She knew that seeing Bucky every day, especially if he stays with Sharon or finds another "friend", would be challenging for her. Distance would help her heart heal, or so she thought.

She figured being out of his sight would help Bucky deal with his own trauma and guilt without her reminding him that the Soldat was still lurking.

After a couple of days Cookie was getting her voice back and had been released to go back to work. She noticed that Bucky always seemed to be lurking around but bolted everytime their eyes met. He wouldn't stay in the same room as Cookie unless there were briefings where he wasn't given much choice.

When Maria came to her office a week later, to see how she was feeling, Cookie told her what she was thinking and Maria tried to talk her out of it.

By the time Maria left her office, Cookie was sure of her next step and sent the papers to Nick Fury, already begrudgingly signed off on by Maria.

When her work day ended, Cookie headed to her room to start organizing and packing. She would miss her view of the lake and her friends here but she felt like she just couldn't stay with the way things were. Maybe in a few years she could get her head together and figure out how to convince her heart to let go of Bucky but it wasn't happening here.

Cookie told Sam that she was moving but made him promise not to tell anyone, especially not Bucky. She wasn't up to a teary goodbye with the whole team and didn't want Bucky to feel like it was his fault.

At her last team dinner two weeks later, everyone was there even Steve and Tony but only Sam knew it was her last day at the compound. Everyone else thought they were celebrating her clean bill of health the day before. As always, Bucky was nowhere to be seen while Sharon, Nat and Yelena were there but none of them had even tried to speak to her since they all returned to the compound.

Cookie figured they were dealing with their own guilt even if it wasn't really any of their fault but she knew Dr Raynor would help them work through it all. She convinced herself that her move was best for them as well, so they don't have to see her and feel bad about what happened.

The next morning she woke early, left her room packed for the movers to pick up and Sam flew her to her new home for the foreseeable future.

@erelierraceala @capswife @ozwriterchick @cjand10 @wintrsoldrluvr @mrsbuckybarnes1917 @browneyedgrli @greatenthusiasttidalwave @hhiggs @dontworryboutitsweetheart-blog @behindmygreyeyes @pattiemac1 @mrsbuckybarnes1917 @calwitch @mrs-bucky-barnes-73 @ordelixx @blackhawkfanatic @casey1-2007 @scott-loki-barnes @selella

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #james bucky barnes x reader #james bucky barnes #bucky barnes x you #angst with a happy ending #james bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x female reader #no benefits

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thebestofoneshots · 10 hours

Text

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

Read Pt.1

Pairing: Priest!Remus x reader

Word Count: 14 k

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

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

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

Proofread by lovely @aremuslupinsimp

♡ NSFW: Smut under the cut

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

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

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

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

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

“No.”

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

Remus seemed to think about it.

“We can’t go there.”

“Why not? You don’t have the keys?”

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

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

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

You simply nodded in response.

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

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

“That would be like crossing the line.”

“I suppose it would.”

“Let’s go,” he said.

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

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

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

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

“Please do.”

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

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

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

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

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

“But it’s wrong,” he excused.

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

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

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

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

“Does it still feel sore?” you asked.

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

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

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

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

“Will you–”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?” He asked, confused.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How may I help, Your Grace?”

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

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

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

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

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

“It would be an honour, Your Grace.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Incentive, of what kind?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Well, yes and no.”

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

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

“No?”

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

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

“Black,” the man said with a smile.

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

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

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

“Didn’t you have something to do?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

ACT VIII: You shall make no idols

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Does it bother you?”

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

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

“But not unwelcomed?” he retorted.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re not wearing any underwear.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah?” he asked breathily.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you ready, angel?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Don’t worry about it,” he said.

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

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

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

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

“No,” he said a little too fast.

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

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

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

“But didn’t you want more?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Then turn around and see it for yourself.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mhm?”

“I want to confess.”

“Right now?”

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

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

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

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

Remus laughed, “Anything you want.”

“You haven’t even heard my request.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He chuckled, “Just one then.”

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

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

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

ACT X: You shall not kill

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“If it pleases you,” he answered.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“If it’s too much I–”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah?”

“I thought I was in heaven.”

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

“Father?” you started.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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